#fucked up when that leads to people filling legal action against me

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 06 —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Word Count : 3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

‘‘ I swear I am going to have someone beat your ass Park Jimin!’’

‘‘ It’s not my fucking fault! I broke up with her but you lead her to the apartment  knowing she’ll follow!’‘

‘‘ Damn it Jimin im going to kick your ass!’‘

Your eyes pop open just in time to see Jungkook on-top of Jimin hitting him repeatedly on the face while Jimin manages to push him off of him and begin his fist fight against him. He straddles Jungkook to the floor and punches are thrown left and right. Now the sudden headache of seeing the two brothers fight has began in your head and you cannot stand hearing the groaning and yelling between them. Bringing your hand up to signal them to stop, you realize they don’t even know you’ve awakened.

 Jungkook on the other hand is not having it so he throws Jimin off of him harshly making Jimin groan. The way he grabs Jimin’s collar with venom fast strength finally gives you the courage to yell out to them.

‘‘ Stop! Damn it, you two are like literal fucking teenagers. Act your age!”

The both of them turn their heads toward you slowly. Jungkook drops his fist, which was going to connect with Jimin’s face. You take a good look at them. Freshly bruised from each-other. Great.

‘‘ You think fighting is going to solve this problem huh? Get over here now.” You say, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

Jungkook gives Jimin a death glare before rushing to your side and feeling your forehead. You slap his hand away and pull him down by his shirt only for him to recieve a harsh slap to the forehead.

‘‘ Shit!” He stumbles back and rubs his forehead. He shoots you a glare, wanting to yell at you but doesn’t.  You motion for Jimin to come to you too. He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

‘‘ I don’t think it’s necessary for you to do that..” He says, as if your death glare towards him isn’t enough to tell him you aren’t joking whatsoever.

He gets the memo when you disregard his comments before hanging his head low and bending down a little to your height. One slap against the forehead and two across the wrists.

‘‘ That’s for you fighting He was only looking out for me. The last two were for having a psychotic girlfriend who almost killed me. Look at my wrist!’‘

You hold them out to see two I.V’s, one for blood transfusion and the other a regular for nutrients on your right wrist. Both of them bandaged up which does need to be changed because of the old blood.

‘‘ I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would be this upset.’‘ Jimin says, hanging his head low. Jungkook rolls his eyes at him out of annoyance.

‘‘ Whatever. I already called my lawyer for your case. Since Isabel tried to attempt murder to you, you will win this case for sure.’‘ He proudly leans against the wall hoping to atleast crack a smile from you.

You don’t smile though. The last thing you need is another scandal. If this were to make the news and blogs right now then it could be a bad thing. You’ve just started your modeling career again and right now would be the worst time to have something like that. 

Jimin leans on the wall with his hands in his pockets, still avoiding locking eyes with you which is something he usually does. Something tells you that he’s hiding something. Something that you just can’t put your finger on.

‘‘ The police will come shortly for witness statements and your statement. Then they’ll call for a court date as soon as possible.’‘ Jimin’s voice low, illuminating with a hint of sadness.

Out of curiosity you want to say something more. To ask him whats going on and why he’s acting rather like this. It’s really not like him. He’s hiding something for sure and you just cannot put your finger on it. You just agree and pull out your phone. A missed call from Ryan. You try texting her and she almost always responds immediately. This time she doesn’t. What’s really going on?

You don’t know but Ryan took it upon herself to pay Isabel a visit. Usually visitors aren’t allowed for people in holding but with a little sweet talk of hers she got to get atleast 10 minutes to talk. That’s all she needs. When it comes to you, her bestfriend, she never messes around. Hearing the news from Jungkook yesterday she almost went luncatic. Throwing things at him, calling his brother every disrespectful name in the book. Oh she hates him now for sure.

Jungkook had to stop her from going over to the hospital to beat his ass into a bloody pulp for causing you pain and getting together with that crazy girl just to break up with her. Ryan was heated. 

But now she can take this heat and serve some to Isabel right now. She walks with confidence into the room. Nothing and nobody can stop her and if they even try, she’ll chew them up and spit them out. Catching a glimpise of Isabel sitting at the table with her hands cuffed and security next to her, Ryan shoots her a devious glare.

‘‘ What brings you here? I expected my boyfr-’‘

A harsh slam from her hands hit the table as she bends a little to her seated level, ‘‘ He’ not your fucking boyfriend. You were lucky I wasn’t there to beat your fucking ass.”

The guard tenses up at the sounds and sudden movements. Ryan notices, and decides to take her seat to calm down before she’s the one sitting behind the jail bars too. 

‘‘ Ryan.. I thought we were friends?’‘ She frowns, pouting her lips while fake wiping tears away. 

Ryan scoffs,shaking her head ever so slowly with a devilish grin on her face. “ We aren’t. Don’t let me catch you un-attended without your manager or body guard.. Isabel.’’

Isabel laughs one of her evil laughs, throwing her head back then coming back up, “ Oh how cute. Is this a threat from little ol’ you? Me and Jimin were doing just fine before your bestfriend had decided to enter his life again. I’m not the only bad guy here. She should know boundaries for taken men. Ex’s aren’t supposed to be firendly and lovey dovey. Spending nights and going everywhere with each other. Especially when one’s a famous idol with another idol girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

“ Maybe you should take that up with your hoe of a boyfriend. He’s the one who can’t leave her alone.” She yells, inches away from Isabel’s face. The two stare at each other long and hard. Isabel is no match for Ryan though.

The guard clears his throat to break the two’s glares. The tension is thick in the air.

“ If you ever touch yn again, I’ll make sure you’re the one in the hospital this time around.”

‘‘ You’ll all see. I’ll win this court case. Trust me… there’s things you do not know.” 

Ryan rolls her eyes, strutting her way out the room with the sound of her heels clicking right behind her. Consider the message recieved. 

It’s been one week after the situation. In which in between those days you were dismissed from the hospital and have been in at Jimin’s house ever since. You didn’t want to be here. You want to be at home with your cat, Clara. Jungkook’s been going over to feed and play with her. Jimin kept pleading for you not to return home just yet because it could be a danger to you. It makes sense. You never know what Isabel has up her sleeve. 

So you’ve been sitting here doing the same old thing everyday. Eat, watch movies and netflix tv shows,  sleep, and repeat.

Jimin would come in and out of his home studio to check in on you. He still has to work on producing and singing his songs. He’d bring the food and your medicine he prepared per usual,  kiss your forehead, and go right back out to producing his highly anticipated album.

It all seems fake to you. Something is off. Something is not being told to you. You can feel it in your gut but can’t put a finger on it.

‘‘ This is so cliche.’‘ You murmur to yourself, switching the flat-screen T.V off.

And as if on cue Jimin comes inside your- well his room with a glass of water and prescribed pain killers for you. The slight smile on his face makes you want to smile but you don’t.

‘‘ Smile for ocne yn. Do you not like staying here?’‘ He says, sitting next to you on the side of the bed and places the glass in your hands.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, taking the two pills out of his palm. “ No.. but be honest with me Jimin okay?”

His face turns a quick shade of pink then pale as if you had said the wrong choice of words at the wrong time. As if he had seen a ghost at this very moment. That’s not a good sign at all.

‘‘ Are you.. hiding something from me?’‘

The atmosphere is thick and silence fills the room. You don’t say anything and he doesn’t either. Your eyes meet his and for once they don’t pull away first. 

Jimin doesn’t know how to break it to you though. It’s now or never.

‘‘ She will never leave me.”

You bite your lip hard, “ What do you mean?”

“ That she said that she’d do everything to ruin our relationship if we continue to persue one. She’d spready rumors about you to Dispatch. Make a scene whenver you’re near me. Anything she can do, she will do it.”

You don’t know how to take this all in. You knew Isabel was possesive but not this possesive. The thought of her doing things on purpose for you to make everyone hate you makes you want to cry. To just bawl your eyes out right here right now. You can’t.. you won’t do it. 

You won’t give in because thats what she wants. To make you cry. To ruin your reputation and work. Jimin came back into your life and of course you don’t know what to do or how to deal with it. But this is what you wanted right? You’ve been longing for you and him to get a second chance. It’s you. You’re the one who’s been putting things off and not letting things go with the flow. Maybe he came back to you because he realized how wrong he was for cheating on you. For leaving you behind. For not seeing things for truly how it is. 

You knew Isabel was bad luck from the beginning. Now is the time to try and take back what was originally yours. That will hurt her more than ever. 

“ She needs to have a reality check. Not everything revolves around her.”

‘‘ I agree. Putting her behind bars might give her a reality check. It should serve her right for harming people.” Jimin sighs. 

The silence is thick. You both don’t know what to say and it’s sure as hell awkward more than ever right now. Until that silence breaks. 

‘‘ I feel like you aren’t being your true self to me. If we are getting things out now.” 

His sudden comment makes you lift your head up from playing with the comforter. “ What do you mean?’’

‘‘ You.. don’t want to take actions on what you feel, say, or want to do with or about me. It’s killing me inside.”

He’s right. You do try to push your feelings aside no matter what the cause is. It’s just you trying to not set yourself up for hearbreak again. You do want him. You do want everything to do with him. Considering the things that happened in the past, it’s no doubt theres a fence guarding your heart from intruders. 

You exhale out heavily, “ Im just.. scared.’’

‘‘ Of? “

‘‘ Being hurt again.”

Dead silence again. This time he’s the one trying to come up with words to redirect your view of him. Yes, he broke your heart in the worst way possible. He wants you to see he’s changed. 

Jimin bites his lip, voice shaky when he begins talking again. ‘‘ How can I show you that i’m not the same anymore. Im not I promise you. I want you to see I have changed. I know it’s my fault. I destroyed you but let me fix it.”

It’s all come down to this. You’ve wanted this and now is the chance to get it. Now is the chance to have what was once yours. But the feeling of doubt had taken its course on you at the worst time.

‘‘ Jimin.. how do I know that for sure?’‘ You say, unintentionally fluttering your eyes at him. To you it’s to prevent from letting tears fall. 

Jimin see’s it as that specific thing you used to do when you wanted him. When you craved him and would drop hints. To be completely honest, you do crave him. You do want him. Make-up sex was something you two used to do often. It was your toxic way of saying im sorry. 

Somehow you want to put that toxic thing into action right now. As fucked up as it is, that’s how you two know you’re sorry towards each other. Actions speak louder than words. 

He closes his eyes for a quick second before clenching his jaw to contain himself. Your weak spot.

‘‘ Stop doing that. Unless you want to start something you don’t want to finish.” 

You smile just a little, hoping he’d get the memo. “ What if I do want to start and finish it..”

As if a car alarm went off, Jimin’s eyes pop back open with a suprised look. That’s the last thing he’d thought he’d be hearing from you. “ Are you sure about that? I mean we don’t have t-”

You lean in closer to where you guys are inches apart, his lips softly rubbing against yours. “ I’m all for it.”

Within seconds, Jimin’s shirt is removed off of you only revealing your blue panties which have became a little soaked with your wetness. He takes in the scent of you before his mouth connects with your thighs, slightly sucking to leave bruises on you.

‘‘ Jimin.. don’t tease me.”  You sigh, laying fully down to spread your legs even more. He hums against your skin making you catch chills up and down your spine.

‘‘ That’s my specialty baby. You know that.” He trails a kiss with each word all the way down to your core where he dips a finger inside. You tense up attempting to close your legs. He doesn’t allow it, spreading them open harshly again. 

‘’ Jimin-’‘ You barely utter before he begins to move his fingers in and out of you slowly. You let out a whine to try and make him go faster but it doesn’t work.

He comes up to your mouth and plants a wet, sloppy kiss. “ No whining. You’re gonna get what you want. Just relax baby.”

Is all he tells you before he goes back down to your core to tend to your desires.

The first lick between your legs is ever so gentle. Too gentle for you right now considering that you want release badly and Jimin knew exactly that. He opens his mouth and swirls his tongue up and down your slit. A groan leaves his mouth once he gets a taste of you which sends a vibration to your sensitive bud.

Each time his tongue laps against you your body jerked and shook but that only makes his tongue go faster. Sending you into a moaning and groaning mess as you tug on his hair.

“Mmh you even taste the same like always.” He moans with a smirk.

“Jimin please-” you cry out, locking your fingers into his hair when a finger is inserted into your dripping wet hole.

‘‘ No whining babygirl.’‘ His voice gentle as ever when he removes the finger inside of you making you pout a little. But that pout soon turned into your eyes becoming wide when he starts to take off his shirt, then grey sweatpants, then his underwear where his thick cock springs up.

Your eyes can’t leave his body. God it’s been a while. He looks pretty damn good. You wan’t to take all of his length in your mouth right now. To hear him praise you about how good your mouth feels against him. God you want it right now. 

He gives it a few strokes before walking over to you. Just before hovering over you, he gives you a passionate kiss while lifting up your legs and positioning them to his liking. Missionary.

The tip of him pokes at the entrance of you, teasing in and out. Soon enough he enters you slowly making both of you moan together.

You still wrap and fit around his member smug as ever, and he could not believe it. The feeling of familiarity of being inside you sends him into a moaning mess with each stroke. You can’t contain your moans and screams. He feels way too good. 

Jimin begins to deep-stroke you by pulling all the way out and slamming back in. You scream his name out in pleasure as your nails scratch up his toned back. Wet sounds fill the room with him picking up his pace. You take a glimpse of him only to admire his figure right now. Forehead forming sweat beads while he groans and moans biting his plump pink lips.

Your breathing becomes faster when that familiar feeling soon starts to take over. You turn your head to the side and let out a string of moans. Jimin isn’t having that though. His hand grabs your face gently and makes you make eye contact with him. Your legs start shaking as your head tilts back moans getting more faster. You finally let out one last one in sync with him, his hot sperm shoots inside of you.

Jimin pulls out, breathing heavily and collapses ontop of you. You let out a small grunt with the sudden extra body upon you, then giggle at him when he lays his head lays against your chest. This is what you wanted. He’s true. He’s sorry. 

‘’ I love you.”

That word surprises you. You weren’t prepared for it. Somehow though, you enjoy the fact that he’s said it to you. Love. Jimin’s love. Your love. 

‘’ I love you much more Jimin.’’ 

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

Can you write one where the reader surprise vinnie on his bday like the readee said that she cant go to his bday bc of something

*Pics not mine*

Birthday boy – Vinnie Hacker

Sooooo… I decided to turn this request into a smut 👁👅👁  If you are not comfortable, don’t worry you can read the first half of the story before it gets to heated. I got carried away, sorry 😬 Hope you enjoy it still

Author’s note: In this story, both the reader and Vinnie are of legal drinking age, and the pandemic is long over

Warning: Smut 🔥

Word Count: 1.9k (not proofread)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘’ I know you’re disappointed Vinnie, I am too, but we’re not done filming yet” you said to your boyfriend over the phone. You had been away to Canada for the past month, shooting for a movie with other young actors. You loved your job, but being away from the people you loved the most, was difficult.

“Can’t you take a couple of days off?” He asked almost whining

“It doesn’t work like that Vin” you sighed, you knew he was sad “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I promise” you continued, smiling softly, even though he couldn’t see you.

“I just miss you, and the fact that you won’t be here for my birthday sucks” he huffed “I know it’s not your fault”

“I miss you too” you said before getting interrupted by a knock on the door. “I have to go baby, we’re getting ready to film, I’ll call you later, I love you”

“Ok, I love you” he responded before you hung up, making your way to set. Tomorrow was your last day of filming before a two-weeks break. You hadn’t told Vinnie, wanting to surprise him for his birthday, since it was a last-minute decision from the movie director. You were stocked to go back to L.A to see your friends for a few days. You had decided that for Vinnie’s birthday, you would plan a nice trip away from everything, just the two of you. You had talked with Thomas and Mia, knowing you could trust them with your secret. They had kept you up to date on everything, including the party schedule.

You would see him in only two days, and you couldn’t wait to be near him. You missed everything about your boyfriend, his hugs, his kisses, his voice, his laugh, his touch, oh how you missed his touch. A month away from each other wasn’t an easy task since the both of you were always together. He hadn’t had the chance to come visit you on set since he had a bunch of contracts and projects to work on, himself.

The day finally came for you to go back home to Vinnie, and you couldn’t be more excited. He didn’t suspect anything since you had called him that morning, wishing him a Happy Birthday.

“Thomas said you sent me a package, but I’m not allowed to open it till later tonight” he had said, loving that even though you couldn’t be with him on his special day, you had still thought about sending him something.

“I believe you can wait a few more hours” you had smiled, looking at him through your phone screen. The FaceTime call lasted for another fifteen minutes before you had to go

“Ok baby, I’ll call you back later tonight so we can open your gift together, have a good day, I love you”you had said looking at the time, knowing you had to leave soon to make it to your flight in time

“I love you too (Y/N)” he smiled fondly at you “See you tonight” he had said

��See you tonight” You had chuckled, before hanging up. He was on for a big surprise and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

You texted Mia when you landed. The plan was to sneak you into the house without him noticing, so you could get ready. The boys had finished working out, your boyfriend going to take a shower before the party started. It was the perfect time to go in, following Mia to hers and Thomas’s bedroom.

“I’m so glad you’re here” she said excitedly “He’s going to be so happy to see you (Y/N)” she continued, jumping up and down. “I’ll let you get ready, people are starting to arrive” she said before exiting the door.

You decided to scroll through your phone for a bit before getting ready for the party. Vinnie had just posted a new TikTok of him in the shower, like always, but that was enough to make you melt at the sight of him.

To: Mon Amour❤️👅

Still on set, just saw your TikTok. 👀

How can one human be so handsome 😩 it’s not fair

He had responded soon after, making you smile, while making your way to take a shower as well. When you got out, you could already hear the music blasting downstairs, indicating the party had started. You finished getting ready and texted Thomas to distract your boyfriend while you went to join the girls in the living room. You made sure to stand close to him and his friends, but still far enough to observe him without him noticing you right away.

“Vin, that girl’s been looking at you for the past ten minutes man” Jordan had said, smirking as he saw you on the other side of the room

“Yeah and?” he answered, shrugging his shoulders not turning to look at the girl in question

“She kind of look like (Y/N) if you ask me” his friend had retorted, making the birthday boy stare at the group of girls, spotting you immediately, almost running towards you, smiling widely at the sight of you.

“Is that really you?” he asked, his eyes wide and mouth still agape, you chuckled, pulling him into a hug

“Happy Birthday baby” you murmured in his ear, leaving a kiss below it, the action making him shiver.

“I can’t believe you’re here” he responded, hugging you tightly, before detaching himself a little bit to stare into your eyes. He had this ability to make you melt just by looking at you. He moved his face closer to yours, kissing you passionately. His lips were soft and demanding, he wanted more, and you knew he had missed you as much as you’d missed him.

“Get a room you guys” Michael said, passing the both of you, making you laugh against each other before detaching yourselves. He grabbed your hand, leading you to the beer pong table, where Connor and Calvin were playing and drinking.

It had been an hour since you reunited with Vinnie, and you were still near the beer pong table, talking and laughing with the others. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, scared that if he did, you would disappear. His arms were around your shoulders, staring at the way your mouth was moving while speaking to Michael and Alex.

“Hey yo Vinnie, you’re still with us?” Alex had said, making your boyfriend diverted his gaze towards him, sipping on his red solo cup

“Yeah” he chuckled lightly “Sorry” the boys laughed at him, knowing damn well he was only paying attention to you.

“You’re up next birthday boy” you said, nodding towards the table, where two team had just done playing. You all moved towards the beer pong table, Vinnie playing with Michael and Alex playing with Kouvr. You stayed next to them, watching the scene in front of you. Vinnie was having so much fun, laughing and drinking with his friends, he would often take a glance at you to make sure, you were ok. Alex and Kouvr were losing, Michael laughing at them and Vinnie getting almost every shot he took.

You got lost in the moment, just admiring him, and the way he looked extra good tonight. Even under his white t-shirt, you could see every muscle of him flex. His large hands grasping the ball before shooting it into the cup, making him celebrate the victory with Michael. He caught you staring at him and came right back to stand in front of you.

“Everything’s ok baby?” he asked you, smirking, knowing what it did to you. After a few seconds of silence, he took your hand in his, as you followed him upstairs. He led you towards his bedroom, but you were surprised when he went in and continued walking towards the connected bathroom, closing the door behind you. You stood there, leaning against the counter, Vinnie taking a few steps closer to you, standing centimeters away from your face. His lips found yours quickly, taking control of your mouth easily, your tongues dancing and battling together, Vinnie deepening the kiss. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he pulled away, and redirected his kisses on your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, making you let out a small moan.

“Fuck, I missed you (Y/N)” he murmured against you, pressing his lower half to your aching core. Your hands travelled to his hair, tugging lightly, something you knew he loved for you to do.

“I want you Vin” you whispered in his ears, making him grunt, before he turned you around quickly, making you both look at your reflection in the mirror. You could feel him get impatient, as he pressed his hard member against your covered ass. One of his hands rested on your hip as the other slid down your back, forcing you down into a bending position. You reached down to the end of your dress, lifting it up, for Vinnie to get a better view. He ran a hand through your hair, fisting them, grasping and pulling them gently. A loud moan left your lips at the action, making you back up into him, as he started to grind into you, over and over again.

“V-Vinnie” you mumbled, as he snaked his hand slowly into your damp underwear, making you let out a sight of satisfaction. His skillful fingers found their way to your dripping fold, spreading your arousal on the rest of your needy core. Vinnie kept a steady pace, pumping in and out of you, making you scream in ecstasy. You had been craving his touch for a month now and you couldn’t contain yourself anymore.

“Fuck me already” you said, wanting to feel more of him than his fingers. He bit his lips at the sight of you, begging for more, before yanking your panties down your legs in a quick motion. He unbuttoned his pants quickly, making them drop to the floor, his erection springing free on his covered stomach. He pumped himself a few times, before lining himself at your entrance, your eyes meeting his reflection, your pussy throbbing at what was about to happen. He grabbed your hips, pushing all the way in, your broken moans filling is ears, feeling your tightness around him.

“You’re so tight” he whimpered as you moaned, reaching back to grab onto him. He began to piston his hips harder against yours, making you yelp out in pleasure and surprise, feeling your orgasm approaching. His hand laid a hard smack on your ass, as you bit your bottom lips, trying to contain your moans. You could feel Vinnie’s trusts getting sloppier, indicating he was close as well.

“I’m so close” he almost didn’t hear you. His hand trailed down the front of your body, snaking his fingers down your swollen clit, rubbing it perfectly to bring you over the edge. Your legs started shaking, Vinnie pumping in and out of you, as he rode your orgasm. You clenched around him and the action was enough to make him cum, himself, spilling his loads into you, groaning loudly.

Once you were done, he helped you clean the mess the both of you had made, laughing lightly as you both got dressed.

“Best surprise ever” he said, smiling as he kissed your temple.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading

Hope you liked it, let me know what you think

-K

[hewhofightsbythesword]

precious cargo: part two - thomas shelby x Hispanic reader

“Family meeting. Now.” Thomas Shelby called out as he entered the Garrison’s snug.

At the sound of this voice, Aunt Polly could tell her nephew was once again up to no good. But then again when was he not? “Thomas Shelby has had an idea once again. Watch out.”

“Tommy, I’m not doing that again. I will not be made a fool for you. I said the last time was the last time and I meant it,” Finn stood his ground prematurely.

Ada scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. “Jesus Christ, Thomas. What the hell are you doing to our poor Finn?”

“What? No, not that,” Tommy waves off the youngest Shelby brother. “I’ve received a call all the way from America.”

“What the fuck do the Americans want from us, brother? What did you do?” Arthur accuses.

Tommy stands up and rubs his eyes in frustration. “Everyone fucking listen to me. No more interruptions. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can end this family meeting.” Silence filled in the room for a few seconds. “Now, as I was saying: I got a call from America, but it wasn’t the Americans. The Mexican mafia called, and they’re calling in a favor.” A big fucking favor, Thomas thinks to himself.

“You are just the gift that keeps on giving. First the Russians and now the Mexicans.” Polly shakes her head.

“What do we know about them? Can we even trust them?” Arthur asks.

Thomas ignores his aunt. “The Mexican mafia is ruled by the y/l/n family. They go by la familia. Recently, they started several expansions into America. The Don’s people called me some nights ago about his daughter, y/n.”

“y/n y/l/n. I know her,” Michael says.

Tommy doesn’t bother to look at his cousin, slightly annoyed he knew more than he did. “And what is it that our Michael knows that we don’t, eh?” Thomas keeps a stoic stare at the wall in front of him.

“We met during one of my business trips to New York. She recognized our name, said her family owned some businesses near the ones we do. We never kept in touch, but I’ve heard stories about her.”

“What kind of stories?” Ada asked, half afraid for the answer. Just like everyone else in the room, she knew how much her big brother could never resist a challenge that guaranteed some danger. Add in a pretty face and Thomas was lost.

“I hear she’s taking over after Don, not the eldest brother, Santiago.” Arthur feeling this Santiago’s pain from an ocean away stood to pour himself a drink in hopes to mask his suffering.

“And you know what, Tommy?” Michael continued to press him, “She reminded me of you.”

“That’s enough.” Polly places a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Go on, Thomas.”

“She had a run in with some Italians in New York, more specifically Enzo Changretta.” The atmosphere in the room stiffens. “She alone has received the black hand and needs protection.”

“Why have these meetings if you already very clearly have made up your mind?” Polly spits.

“So I can say to all of you that y/n y/l/n is on her way as we speak.” Sounds of disapproval rang out through the snug.

“Fuck, Tommy. This isn’t some backstreet gang. It's the Changretta's. Look around you. John is not here. Michael almost died. You almost died. What can the Mexicans do for us that we can’t already do for ourselves?” The voice of reason called out.

“I have me reasons.” He takes a heavy drag from his cigarette.

“And of course you won’t share what any of them are with any of us.” Ada crosses her arms against her chest.

“La familia are not the kind of people we want to owe favors to, Polly,” he points to her, “It’s better if they owe us. If they owe us, we control the narrative and we have ourselves a new ally. As we all know, allies come in short supply these days.”

“And?” Polly eggs on.

“And they’re fucking rich.” Michael reveals before Tommy can.

“And they’re fucking rich,” Tommy echos, “The y/l/n’s own the majority of their country’s petroleum businesses. They help supply America, except the Italians are now threatened.”

“Who the hell made it your job to play the middleman?”

“It is not my job. It is our investment.” Thomas, having enough of his family’s obvious disapproval, stands up to leave for the night. “y/n y/l/n is coming and we will all protect our investment.”

Over the next few days, all Tommy could think about was you and about your family. He wondered how you would look, how you would talk. Were you any different from the few Americans he has met? Thomas does not recall a time he has met someone from Mexico. You were obviously smart; smart enough to move large amounts of petroleum from your home country to America. His sources told him it was all your doing, all your strategy. He couldn’t help but to think if perhaps Michael was right. Was there some truth to his teasing? She reminded me of you, he remembers.

And of course Thomas Shelby wouldn’t be Thomas Shelby if he didn’t entertain the idea of the y/l/n’s making up a story to take his ever-growing empire. The chances were low, sure, but not zero.

Thankfully Tommy no longer had to torture his mind with any more questions and hypothetical situations about his soon-to-be visitor. Today was the day y/n arrived in Birmingham. His men would be there for your arrival so that they could escort you to Arrow House. Tommy figured only the best for his best investment.

Upon your arrival, the first thing Tommy Shelby noticed about you was your demeanor. You walked in his home with your head high and squared back shoulders. There was not a single trace of worry or fear coming from your face, at least none Tommy could clock. Anyone who could see you would not know there was a mafia hit on your head. But then again, they would also not know you were soon to head your own mafia. When he first heard of you, he didn’t know you were rich. When he did know, he didn’t know exactly by how much. Standing before him, all Tommy knew was y/n y/l/n was rich by a fuck ton. That was just the immediate aura you gave off.

Maids automatically surrounded you, taking your luggage and coat. Even through the crowd surrounding you, your eyes could be found fixating one thing only. Blue. So much fucking blue, you think to yourself. Your eyes never left who you could only assume was Thomas Shelby. And you knew you would not get far in this unfamiliar country with only assumptions. As soon as the crowd cleared up, you decided to take initiative.

“Hello, you must be Thomas Shelby. I’m y/n y/l/n.” He shakes your outreached hand.

“Please, call me Tommy.” His deep voice rings out, demanding to be heard as always.

“Tommy,” you say, trying out the name on your tongue. Tommy kept his eyes on you and no other words were exchanged, a comfortable silence falling upon the two strangers. “Tommy?”

“Yes?” He manages to croak out.

“Do you think I could have my hand back?” Tommy still enveloped his rather large hand in your small one.

Quickly, he drops your hand in embarrassment as if he had just been burned. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the warmth of your palm leaving him rather fast. He has met many rich people. Too many, his Aunt polly would say. But none like him. None like you.  

“Why don’t we go to my office and have a drink. We can talk there.”

Tommy wasn’t one to show any facial expressions, you soon realize, but it was all in his words. It was in that moment you knew Tommy Shelby didn’t like to ask for things, even as simple as a drink. He demanded. In your world full of coke, guns, and sicarios, you were used to being the one to make the demands. Given almost any other circumstance, you would have taken action against it, but not now. Not to Tommy. All your feet could do was follow him.

“Tell me everything leading to the black hand.” He demands again as he hands you a glass of whiskey. “What do the Italians want with you other than have you dead?”

“They want what’s mine,” you simply say as you hand him the black hand letter.

“The petroleum businesses?” He asks. His eyes skim over Enzo’s signature.

“That’s not all. We also deal guns in large quantities to our allies. For the past year or so we’ve moved both the legal and illegal side of our businesses to America. We cross state lines where the Italians reside. At first, we were warned. Didn’t listen. They tried to rough up a few of my men. Didn’t work. None of it will work,” you say that last part a little more to yourself than Tommy.

There was something eerie about receiving the black hand. To you, it was all bad vibes. It was the malo ojo. It carried evil energy and a haunting presence. This was something Tommy knew too. Although he would have different opinions on what it carried, it was all the same feeling in the end: eery.

“Are you armed?” He goes to reach for one of his cabinets behind his desk.

“No, I have men for that. The sicarios do the killing.” He slides the gun across the desk. All you could do was stare at the weapon and so could Tommy. His eyes would switch to the gun, then to you, then back to the untouched gun. “We’re living in modern times, Tommy.”

“You are free to conduct the appropriate business here as long as you have that gun and my men too.”

“I just said I have my own men. I don’t need your Peaky boys following me too. Thomas, it was never about your protection.”

Tommy’s eyebrow slightly rises, starting to feel irritated. The motive was now clear to Tommy. It was never about the Peaky Blinders protection but about the land. The y/l/n’s had the potential of being a superpower to the world because of their oil. If they really wanted to, they could knock a few Italian heads on the way. They just couldn’t do it in America. The American government was so different and so were its people.

The Yankees still believed in their government and what was right and what was wrong. And killing was wrong. The Mexicans were too gruesome, too brutal. All you and your family wanted to do was eliminate the threat, and its name was Enzo Changretta. Mexico would want the whole family, women and children alike. In Birmingham, the cops were dirty; all paid by and loyalty to Thomas Shelby. You knew the value of loyalty, thus you knew the value of Birmingham. It wasn’t a city. It was fucking empire, and in his empire killng was allowed.

“You want to draw them out and kill them on my land.”

You down your drink in one large sip, letting out a soft sigh. “Sometimes, Tommy,” so we’re back to Tommy, “killing is a kindness.”

Michael was wrong. y/n was not like Tommy Shelby. Right then and there, he decided you were an extension to himself. You were Tommy Shelby.

“You are still in clear danger.” He yells out to you as you leave his office and the gun behind.

“And I still prefer my bullets over your razor blades.”

It was never about your protection.

Tag List: @apollonshootafar

[jeonqquk]

tattooing | jjh

Pairing- Jaehyun X Reader

Genre/ Tags- fluff, crack, bi jaehyun, lucas royally fucks up, tattooing

Age rating- 13+

Word count- 2.6k words

Summary- Tattooing doesn’t go as planned.

POV- Third person

Your whining wasn’t gonna get you anywhere, you were well aware of the fact. But you supposed that you might as well give it a shot. The ‘it’ here being the fact that you really wanted Jaehyun to get a tattoo. It wasn’t that you wanted to somehow blackmail Jae into getting a tattoo. Oh god, no. You’d never want that. It was just that you had always been fond of tattoos, the meaningful ones, not the totally unnecessary, really weird looking, out of the world ones. Jaehyun with a tattoo would be fucking hot though, that was just a plus point- not the main reason as to why you wanted him to get one. 

You were thinking a sweet quote or something, but that would only be possible of he was willing to get one.

“Jae, baby, what do you think about getting a tattoo?” your boyfriend of 3 years sighs, rubbing his hand on your knee that had been placed on his thigh. “I don’t know..maybe later. Why are you so intent on me getting a tattoo though?” he wiggles his eyebrows, suggestively or whatever, and you look at him in confusion, trying your level best to stop the blood threatening to creep up your cheeks. You clear your throat and reply simply “I feel like a tattoo would be beautiful. Just permanently inked onto your skin. It should be something purposeful though. I don’t want you going bald and tattooing a zipper on your scalp.” 

A snort is heard from him “Don’t worry, I’m not going bald. Although it’s a very tempting idea.” Rolling your eyes at his lame comment, you sit up and move over to cuddle closer to him on the couch. He wraps his left arm around you “Why don’t you get a tatto Y/n?” he questions and you look up at him in mild shock. Well, you could get a tattoo. You are of legal age and stuff but the thought had never crossed your mind. You don’t know why.

“....I could...” Jaehyun smiles, his dimples popping out and you can’t help but mirror the sweet action. “So why don’t you? We’re not even doing anything and I know for a fact that you have a lot of designs saved on your Pinterest board. Even if they were for me, you can try finding one that suits you too.”

Suddenly feeling giddy, you quickly grab your phone from the coffee table and unlock it, clicking on the app you needed. As you find the board, you see that you’ve gained 18 followers in the time span of 2 weeks. Huh.

As you scroll through the pins of small intricate designs that could be engraved onto a finger or hand, Jaehyun points out one that looked like watercolour art and was in the form of a small flower with red petals. It did look quite cute, to be honest. “Hmm, this does look nice. Won’t it look good on my collarbone?” Jaehyun nods in agreement “I was thinking that too.” Smiling up at him, you look into his eyes “Well, should I get this?” Your boyfriend chuckles at your excitement, and pats your head in adoration. “I know that you’re excited, sweetie. But don’t you wanna try looking at other designs before deciding?” Humming, you scroll a bit more as Jaehyun reads a novel. But you don’t find anything that captures your attention a lot. Sure the sweet quotes, couple tattoos and nature-related  designs are great ideas for a tattoo but you were set on the one with the rose.

Jaehyun coos when you tell him that, squishing your cheeks and telling you that the two of you could go to a shop tomorrow and get design inked onto your collarbone forever. 

It’s 9:28 am when you wake up from your slumber and turn to give Jaehyun who looks like he had also woken up just a few minutes ago a peck on his lips. His dimples are visible as he smiles and greets you. The two of you get up and freshen up before you’re sitting at the dining table to eat blueberry pancakes. 

The clock shows that it’s 10:30 am by the time you two leave the house and head for the tattoo store you had researched last night. It takes 15 minutes to reach said shop and Jaehyun parks the car before looking at you with concern evident on his face. “Y/n, you are sure about this right?” Smiling fondly at his worry, you keep your hand on his cheek “I’m sure Jae. Don’t worry.” One kiss is enough to relax him and you pull away before you get too carried away and end up dirtying his car again. Oops.

You enter the cosy shop hand-in-hand with Jaehyun and see someone sitting at the reception wearing an oversized blue shirt. Definitely not the vibes you had expected to get from a fucking tattoo parlour but oh well. You had expected everyone to be intimidating and were ready to hide behind Jaehyun as soon as you entered. But it seems as if that wasn’t happening because all you had deciphered from the shop called Inkphoric was that it was built in a way not to scare the people who had gathered the courage to even stop foot in it. 

The receptionist, she said her name was Nara, leads you both to a room in a corridor. Your hands are sweaty and thankfully she allows Jaehyun to go inside as well. When you’re seated on the chair comfortably, Jaehyun grabs a stool to sit beside you and you wait for the tattoo artist. The wait isn’t long because a minute later, a man who looks about your age is walking towards you all. His all black get-up matches the tattoos littering his arms and he also seems to have a piercing in his right ear, a silver dangling. 

“Hello, I’m Lucas. I’ll be tattooing…” he introduces himself and looks between the two of you, silently asking which one of you he would be tattooing. Honestly, you would have expected him to at least  know who he would be drawing on but quickly brush the thought off as you greet him, telling him that you would be the one getting the art onto her skin. He smiles cutely and nods, and you look at Jaehyun, his comforting smile relaxing your tense body. 

Nara talks to Lucas for a minute or so and then walks off, shooting you an encouraging smile before closing the door behind her. 

“So what is it that I’ll be tattooing onto you, ma’am?” Lucas speaks and you show him the image of the flower. Jaehyun is holding your left hand in his, the warmth seeping throughout your entire body and you’re grateful for Jae’s beautiful ability of being able to calm you down in only a matter of seconds- no matter how serious the situation would be. 

“Oh, that’s very pretty.” “Thank you.” you smile at him, and he prepares his stuff. You’re pulling down the hem of your shirt slightly and exposing part of your left collarbone, where you want your collarbone. 

Lucas says that he’s tracing the design out first and you wait patiently. 

“Now, don’t be scared. It’s gonna hurt at first, especially at the bone but it will soon go away. You can hold your boyfriend’s hand.” he instructs and gives you an encouraging look as Jaehyun moves to your  right to give Lucas space, his large hand completely enclosing yours. 

“Okay, here goes…” the sound of the gun whirring to life fills the room that has tattoo designs filling the wall. 

“Fuck!” your voice pierces through the air and you jolt from the sudden pain. It felt as if someone was impaling you with a sword- which was partly true- but they were doing it continuously. Jaehyun is shocked from your sudden movement and struggles to catch you in his arms. Lucas quickly tears the gun away from your neck and you whimper out, the pain searing through your entire being and Jaehyun tries shushing you, his attempts all going in vain. 

Shitshitshit. This is torture. It’s only the first touch of the needle against your skin and you’re already this close to crying. How the fuck do people get those huge ass tattoos?! Trying your best to calm down and ignore the pain spreading throughout your entire being, you squeeze Jaehyun’s hand hard enough for it to pain but you don’t really care at this point, the throbbing of your collarbone enough to send you flying. He’s stood up from the stool by now, standing behind you.

“Okay..sorry sorry, you can continue.” you whisper out and clamp your lips shut so as to not let out any more weird noises. You’re sweating by the time Lucas gets the gun closer to you and bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood when the feeling of the needle pressing against your skin fills you up again.

Holy heck, I can’t do this. 

Your face is an accurate representation of agony, your entire body tensing as Lucas tattoos your collarbone with his long hair slightly brushing against your neck. You try leaning your head back and lean against Jaehyun. He’s whispering soft comforting words as countless profanities leave your mouth and you feel sad for Lucas, having to hear the shit you were spewing. 

“It’s alright, baby. Just think about other things, happy things.” your boyfriend pecks your cheek and hugs you lightly, trying not to disturb Lucas.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale inh-

“I think I just popped a boner.”

You gasp. Lucas chokes. He moves. You shriek.

“Ah, shit!” the gun’s needle scraped against your skin, it was all so sudden. The pain suddenly shoots throughout your entire body, tears filling your eyes. Nononono. 

“Jesus! It’s paining too much!” you’re sobbing by now, Lucas is frantic and Jaehyun..well..he is burning. He’s too busy regretting all his choices to even notice what’s happening around him. Jaehyun bends down to fix his problem and emerges 5 minutes later, when you’re still twisting in torment. Everything is red, your lip being abused by your teeth in order to calm down.

“Y/n! Ma’am! I’m so sorry! Shit, no!” Lucas apologises and sprints over to get a cloth to wipe something you feel trickling down your chest now. Blood. You’re bleeding. 

Writhing in agony in your seat, you clench your hands as if that would somehow reduce the sting, and pant, trying to relax. Your eyes are widened at an attempt of keeping it all in but the throbbing just doesn’t seem to dissipate.

Oh God…

Lucas is now carefully dabbing at the source of blood with panic written clearly all on his face. You look at Jaehyun through the ache to see that he is now coming back to reality and upon seeing your state, a gasp tears his throat and he’s looking at you with his eyes widened. 

The distress prevents you from speaking properly but you manage to call out, “J-Jaehy..Jaehyun.” Said man is desperately looking between your blood gushing out and your face twisted in discomfort. He figures it out and as soon as he does, takes your whimpering form into his, murmuring endless apologies and if you could, you would stop him from saying that but the sting is still there, only lessening a tad bit.

It’s hell, trying to clean the blood away and getting it sorted out. You cried a bit during the process as well but you were perfectly entitled to do that, the gun had pierced your skin quite deep when Lucas had jolted upon hearing what Jae suddenly said. 

30 minutes later, you’re hiccupping slightly and trying to breathe normally after the mad incident. Surprisingly, no one had come in during that time and you were thankful for that, not having wanted anybody to see the mess that had been caused because of Jaehyun’s unexpected confession. Speaking of which, you wince and turn around to look at him and when his eyes meet yours, ask him what he meant “What was that about you popping a boner?” the incredulity just hit you now and you wait for his response impatiently.

“Nothing babe...just forget it. I’m so sorry for saying it so randomly, though. I should’ve thought before speaking. I’m so careless.” the look on his face melts  and you are about to pull him into your chest when you realise that you can’t.

The pain has subsided by now, it’s bearable and you turn to look at Lucas who- when he catches your gaze- immediately walks over to you and starts speaking. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry! That was so sudden and I messed up your tattoo. It’s all my fault, please forgive me if possible.” he looks scared, and you understand why. He probably thinks you’ll sue him or something but you weren’t planning on doing anything of the sort. “It’s alright Lucas. I’m also not gonna tell anyone. We’ll just tell everyone that as soon as the gun touched me, I chickened out and told you to stop.” you keep your hand on his head that’s bowed and he looks up. There are tears brimming his eyes and you don’t know if it’s out of fear or the fact that he genuinely feels terrible for what he did. It really wasn’t his fault anywhere though. You didn’t understand why he was so stressed. 

“I’m sorry Lucas, I just said something stupid without even thinking before. You don’t need to take nay of the blame.” Jaehyun’s voice fills the room and Lucas’ features relax a little before he smiles forcefully. “Well, if your cuts get better, then maybe I can continue the design?” he jokes and you laugh along, knowing all too well that you wouldn’t be coming here again. Your first tattoo and this had happened.

“So do you wanna tell me about that boner-popping now? Lucas isn’t even here.” you’re sitting at the dining table, having just finished your dinner with empty bowls of pasta in front of each of you. Jaehyun shifts slightly in his seat and you wonder if you made him uncomfortable, although you don’t understand why- the reason couldn’t have been that  bad. As soon as you start to backtrack, Jaehyun’s voice is heard.

“Well..just..you know when you were getting the tattoo?” you nod slightly “Lucas was just, his black clothes..and he was bending over and I don’t know. You were whimpering..” “So the scene was too hot and you popped a boner?” you complete his sentence and he meekly nods before you’re howling with laughter, almost falling iff the chair and forgetting about the pain around your collarbone. The bisexual in Jaehyun was showing and he was afraid to admit it, you don’t now why. He had told you about this when you started dating, and you were totally fine with  it, because you knew that he wouldn’t cheat on you. 

“Hey..” your boyfriend half-heartedly attempts to stop you but you’re too far gone to realise that he may be feeling bad. When your laughing fit is over, though, you look at him for any trace of sadness but are relieved to see that he’s only blushing lightly, his dimples showing when he smiles. 

“So, do you wanna get a  tattoo now?” the answer is obvious, given the fact that today did not go as planned. You’re surprised when he answers.

“I don’t think so. My body is a shrine and a tattoo will take away its chastity.”

“Shrine indeed.”

Ty for reading! Yes lmao ik the ending is weird asf, as is the entire story, but nvm

Feedback is always appreciated!

this was supposed to be a drabble for jae’s birthday 😭excuse the typos they’re terrible and i’m literally the most impatient living being you’ll ever encounter

also, the shop name lmao i just got it from google- not creative i know

Tagging: @neoculturedtrash , @jeongjeffrey , @orange-lemon-cross , @nanasimp , @bluejaem​

[daveed-diggs-imagines]

A Little Illegal: Daveed x fem!reader

Smut! 18+ reccomended 

warnings: rough sex, large age gap, professor-student relationship

Summary: A highschool senior begins taking college courses. She never thought she’d enjoy her new professor so much...

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You had worked hard and kept your grades up to start taking some college classes throughout your senior year to get credits. You had signed up for any government or history-related classes you could get in hopes of filling your mind with as much information as possible before you graduate. You didn’t know many students who had signed up for the same classes as you which only heightened your anxiety. Not to mention the horror stories you had heard from some of the other students who had dealt with some of these professors before. You just hoped if you did the work and kept quiet it wouldn’t be a problem.

The bus that was transporting you and some other students arrived and harshly jerked to a stop. You stood up incredibly unconfidently and grabbed your bag. You shuffled off the dulled yellow ride and followed the small map you had in your hand. Luckily, you weren’t running late and were ahead of what was previously planned by ten minutes. You weave your way through puzzled kids and easily find your room. No one else is around so you nervously turn the handle and walk-in.

The first thing you notice is a tall man with glasses and amazing natural hair. He is not focused on you as he scribbles notes down on a post-it.

“U-um, hi,” you stutter, causing the man to look up. “You are Mr. Diggs, correct?”

“Uh, yeah, and you are?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face. He hadn’t seen you on campus before.

“I’m y/n l/n, it’s nice to meet you,” you say, walking over and reaching out your hand for him to shake.

“Ah, are you new here?”

“Yeah, in a sense,” You laugh, assuming he already knew you were with the high school.

“Well then y/n, come by my office after class and I can give you the rundown of this place, yeah?” he suggests.

“Yeah, that would be wonderful, thank you, Mr. Diggs.”

“Daveed is fine,” he says. “ ‘Mr. Diggs’ doesn’t sound right coming from your mouth.”

“Oh yeah, of course Daveed,” You say, deciding you like the way his name sounds rolling off your tongue. You turn away from him and walk over to the plethora of seats. Damn, she has a nice ass too.

“Sit here,” Daveed says, walking up behind you and pointing towards one in the front row.

“Are you sure?” you ask, not knowing if you want to be right in the middle of everything.

“You seem like you’ll be a great addition to this class and I don’t want to miss your thoughts,” he simply states, watching you sit down and pull out your laptop seemingly ready to take notes.

“Prepared, I like it.”

“Eh, I guess, I’m still pretty nervous though,” you admit, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Don’t be. I’m always here if you need anything.”

He finishes talking as you hear the door burst open, several people coming in. Most of them rowdy and of the male gender.

“Gentlemen,” Daveed says, nodding at the group.

“Ayyy, it’s Diggs,” one of them yells, slamming his stuff down next to you. A look of irritation forms on your new professor's face at the sound of his voice.

All of the group follows the leader and set their bags and themselves down around you. You’re nervous at their actions knowing that they didn’t seem the most trustworthy.

“Hey, who are you?” one of them asks, leaning closer.

“Someone that wants you to leave them alone.”

“Ooh, c’mon, just play along, yeah?” he smiles, hand now resting closer to yours.

“No thanks, I’m okay,” you tell him, hoping he’ll take a hint.

“Yeah right, you sat right in the middle in the front row. You love this attention, don’t lie,” he concludes, making his friends snicker. You jerk your hand away and sink back in your seat. You figure they aren’t going to stop so ignoring them seems like the best option.

“Aww, c’mon, I just wanna have a little fun,” he says, hand now resting on your knee.

You all hear someone loudly clear their voice and everyone’s head jerks up.

“No means no,” Daveed declares, making direct eye contact with the boy who was previously harassing you. The boy doesn’t have a response as he crosses his arms and leans back.

“Why don’t you go sit somewhere else?” he more demands than suggests. Without a word, the group gets up and moves to a section in the back, far away from any authority figures.

“You good y/n?” Daveed asks, feeling guilty for telling you to sit up front for his selfish reasons.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little startled.”

He then grabs your bag and moves it over to a seat in the lower corner.

“The bulk of people sit in the middle so this way you shouldn’t be bothered,” he explains as you move over to sit down. He stares down at you for a moment.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I wouldn't have told you to sit there if I knew what they would do," he apologizes, running a hand over his hair.

“No, don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” you laugh. “Honestly, you would think they would be more mature.”

“Yeah, you would think.”

You had sat through the whole class and surprisingly wasn't bored to death. Even though most of it was just introductory, Daveed had a voice that was just captivating and you were looking forward to coming back. You shove everything into your bag before getting up and stretching. You begin to walk towards the door when you hear someone call your name. You turn around and see Daveed, having forgotten he wanted to talk with you in his office.

“You still want to talk?” He asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, great, just give me a quick second and I’ll meet you in there. You can make yourself comfortable while you wait,” he tells you gesturing towards a door off to the side.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” you respond, going over and walking in. Everything looks like a standard office. A desk with two chairs in front of it along with a couch towards the wall. Tons of books on shelves or stacked on stands. The atmosphere was romantic with the dim lighting and brown undertones set through the small space. There’s a hint of a woodsy smell that’s more calming than overwhelming.

After waiting for five minutes you begin to grow bored and gaze around from the seat you took in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Nothing new seems to pop out at you but curiosity still gets the best of you and you stand up and walk around the desk to snoop. All there seems to be is essays, not that you were expecting much else. The only thing that interests you is a spinny office chair the was positioned directly behind you. So what other choice is there besides sitting down and well, spinning?

You can’t help but laugh at how childish you must seem as you push on the desk to gain momentum.

You barely have time to enjoy yourself when the chair is suddenly halted to a stop. You looked up to see Daveed looking down at you, holding the chair still, hand right next to your head, catching some of your hair with it.

“Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly growing closer. Damn, he smelled amazing. You sit there and stare up at him, forgetting you were asked a question. You grip slightly onto the arms of the chair, growing nervous.

“I asked you a question, y/n,” he whispers, his mouth now next to your ear.

“Fuck uh, y-yeah, I’m great,” you stutter, clenching your legs. Were you really turned on right now? He’s your new professor who’s probably twice your age and you’re ready to strip right here and now.

“Oh, oh god, I’m so sorry Daveed I-”

“That’s Mr. Diggs to you,” he growls, his lips now grazing over your ear as he speaks.

“O-of course, Mr. Diggs,” you comply, eyes wandering down his body. His shirt seems to show far more muscles than earlier. But you weren’t complaining.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Daveed whispers, mouth moving to yours to capture you in a kiss. It’s not gentle nor rough but has a sense of lust you'd never experienced before. You don’t even know this man and you were letting him have his way with you in an unlocked room on the campus of a school. You know this isn’t right. Hell, this isn’t even legal but right now you’re thinking with the dampness in your panties not the good judgment in your mind.

He continues moving his lips on yours and pulls you up so you’re standing against him. He walks back toward the couch, mouth not leaving yours once. He still has some of your hair tangled into his hand from when he had stopped the chair earlier. He uses it to his advantage and pulls on it suddenly, making your head jerk back and you’re mouth open. You moan when he slides his tongue in. You’re lowered onto the couch, him starting to slightly lean over you.

He pushes you down completely, straddling one of your legs. You move your knee up spreading your legs a little more and feel something hard graze against you. You know you should stop but you forget about thinking when he starts to reach his hand down the waistband of your jeans. Your breath hitches and you can feel him smile against your mouth.

“Damn y/n, I didn’t know I could get you like this so fast,” he whispers, voice husky.

“Of course you wouldn’t know. You know nothing more than my name at this point,” you pant while beginning to lift the edge of his shirt.

“Well I’d love to get to know you but I’m a little busy right now,” Daveed jokes, struggling to rip off your too-tight jeans. You swiftly remove his shirt as he finally strips you of your only layer of clothing- you decided not to wear panties that day.

“Are you ready?” he asks while undoing the belt holding up his slacks. You give a small moan in agreement as you see his dick nearly protruding out of his boxers. Without notice Daveed drops his remaining clothing and grabs the back of your head, gripping a fistful of hair and pulling. He pulls you closer to him as he uses his other hand to position his cock against your lips. You expect him to let you take the lead and you prepare to welcome him into your mouth. His grip on you tightens. Daveed slams himself into your throat and you let out a gag. This wasn’t your first time but it feels different than before.

You had watched porn scenes like this but never imagined it would be happening today. And not at 18 years old with your new professor. The onslaught continues as you feel his cock stretch your throat with every forceful pound. Your saliva and Daveed's sticky precum are dripping down your chin as you try to swallow. You can barely breathe much less swallow the fluids combining in your mouth. You were in pain what felt like everywhere. Your hair, your neck, your head, and anywhere that was being forcefully moved and penetrated by Daveed. But you loved it. You relished in the sting of your hair being pulled and your face being fucked.

Daveed begins to slow down and releases his grip on your head. You take in a deep breath and wait for the next act. Daveed moves quick, tearing off your shirt and pulling your bra off over your head. He pushes you back on the couch and moves down to your sopping pussy.

“I’m going to fuck your little cunt up so bad,” He growls. You watch as he slowly runs his tongue over his lips before he uses his fingers to sperate the lips of your pussy.

You shudder at the small touch bracing yourself for what’s next. Daveed opens his mouth, consuming your cunt in a sloppy kiss. His tongue lands on your swollen clit as he begins sucking and flicking all-around your sensitive ball of nerves. You try and keep quiet, reducing your moans to muffled groans. You bite the back of your hand as you feel a finger slip inside of you. You had only ever fucked boys who couldn't find a way to please you. This was what you needed; a mature man to make you feel something worth screaming over.

Daveed's finger begins thrusting faster as he slips another inside you. You lay there squirming and whining like a little puppy as the pleasure continued consuming your body. Then He added a third finger. It had been a while since you last had a dick in you and you could feel your pussy stretching to accommodate the new addition. You begin thrusting into Daveed as you feel your body ready to explode.

Daveed senses your body close to climax and abruptly stops. He rips his fingers out of you and stuffs them inside your panting mouth.

“Lick it off, get a good taste of yourself you little slut,” he growls, leaving his fingers in your mouth and gripping your chin to close your mouth. You begin sucking your juices from his fingers and move your hand down to your cunt. You felt so close and you just needed to keep going. Daveed notices your hand traveling down and wastes no time removing his hand from your mouth and pinning your hands above your head. He says nothing as he reaches to the floor to grab the belt he was previously wearing. It all happens so fast you can barely squeak out a word before your hangs are stuck tied above your head.

“Don’t try that again,” Daveed scolds while wiping his hand against your stomach to remove any of your remaining juices.

“O-oh I’m sorry Mr. Diggs,” you cower, showing the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. Daveed stares down at you for a moment before reaching into his discarded pants pocket.

“I’m on the pill,” you inform him, smiling slightly as his face lights up. You were excited to feel all of him raw inside you.

“Good girl,” Daveed tells you. He smooths down the stray hairs on your head and lines up his throbbing cock to your cunt. You honestly weren’t sure it would fit without tearing apart your insides. You didn’t get a chance to prepare yourself before he sinks halfway inside you. You let out a forceful breath, feeling a euphoric mix of pain and pleasure. Daveed lets out a small grunt and slightly pulls out of you.

“Be quiet,” he sternly warns you. You slightly nod and ball your fists as much as you can while tied above your head. Daveed slams back into you. this time forcing as much inside you as he can. You let out a gasp as he begins roughly thrusting his large cock inside you. You let out a moan; this one a little too loud. Daveed doesn’t hesitate as he wraps his right hand around your throat and slightly applies pressure. you throw back your head in immense pleasure reveling in the gentle pain.

Daveed moves his free hand to your clit and begins quickly rubbing his hand side to side against your clit. His intense thrusting continues as you try and contain your moans and noises. You can’t help but let out a small shriek as you feel yourself begin to unravel. Daveed tightens his grip around your neck, this time applying enough pressure to make it hard for you to breathe. You thrust your hips to meet him feeling every nerve in your pussy being abused by his cock. Every part of you tenses and you feel a release coming. Daveed removes his hand from around your neck and groans at the sudden lightening of your pussy.

“Shhh,” you hear whispered into your ear as you explode, your juices combining with Daveed’s. He thrusts into you while you both climax while muffled moans fill the dim room. Daveed quickly pulls out of you and begins undoing the belt still strapping your hands together.

“You good?” he asks. You look up at him still breathing heavily, the events catching up to you. “Um, yeah, I’m just... yeah I’m good,” you reply, not sure how to answer. You sit up and bend down to collect your discarded clothing. You slip on your jeans and the rest of your clothes, not sure if he expected you to stay.

“Come here for a sec,” Daveed tells you, walking to his desk. You follow him unsure of what's coming next. He looks up at you and reaches up and begins smoothing your messy hair. “We don’t want anyone getting suspicious,” he states. He gives you a small kiss on your forehead.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No I’m totally good,” you assure, smiling up at him.

“Good girl,” he tells you right as a loud knock comes from the door.

“I should get going.”

You grab your bag and quickly shuffle to the door. You open it to see an older man waiting. He must have been another professor.

“Same time next week?” Daveed asks loudly from across the room.

“Of course!” You say back, smirking as you reach for your phone to put the meeting into your calendar.

[chemist-ana]

Chapter 10- The Company Picnic— Sams POV

Book: The Nanny Affair

Characters: Sam, Ana Schuyler (MC), Robin, Mickey and Mason, Sofia, Mason Sr., Vivian,

Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Ana Schuyler (MC)

Rating: 18+

Content Warning: NSFW, Sexual Language, Adult Language, Sexual Situations

A/N This is a brand new series that I was inspired to write. I am going to go chapter by chapter in Sam Daltons POV. This story is completely inspired by Choices The Nanny Affair. I have used most of the dialogue from the actual story, anything written in BOLD was taken directly from the book and therefore is not my writing- credit to our good friends over at Pixelberry! All characters are credit to Pixelberry except for my OCs

Summary: When you let your guard down at the company picnic, will you be ambushed by friendly fire?

Word Count: 4740

Tag List: @txemrn @secretaryunpaid @lifeaskim @aussieez @pixie88 @thefrenchiemama @sfb123 @mainstreetreader @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @somersetmummy @melalicious8383

Robin stood there, his eyes flicking between Ana and I with a knowing look.

Fuck.

I run my hands through my hair, trying to gather my bearings.

“Robin, what are you doing here? And why is Sofia calling you?” Wait, why is Sofia calling him… I have my cell on me…

“She was looking for you. Do I even want to know what you two were up to?” His eyes narrow at me.

“We were just working!” Ana says breathlessly. Not exactly the perfect cover, Ana.

“You know you don’t actually work here, right Ana?” Robin crosses his arms and widens his stance, his frown deepening.

“Sam was showing me the prototypes. That count as work…” Her voice has grown quiet.

“We don’t need to explain ourselves to you, Robin. Did you finish the press release for the Milan breach?” My anger evident in my tone.

“I’ve been a little busy, but apparently I’m not the only one.”

Fucking drop it Rob.

“Enough. If you have something to say, say it. If not, then get back to work.” My eyes narrow at him in challenge. I watch as he turns on his heel to leave the lab, pausing briefly at the door and looking over his shoulder.

“I almost forgot. Sofia had a message for you, Ana. She said since you were doing this office tour today, you should come to the company picnic this weekend.”

“Really? I thought she wanted me fired.” Her eyes grow wide as she looks between Robin and I.

“It’s probably a ‘keep your enemies closer’ type of thing. She already told Mom and Dad about the invite, so they’re expecting you to be there.”

I clench my jaw, fighting back my ever increasing desire to punch that look off of his face. God I have been wanting to do that to him a lot recently... I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose when I hear the door close to the lab, leaving Ana and I alone again.

The silence is palpable as I look at her, she is looking down as her fingers twist together.

“Ana, are you okay?”

“Sam, we have to be more careful. We’re lucky Robin was the one who walked in on us. It could’ve been much worse.” Her voice quiet as she continues to watch her hands.

“You’re right. It won’t happen again.” I don’t know how lucky we are that it was Robin… “You don’t have to come to the picnic, you know.”

Her emerald eyes lift to mine as she studies my face for a moment.

“If you… think it’s best I don’t-“ She takes a step away from me, looking back down at her hands. I reach out and gently place my hand on her arm.

“That’s not what I meant. I want you there. Against my better instincts… I always want you wherever I am.” Close to me.

Those words get her attention as she slowly rises her eyes to mine. I hear her breath catch and it sends a reminder of the passion that we just shared only moments before.

“Okay then, I’ll be there.” She gives me a small smile.

I return her smile as our eyes linger for a moment before my mind wanders to a less important question... Why was Sofia on the phone with Robin? I reach into my pocket and check my phone, no missed calls or texts. Weird…

I spend the rest of the day thinking of Ana, spread out before me on the lab table, the sound of pleasure that escaped her lips, and the sweet taste of her arousal on mine.

***

I wake up early the next morning, as I walk quietly into the kitchen, I pause outside of the door to Ana’s room. God how I want to just bring you into my bed and get lost in you… I shake my head, fuck these thoughts need to disappear… I need to escape while everyone is still asleep. I write a quick note and leave it on the counter- Went into the office early- will be home early to take the boys out for a treat. -Sam. Good enough.

I run my hands through my hair as I ride the elevator down to the lobby, Carter is waiting at the curb, always ready.

When I enter into my office the sun is just breaking above the skyline. The building is eerily quiet as I sit down in my chair, turning my attention to the waking of the city as the sunlight casts its morning shadows.

Suddenly I hear the door to my office open.

“How did I know you would be here already?” I close my eyes. Robin.

I hear him sit down in the leather chair on the other side of my desk and I turn my chair to face him, a smug look on his face.

“Sammy, what in the actual fuck is going on with you and Ana?”

I take a sharp inhale, “First of all, there is nothing going on between us. Second of all, even if there was, it would be none of your fucking business.”

“You are really going to lie to me? What I walked in on yesterday didn’t look like ‘nothing’.”

“Yeah, well, you know what happens when people make assumptions.”

“Sam, I thought by now you would understand that there are consequences to your actions.”

“Robin, save the kingly speech for someone who gives a damn. There is nothing going on between us.”

“You’re going to hurt her, and when all the chips fall, she is going to have nothing, and you are still going to have everything.”

I stare at him for a moment, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Why were you on the phone with Sofia?”

“I told you Sam, she was trying to find you.” He points a finger at me, before he shakes his head and stands up. “You better figure your shit out.”

Without another word he turns around and strides out of my office.

It’s going to be a long day.

***

I bring a glass of water to my lips for a sip as I type out a few quick texts, and alert Carter to be ready with the car in five minutes. Now where are the boys?

I make my way down the hall, and knock softly on Ana’s partially open door.

“Ana, have you seen the boys-“

“Dad, look! Ana’s wearing the outfit we picked out!” Mason pushes the glasses up his nose with a smile.

“Oh, wow. You look… nice.” My eyes flash as they run down the exposed skin of her delicate neck and her long legs. I swallow down a surge of desire.

“Just nice?” She asks with a coy smile.

I glance over at the twins who are now lost in a conversation between themselves before I lean in and the smell of jasmine fills my senses.

“Definitely not ‘just nice’, but I’m trying to be good.” My eyes flick to the twins.

“I think I like you better when you let yourself be bad.” Her emerald eyes darken and a memory flashes in my mind of the soft whimpers that escape her lips when I touch her.

I clear my throat, breaking myself of my trance as I stand up and look to the twins.

“Right. Is everyone ready to go in here?”

“I am!” Mason cheers running out of the door.

“Wait, I forgot my socks!” Mickey calls as he follows close behind.

My eyes linger on Ana before I reluctantly turn away.

***

Ana and I walk side by side down the large path in Central Park, the boys follow close behind.

“What’s the problem, you two? You don’t like picnics?” We stop and turn towards the boys who are kicking at the rocks on the pavement.

“Normal picnics, yeah. But who knows what Aunt Sofia has done to this one?” Mickey whines as he drags his feet.

“Boys, I promise you, Aunt Sofia didn’t have any part in planning this picnic.” I fight back the urge to laugh.

“But, we still have to follow her rules, don’t we?” Mason looks at Ana with a pleading look.

“You can still have fun too.” She gives him an encouraging smile. “Besides, there’ll be so much going on, I bet she won’t even notice if you sneak an ice cream cone. Assuming your dad says it’s okay, of course.”

“Really?” Mickey breaks out into a big grin.

“Sure. But just the one treat. We don’t want you to get a sugar overload.”

That seems to get them moving, because they run ahead. Ana and I share a look before we continue walking.

“It’s beautiful… I can see our building from here!” Mason shouts as we round the corner and the field comes into view.

My eyes meet Sofia’s as she starts walking towards us.

“Sam, you’ve got to see this. It’s accounting versus legal on the badminton court!” Her eyes are bright, you are unusually cheery today. Than her gaze falls on Ana, and I see a flash of something in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can tell what it is.

“Well, don’t you look adorable. You always know how to turn it on when it matters most, don’t you?” I resist the urge to close my eyes and sigh. Adorable, really Sofia?

“I try.” Ana gives her a confident smile.

“Can you also try to keep the boys from getting too dirty or being too loud or eating any sugar or running near the adults? Sam and I will be right back.” Sofia grabs my arm and leads me towards the badminton courts. I glance back at Ana who is herding the boys in the opposite direction.

“I am glad she decided to come today.” Sofia squeezes my arm. “Robin mentioned she had some hesitation.” My stomach sinks as I think about Robin… did he say anything to her?

“Yeah, so legal vs accounting huh?” I say effectively changing the topic.

***

After laughing a little too hard watching the accounting team get slaughtered by legal, I hear my dad’s voice calling over a megaphone.

“Welcome to the Annual Dalton Enterprises Company Picnic! I hope you’re ready for some good old-fashioned fun! We’ve got everything from giant Jenga to croquet to kickball.. But the highlight of the afternoon will be starting in five minutes… tug-of-war!” I hear a few good natured cheers and my eyes scan the field for Ana.

I see her talking to Robin, her brow furrowed.

“It’s Complex A versus Complex B! If you’re not an employee, pick a side.” My dad drops the megaphone and my eyes are still locked on Ana and Robin as I make my way across the field.

I don’t realize Sofia is behind me until I walk up on Ana and Robin and she is the first one to speak.

“Are you sitting out too, Ana? This game is so filthy and juvenile, I always sunbathe through it.” Sofia looks down at her manicured fingers and walks to the sidelines.

“Ana! You have to be on our team!” Mason shouts as him and Mason jog up to us.

“Yeah! Together we’ll be unstoppable!” Mickey chimes in as he gives Ana a smile. Ana’s eyes look between the boys then rise up to mine.

“We could use the extra hands…” I tell her.

“If Ana doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t have to play.” Robin’s eyes narrow at me.

I bite the urge to call Robin a petulant child.

“I can’t resist a good competition. I’m in!” She flashes a cocky smile at Robin.

“Yeah! Suck it, Uncle Robin!” Mickey jumps in the air and sticks his tongue out at Robin.

“Mickey…”

“I mean… you’re going down?” His eyes widen.

“We’ll see, kiddo.” Robins eyes soften as he looks down at Mickey, but harden immediately when he looks back at me. “At least we don’t have any distractions on our team.”

“Bring it on.” Ana turns on her heel and we walk towards our side of the rope.

We huddle together with the rest of the people on our team.

“First thing’s first, we need a team name!” Mason takes charge. That’s my boy.

“What about winners?” Ana says.

“Yeah, go winners!” Mason and the rest of the team cheers.

“Enough conferring! It’s time to play!” My dad’s voice booms over the megaphone.

We all line up as my mother explains the rules.

“Boys up front. Ana, you can stand by me.” I give Ana a smile as she stands directly in front of me.

I see Robin glaring daggers at Ana from the opposite side of the rope. My eyes dart back to Ana as I catch her sticking her tongue out at him. What were those two talking about earlier?

“Is that your method of long-distance trash talk?”

“It’s working, isn’t it? Robin’s head isn’t in the game, which means we’ve got this in the bag.” She gives me a confident smile.

“Let’s put that theory to theory to the test.” I give her a smile before she turns around, wrapping her hands around the rope.

My dad starts the pulling match and I lean back, digging in with my heels as the rope goes taught.

“You’’ll have to do better than that!” Ana shouts. You’re a competitive little thing aren’t you.

The boys are urging everyone to pull. I wrap my fingers tighter around the rope and heave and it seems to work, because the other side starts to give.

“That’s it, winners! We’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” I shout.

My eyes are locked on the muscles that are tense on Ana’s back.

“Almost… there!” Her voice rings out.

“We can’t… let them win… look at them!” Robin’s face is angry as he pulls. “Though I guess Ana does have some experience playing dirty.”

My eyes fly to Robin, but his gaze is focused on Ana. She ignores him and continues to pull, until we pull the marker onto our side. The momentum of her pulling causes her to stagger back… and right into my arms.

The smell of jasmine and Ana rush my senses as I squeeze my arms tightly around her, to steady her or hold her close I don’t know anymore. She looks over her shoulder and her emerald eyes meet mine, and for a moment the world fades away.

“…Hi.” A blush creeps up her neck as our eyes linger.

“Hi.” I smile.

Her eyes dart down to my lips as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes growing dark. I slide my tongue across my lip and I feel her body tense.

“Sam…” She whispers and the sound sends a shockwave through my body.

“Ana, I-“ Fuck, you are in public, and Sofia is here.

“And the winner is- Team Winners!” My dad’s voice booming over the megaphone breaks me from my trance.

“We did it!” Mason and Mickey jump around excitedly. I drop my arms from Ana just in time for Mason and Mickey to tackle me in a hug. My eyes never leave Ana as they wrap their arms around me.

“You did it, boys!” I finally break my gaze to ruffle the twins hair as they cheer.

“We did it, Dad!” Mason looks up at me with a grin.

“Yeah, we couldn’t have beat Uncle Robin without you and Ana!” Mickey looks over to Ana.

“And we couldn’t have done it without you two.” She reaches out and ruffles Mickey’s hair.

God, this just feels so right.

“That’s one way to put it.” Robin. Moment fucking broken.

My eyes fly up to Robin’s who has his eyes narrowed at Ana. I am about to snap when my mother walks up besides us.

“Nobody like a sore loser, Robin. Be a good example for your nephews.”

“Samuel, my big, strong man! I’ve got a wet wipe and a fresh shirt with your name on it.” Sofia walks up and wraps an arm through mine, and pulls me away from the group. I look down at her as she leads towards a tent, her eyes focused.

***

I stand silently next to my father as we watch everyone start to leave.

“I would call that a success.” He glances over at me.

“I would say so. You and mom should go, let me handle the clean up.” I clap him on the back as my mother walks up to us.

“Are you ready to go Mason, dear?”

“Yes, Viv.” He extends his arm for her to take before turning to me one last time. “Well done today, Sam.”

“Bye, Samuel.” My mother brushes a kiss to my cheek before I watch her and my father walk towards the edge of the park.

With a sigh I grab a few trash bags and begin walking around, picking up loose plates. My eyes fall on Ana and the boys and I make my way over to them.

“I’ll take those.” I hold open the trash bag for Ana and the boys to drop their used plates and napkins in. Ana and I fall into step next to each other as we follow the boys to the edge of the park.

“So, did you have a good time today?” I glance down at her and the sun has left a beautiful glow on her olive skin.

“Well, I missed you.” She says softly, turning her beautiful face towards mine. “I feel like I barely got to see you all day after tug-of-war. But this moment right here, with you? It’s been the best part of my day.”

“The party planning committee will be disappointed to hear it… but it’s my favorite too.” I chuckle, my eyes lingering on hers as I watch the sun reflect off of the little specs of gold amongst the emerald green.

As we round the corner I see Carter waiting at the curb, Robin and Sofia already there besides the car. Why are they always together…?

“Looks like the ride home will be a little crowded tonight.” Ana murmurs.

“Good thing I can get out of it for once, I always stay behind and help the cleaning crew after the picnic. It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation for everything.” I look down at her as our arms brush.

“No ones too good to clean up their own mess, right Dad?” Mason asks as he kicks a rock on the pavement.

“That’s exactly right, little man.” Damn proud.

“But we don’t have to stay… right?” Mickey’s eyes grow wide.

“Not until you’re a little older.” I smile at the look of relief on his face.

The boys climb into the car and I catch Sofia’s eye.

“Yes, honey, very inspiring. See you at home.” She leans in and brushes a kiss against my cheek then follows the boys into the car.

“Ana, are you coming?” Robin asks as his eyes scan Ana’s body.

Ana looks up at me with a question in her eyes.

“You’re welcome to stay and help, if you want. It won’t take long between us and the crew. We usually divide and conquer to cover more ground.” Please stay…

“Sounds like a great way to help out this afternoon.” She meets my eyes with a warm smile, her eyes not hiding her true intentions.

“Sure. Just… remember what I said.” Robin regards Ana with a firm look, before shifting his focus to me, and finally climbing into the backseat of the car.

Ana and I turn around and head back to the picnic area, our arms brushing lightly as we walk in a companionable silence.

“Have you ever been to a big picnic like this before?” The breeze blows through her hair as she looks up at me.

“I have never been to one before. Neither of my parents ever had a company picnic, so this was a first.”

“And? What’s the verdict?”

“I’ll let you know when I have one.” She gives me a coy smile before turning her attention back to the park.

I hand her a trash bag and she begins picking up stacks of paper plates.

“I bet you’ve been to a million of these over the years.”

“You could say that. I was still a kid when we held the first one, but it looked nothing like this. We could practically all fit on one blanket back then.” I smile at the fond memories… we have come a long way since then.

“It’s hard to imagine the company being that small.”

“Yeah, we’ve definitely grown a lot since then. But as much as I sometimes miss how… simple things were back then, we also couldn’t make as big of a difference. We can help so many more people now that we’re bigger.”

“I bet that feels good.”

“It does. And it definitely makes the hard days a little easier.”

“Speaking of, I can’t believe you’re not soaking in a bubble bath right now. You were at the center of all of the activity today.” She glances at me. I want to be in a bubble bath with you.

We bend down to pick up a red solo cup at the same time, our fingers brushing, and a blush spreading across her cheeks as her eyes snap away from mine.

“Sorry.” She says quickly.

“No worries.” I smile at her, but I can sense a change in her mood. “I am pretty tired, but it’s a Dalton family tradition to stay behind with the workers and, well, work. My father always stayed behind, but now that he’s older, the mantle falls on me.”

“You know, Robin mentioned one time that he’s also being considered for CEO… but I can’t really picture him staying behind, even if it’s part of the job description.” What else has Robin told you about my family? Yeah, well, if there is anything I know about Robin is that he does the bare minimum.

“Yeah, well, he probably wouldn’t have to, even if he were CEO. My dad has always held Robin to different standards than me. But at this point, that would only happen if I really, really, messed up.”

She glances around and when I follow her eyes, I realize we are all alone on this side of the park.

“Taking responsibility has never been Robin’s strong suit. Great at making messes though.” I flash her a smile but she seems to be avoiding my gaze. “You’re being awfully quiet over there.”

“Hmm? Oh, I just… have a lot on my mind.” She replies without looking at me. There is definitely something wrong… and fuck I hope it doesn’t have to do with Robin. “Actually, Sam… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about…” Her lips turn down in a frown. Definitely Robin.

“What did Robin do now?”

“Earlier today, he pulled me aside and demanded that I leave you alone…” I stare into her eyes, trying to read the expression on her face.

“What did you say?” Please tell me you didn’t tell him anything…

“I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about… but I don’t think he believed me.”

I let out a deep breath and reach up to rub the knots in my neck. Fuck…

“I’m so sorry I’ve put you in this position, Ana. You shouldn’t have to deal with my brother confronting you like this.” What are you doing to her?

I reach out and cup her cheek and I can see the pain in her eyes.

“Robin seemed pretty sure that at the en dog all of this… I would be the one who ends up hurt.” Fuck Robin, stay out of my business.

“As much as I hate to say it- and as much as I will do everything in my power to prevent it- he’s probably right.” I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. “But Ana, my parents’ expectations, the company politics, Sofia… it all just fades away when I look at you.”

“Sam…” My name rolls off her lips in a whisper.

In that instant, the sprinklers turn on, sending a jetting stream of water onto both of us.

She cries out and leans into me as I wrap my arms around her, trying my best to shield her from the water.

“Okay, seriously, who sets their sprinklers to go off in the middle of the afternoon.” I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, even though I can’t complain having Ana in my arms.

“Someone who got AM and PM mixed up?” She laughs and the sound brings an even bigger smile to my face.

I lean away from her slightly, my eyes roaming her face as I smooth the hair from her face. She is so beautiful…

“You look beautiful like this… I’ve never seen you wet before.”

“You don’t know that.”

Her words send a shockwave to my cock. I definitely didn’t mean it like that, but fuck am I glad you did.

“That’s not fair. Now that’s all I can think about…” You, wet, in my arms, in our home, in the car… fuck…

“Sam, now you know how I feel.”

“Does this mean you think about me all the time? At night, in bed, alone…?” My voice has dropped to a husky whisper as images of her on her back, naked, and moaning fill my head.

“Yes… touching myself, thinking of you, wondering if you’re turned on because of me.” The huskiness of her voice matches mine as her eyes wander my face and linger on my lips.

Holy fuck, you naughty little thing.

“Always…” I tighten my grip on her waste as her breath catches in her throat.

“Sam… kiss me.”

I was hoping you would say that.

I lean down and capture her perfect pink lips in mine, my hands roam her every curve, trying my hardest to memorize the twists and turns. Our kiss grows in passion as she lets out a moan into my mouth.

I grab her hips, pulling her against my growing desire.

“Ana… what are you doing to me?” I whisper against her mouth… I have never been so out of control in my life as I am when I am around you…

I drop my lips to her jaw, trailing light kisses up to her ear, the smell of Ana, sunshine and jasmine, fills my senses as I taste her sweet skin.

“I can’t seem to control myself around you…” I whisper into her ear.

“Maybe I want you to lose control…” She whispers, her lips lightly grazing mine.

She tangles her fingers into my hair and drags my lips back to hers. I want to lose control with you… My fingers continue their exploration as I graze my fingers over her erect nipples through her shirt, god this wet shirt is doing wonders for you…

“I want nothing more than to lay you down and take you right here, but…” I whisper in her ear as I blaze a trail of kisses down her neck, her body responding to my every touch with soft whimpers and gasps.

“We are still in public… and broad daylight.” Her breathing is erratic as I press my forehead to hers. I close my eyes, and listen to her erratic breathing and feel the rise and fall of her chest.

“Dammit.” I whisper. I lean in and press a soft, slow kiss to her lips before I pull away. My body instantly missing the contact. I grab one of her hands in mine and give it a light squeeze. “You’re going to be the death of me, Ana. Or at least, the death of my reputation.” I take a moment to check my surroundings, fortunately we are still alone.

“…You’re welcome?” Her soft laugh ringing through my ears.

“We should probably get back to cleaning, or we’ll never finish.”

“Oh, I’m desperate to finish, alright.” Her coy smile spreading across her lips.

I smile at her with a shake of my head, her lips red from our kisses and her skin flushed… so damn beautiful…

We make our way out of the line of fire of the sprinklers and continue working, well into the evening. My fingers moving in time with the rise and fall of her curves, remembering the sparks of electricity and the sound of her moans.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Arrival

You know what? You can blame this part on the lovely @himawari-senpaii​ for not only fueling my dumbass energy, but for also helping me figure out what the cabin should look like and what I’ll be doing in future chapters~

Seriously though, this was SO much fun to write and I was hella thankful for the input! Though I am feeling like a zombie now, so Imma go crash for god knows how long and then when I wake up, I’ll write some more scenarios!

🥃 AO3 🥃

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

 “Taishiro, remember when you said the word little to describe your cabin in the mountains?”

 .

 Taishiro hummed in acknowledgement as he filled his arms with the bags that the two of you had brought with you, refusing to let you anywhere near them when you moved to help; leaving you to instead stare with wide eyes and an open mouth at the not-so-little cabin he had told you about yesterday.

 It was more like a large house than a small cabin. Made of stone and brick with windows so large, it left little privacy for the two of you during your visit over the weekend; with no sign of any curtains what-so-ever.

 Even so, you had to admit it was a beautiful building. A modern design hugged closely by the surrounding forest; blanketed in a thick layer of snow that made it seem like a winter wonderland.

 “This is not little…” He chuckled at your mumbled words, now standing beside you with all of the luggage tucked under his large arms; leaving his hands free to get his keys. Searching through his pockets until a light jingle rang out, the sound sourced from his pocket.

 “It is compared to my beach cabin…” You blinked at his comment, staring at the building in front of you before turning your head to stare up at your giant lover; your mouth dropping open in astonishment. It was so easy to forget that he was a mafia boss, right up until the point he showed you his ‘little’ cabin; your home back in the city was considerably smaller than this.

 The thought making you dread the idea of how he viewed your modest house; after all, he was constantly smacking his head into the doorframes.

 .

 “Careful (Name), leave your mouth hanging open like that and I might just take it as an invitation…”

 .

 He trailed off as he walked towards the front door, fiddling around with his keys before unlocking and opening the rather large wooden door; amazing you when you noticed that it was taller than Taishiro was. You couldn’t help but wonder if the house was built specifically for his needs.

 “Especially since there’s no one out here to hear you scream” He grinned back at you when you jolted, his words snapping you out of the mental curiosities that you could think about later in the day. His words were meant to be playful; you could tell that much with ease, but given that he was a well-known and feared mafia boss. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever put those words to the test in a different setting.

 “Don’t get too excited, if you exhaust yourself too much with my mouth then we won’t have nearly as much fun as we could” You smiled up at him coyly, walking past before he could act on the flare of challenge that you had watched form in his honey-golden eyes; a look you could learn to love given his previous encounters with you.

 “But seriously…who else knows about this place?” You hummed out the question with vague curiosity as you walked into what appeared to be the loungeroom, already impressed with the giant couch. Though it looked more like Taishiro had had a part of the floor replaced with cushions, the edges of the giant floor-cushion rectangle having multiple places to prop yourself up into a sitting position; the entire set-up facing a large fire-pit that would certainly keep you warm once it was going. A unique way to adjust for Taishiro’s height, that was for sure.

 “No one, well not counting the men that built it…but that was a long time ago and this cabin is always empty unless I decide I need a break from my subordinates” You turned your head to look over at Taishiro, moving to follow him when you noticed him walking away already; though to where you had no idea. Perhaps the bedroom? Either way, if you wanted to find out, you would have to follow him.

 “…It’s still not little…but it is a beautiful home Taishiro, especially in the winter” Taishiro laughed as he stopped by a large bench, setting down a few bags you recognised to hold the clothing that the two of you had brought on the trip; the rest of the bags going with him as he disappeared through a large, heavy looking metal door.

 “I suppose you’re right. It’s quite spacious!” His cheery laughter was contagious, causing a smile to spread across your lips; enjoying the care-free Taishiro that had arrived at the cabin with you.

 .

 “Taishiro, this kitchen bench is so big…solid too, I bet you could use it as a bed and fit!”

 .

 You ran your fingertips over the smooth marble surface of the bench, admiring the fine craftsmanship before letting out a loud squeal of surprise, Taishiro having pinned you down flat against the smooth surface; grinding himself against your arse until you began to squirm beneath him. The action halting his advances while he cursed above you, large hands keeping you in place.

 “It could fit me, I can’t argue that…but I think you’d look much better on it, especially since this is where we’ll be eating all our meals” He leaned down to nibble on your ear, his hot breath making you shiver beneath him in anticipation; easily catching onto his hidden meaning.

 “Taishiro, you could fuck me like this for all I care…but don’t start something unless you plan on finishing it. We have an entire weekend to ourselves and I’m not wasting it on teasing touches that lead to nowhere” You pressed yourself back against him as you spoke to make your point even further, gasping when he returned the gesture, his erection grinding up against you.

 “Now that sounded like an invitation, sweetheart…” His voice dipped into a low rumble while his hands moved from your arms, down to the edges of your pants, giving a light tug to reveal his intentions.

 “It most certainly was. You aren’t the only one eager for some fun” You turned your head away from him, smiling when you felt him slide your pants down; allowing you to kick them off to the side, thankful that the house seemed to be pre-heated. Knowing Taishiro, he probably had some kind of app on his phone for such comforts.

 “Mm, can see that…you’re dripping for me already” He chuckled as he dragged two fingers across your soaked folds, enough to tease you before he set about stripping himself of the clothes that he found to be too restrictive for the current set of activities he had in mind for the two of you.

 “…About all the windows…” You trailed off, peeking back at him while Taishiro leaned down to kiss your cheek, a reassuring smile decorating his features; enough to settle the nerves that had built up within your chest.

 “I own the reserve that this place is built on, I mean, legally it’s anonymously owned to the public…but it’s mine. Which means that we’re the only two people for miles around, it’s just the two of us and whatever wild animals that happen to live in the area” You nodded slightly at his explanation, leaning back into his chest while he rubbed against your folds slowly; dragging your attention back to the task at hand.

 “Feel that, baby?” Taishiro dropped his voice down to a whisper, leaning down against your back and pressing you into the bench once again; slowly grinding himself against you until you let out a small noise of frustration. Annoyed to have him tease you like that.

 “I brought you hear so that we can spend some time together, just the two of us…and I fully intend on fucking you in every room of this cabin. In every way I possibly can. Think you can take it?” You rolled your eyes at his question, pushing yourself back against him once more before gasping out when he wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you steady as he thrust into you; groaning low at the way your body squeezed down on him.

 “That’s my girl…I swear, you’re as bad as I am” He chuckled lightly, placing a kiss on your shoulder before using the arm around your waist to lift your hips ever-so-slightly; the result being you screaming out his name when he thrust his hips again, his thick dick pressing up against your spot mercilessly. Simply rubbing up against it while he held you in place, giving a light roll of his hips, seemingly enjoying the whine that escaped you.

 “Taishi…” You squirmed against his hold, squeezing your eyes shut when he began to thrust his hips, greedily drinking in your appearance while you bounced on his cock; your cries quickly filling the quiet room.

 .

 “You’re so cute when you’re whining in need baby, keep doing it. For me?”

 .

 Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as he spoke, unable to stop yourself from moaning and crying out with each thrust of his hips; instead deciding to ride out the pleasure he was showering you with.

 “Turn around for me baby” Taishiro groaned as he removed himself from  you, slowly setting you back down onto your feet and watching you as you turned to face him; your clueless look spurring him to steal your breath away with a hungry kiss. Swallowing any complaints that you might have had before you could voice them.

 “Up we go~” Taishiro lifted you up onto the counter, sitting you on the very edge before stepping between your legs and moving his hands to guide your legs around his waist; a silent instruction for you to keep him close.

 “You probably want this out the way, huh?” You smiled as you reached down, fiddling with the buttons that kept your chest hidden from Taishiro’s hungry gaze; finding great amusement in the way his attention dropped straight to your hand, watching eagerly and waiting for you to undo the shirt he had leant you.

 “Baby…you’ve got three seconds before I tear that top open with my fucking teeth” Taishiro growled out in frustration, his eyes never leaving your hand as you played with the buttons; deciding against undoing them. It would be so much more amusing to watch him tear the shirt away.

 “Please do~” You giggled when he dipped his head, lightly nipping at your fingers until you moved your hand out of the way; allowing him to grab a hold of the shirt with his teeth before giving a harsh yank away from your body. Absolutely ruining the shirt by forcing all of the buttons to tear off of the shirt, flying in every which way; leaving your chest bare to Taishiro’s gaze.

 .

 “Taishiro?”

 .

 He hummed in response, laying you onto your back on the bench before taking your sensitive nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub; pulling a sweet moan from your lips, your back arching up and pushing your chest further into his face. Encouraging his actions.

 “Look at you…beautiful…” Taishiro mumbled the words, thrusting his hips forwards harshly and burying himself inside of you; rolling your nipple between his teeth carefully, the sensation sending a spark of electricity racing down your spine.

 You ignored his ramblings, instead tangling your fingers in his golden locks, tugging harshly until he got the message, his thrusts growing more erratic; more power behind them while his assault on your chest grew less forgiving.

 Leaving a trail of bitemarks as he took the time to appreciate your body.

 .

 “Impatient, aren’t you?”

 .

 You narrowed your eyes at him, tugging at his hair before gasping out when he slapped his hand against your thigh harshly; grinning widely at the flustered look that decorated your otherwise pleasure-filled features.

 “Oh, baby…you liked that didn’t you?” You bit your bottom lip, hesitantly nodding your head in response moments before he slapped your thigh again; pulling another noise from your lips. This time, a mewl that had his heart racing.

 “Fuck…you haven’t made that noise for me before…” He trailed off, leaning down and stealing your lips in a demanding kiss, his eagerness showing through the way he thrust his hips; putting more power behind the thrusts until you were slowly sliding further onto the bench.

 “Taishi…!” You whined out his name into the kiss, crying out when his hands closed down on your hips, dragging you back down to meet his thrusts; the force behind the action feeling absolutely magical.

 “Where the fuck do you think you’re going baby? I’m not even close to being done with you!” He grunted from the building pleasure, burying his face against your chest and nipping at your boobs to distract himself; the action both cute and frustrating.

 “Taishi…hey, come on…” You whined out his name, arching your back as he continued to pull you down against him to meet his thrusts, each time sending a jolt of electricity throughout your body; slowly pushing your orgasm closer and closer until finally, Taishiro’s name fell from your lips in a cry of ecstasy.

 .

 “That’s it, ride out your orgasm baby. Let me hear you!”

 .

 You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out when he slapped his hands down against your thighs, giving you a moments rest from his harsh thrusts before he dragged you back down against him; your thighs still stinging from his harsh slaps.

 Though you enjoyed every moment of his eccentrics.

 .

 “You sound amazing (Name), crying out like that…make sure you say my name next time, got it? Nice n’ loud!”

 .

 .

 ~ ~  ~

 .

 .

 You whimpered out Taishiro’s name brokenly as your back arched, your entire body trembling while he squeezed your tender thighs, causing you to try and close your legs around his head despite the fact he was still teasing your clit mercilessly; enjoying the soft whimpers and whines that fell uncontrollably from your lips.

 “Mm…delicious as always baby girl” Taishiro hummed in satisfaction, sliding your legs off of his broad shoulders while he stood to his proper height; licking his lips clean of your juices. Taking a moment to admire how beautiful you looked sprawled out on the kitchen bench like you were; a dazed, half-lidded look in your eyes. Not quite here yet certainly not far away enough where you could ignore the almost endless orgasms that he had put you through since arriving at his private cabin.

 “Still with me (Name)?” Taishiro reached out, tenderly cupping your cheek while you lifted your gaze drowsily; barely able to focus on the man that had most certainly overstimulated you.

 “You did such a good job baby…now, come on, it was a long drive and you look exhausted…I think a nap might do us both some good” Taishiro lifted you into his arms carefully, pressing his lips to your forehead in a tender show of affection before making his way through the cabin; uncaring that the both of you were naked.

 It was just the two of you and he thought you were beautiful, there was no point hiding you away behind clothes when he would just tear them off of you again later on, once you had recovered from his touches.

 .

 “Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up for dinner. Get some rest, (Name).”

[jessicajonesrp]

He’s backkkk

 It took some careful planning, but eventually, Rikarah had what she needed to be able to bring Kilgrave back to life.

 She already had a safe and secure location where she would be uninterrupted during times of needed concentration- her open rented home, just outside of Manhattan. She had never bothered to inform Phillip that she had a rental house; it seemed a better bet to keep the information of her multiple living quarters, unused for most of the year, to herself, just in case. Phillip had been far from discreet, and there was a reason Rikarah had chosen a secondary lodging outside of the business of cities such as NYC, Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, or Manhattan itself. She was a loner at heart, but her interest and her focus tended to be on others, and it was necessary to spend most of her time among them in order to know them and their lives. This distant secondary home was to be used only when necessary, to recharge, or for specific situations such as this.

 It hadn’t been difficult to obtain a picture of Kilgrave. After the incident on the dock, he and Jessica and Patricia Walker had been all over the covers of newspapers everywhere, so it was a simple matter of a few clicks on a smart phone to find and save a picture of the ��man in question. It had taken more time to obtain something with Kilgrave’s DNA. Rikarah had attempted to trace the location of his body- somehow she suspected he had been neither traditionally buried nor cremated, and it was her guess that he was likely being used for scientific experimentation or study, legally or otherwise,  within the government or whoever else had been the highest bidder of access.

 With some creative thought, she had been able to trace back several of Kilgrave’s last known addresses, including the childhood home of Jessica Jones, which was unfortunately no longer standing after its bombing. Nevertheless, Rikarah had discovered that the “Kilgrave survivors” group Jessica had formed over a year ago, with the intention of drawing out Kilgrave and gaining information on him, was still active and meeting regularly.

 It hadn’t been difficult to insinuate herself into the group for a few weeks as a new member, pretending to be one of the traumatized survivors of the incident of Kilgrave-directed violence on the dock the evening he himself had died. Rikarah had enough research information to be able to nod along and briefly and tearfully provide her own version of events. Meanwhile she took note of the people who had spent prolonged time with Kilgrave- being his driver for a week, forced to let him live in their home for longer, or forced to wait on him as a cook, bartender, or masseuse.  

 Those were the ones that may possess something that would carry Kilgrave’s DNA, even now. Those were the ones that she made the effort to befriend, to offer a shoulder and a listening ear. And a few episodes of feigned attraction and friendship had been enough for one clearly still traumatized older man to allow her into his home and his bed, and with minimal encouragement from Rikarah, to lead her in a tour of the house Kilgrave had made his lodging for a time- the house the man still lived in.

 “It was terrible,” the man told her, actually tearful as he shook his head, eyes cloudy as though reliving what he spoke of. “I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t speak or even move without him giving me the okay to. He used my house as though it were his, and then one day he just left and didn’t come back. I was terrified that he might return, any moment, and I couldn’t predict when or do anything to stop him. He didn’t even take all of his things with him, and I was afraid to do anything to get rid of them, or even move them, in case it made him angry if he did come back. I know he’s dead now, but even now I’m afraid to touch his things. That’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

 It was pathetic, in Rikarah’s view, but it was also fortunate for her. Because among Kilgrave’s “left behind things” were a comb, toothbrush, and some clothing including socks and underwear. All certain to contain Kilgrave’s DNA.

 She had charmed the man with sympathetic words and touches, assuring him of his bravery, lying without a flicker of remorse about her own supposed fear. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for him to be convinced that he was now strong and brave enough to let some of those items go, “just a few to start with, the ones most associated with him personally”- and that she, Rikarah, in spite of her own fear, cared enough about his healing to be the one to take them away to make sure they were disposed of.

 She still couldn’t believe the man was gullible enough to fall for such nonsense. But he had actually leaked tears and hugged her, thanking her for her empathy and giving him the chance to start a new life.

 Ironic, and amusing, really, that in all actuality, she was bringing back what he feared the very most, all in the name of helping him put it behind him.

  So armed in her remote rented home with the personal objects of Kilgrave’s and a clear picture of his face, Rikarah sat cross legged on her bed and emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of her intention. She stared at Kilgrave’s picture, her hands stroking over each object containing his DNA, and pictured him awake, alive, and whole before her. She imagined the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, every synapse and nerve once more sharp with activity and use. She envisioned the blood running through his veins, and as her own small body grew taut and gave off fevered heat with the effort of her actions, she reached out for the knife beside her knee. Grasping it in her left hand, she slashed a shallow x over each of her palms, and then at the surface of each of her feet. Hands shaking slightly, she smeared the blood over the comb, the toothbrush, and the clothing, combining their DNA.

 With a final shudder of effortful focus, Rikarah spoke aloud Kilgrave’s name. She could feel the air grow thick and strained, as though holding something moving and living and shifting in shape, and she slumped back, exhausted, against the bed, watching with satisfaction as a human form began to slowly knit itself into view in front of her.

 It wasn’t a pretty sight. The revived bodies started first with skeletons, then filled up with internal organs and muscles and sinew, before finally being knit over with skin and hair and the other details normally seen on the outside. It was no different with Kilgrave, and eventually, there he stood, naked, panting, and wide-eyed at her bedside.

 Rikarah smiled, more in self-satisfaction at the accomplished task than at the sight of the man’s naked body. She didn’t consider him overly impressive in his physique, but he would do. It was the man and his mind, not his body, that mattered. She more than anyone knew it was a mistake to overlook people for their physicality.

 “Where the bloody hell am I?” Kilgrave sputtered, disoriented, seeming to struggle to draw in breaths. His lungs, being new again, were likely still adjusting to breathing. “What’s the matter with me? And who the fuck are you?”

 When Rikarah didn’t immediately answer, too tired to bother, Kilgrave straightened, pointing a finger at her, and took a menacing step forward, raising his voice. “I asked you a question, are you deaf? Answer me!”

  “I’m sorry, Kevin, but I don’t take orders from anyone if it doesn’t suit me, and certainly not from you,” Rikarah said coolly, lifting an eyebrow from her supine position on the bed. “As you quite literally owe your life to me, I would expect a little more respect and gratitude, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll assume you’re rather in shock at the moment, given you’ve just gone from bones and brain mush to a living body again, and let the rudeness slide.”

 Kilgrave’s eyes bulged, and he recoiled, alarmed as much by the nonchalant response he had just received as the strange situation he had found himself in. To speak an order and have it not obeyed immediately was beyond his comprehension.

 “But I told you to do it!” he almost whined, staring down at the small and clearly unintimidated woman resting on her side in the bed. “I told you to, and you just- the only person who could ignore me was Jessica, and-“

 He stiffened, his face paling, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rikarah again.

 “Jessica did this, Jessica used that sedative thing on me, didn’t she?! You’re with her, you’re one of her people!”

 “Certainly not,” Rikarah corrected him, exhaling with a weary and somewhat impatient sigh. “Jessica knows nothing of this- yet. As far as she believes, you are long dead, and she is glad of it. After all, she was the cause.”

 She sat up, watching wryly as the realization and the memory of his own last few moments of life, just before Jessica snapped his neck, came back into the forefront of his thoughts. Rikarah gave him a few more moments to process this against the obvious reality of his current status of being alive before addressing him again.

 “Yes, Kevin, you were dead, and for over a year now, too. You would have stayed that way, if not for myself and my own unique abilities. Some gratitude and a certain level of loyalty is not unwarranted.”

 “I was dead,” Kilgrave repeated, the words stunned, almost disbelieving. “And you’re saying- what, that you resurrected me? You?” He snorted, looking Rikarah up and down dismissively. “No  offense, love, but you hardly look the type to have that sort of power.”

 “And Jessica does?” Rikarah countered. “I’ll grant you that she has the advantage in height, but she’s of a smaller frame even than myself, and what she may have over me in physical strength, I can outdo in the sheer enormity of my ability. She may be able to kill someone with a punch, but I’m the one who can bring them back from the dead. If you ask me, I have the greater power, and therefore, the greater true strength.”

 Kilgrave looked her over again, more carefully this time, assessing rather than dismissing her. He took a step closer, still seeming not to care for his nakedness as he narrowed his eyes at Rikarah, anger losing out to eagerness in his eyes.

 “You know Jessica,” he asserted. “Where is she?”

 Rikarah wagged a finger at him playfully, a small smile curving her lips.

 “Am I really so uninteresting, that I bring you out of death, and you would forgo all details to chase after another woman? Perhaps I was wrong in my interest in you. Perhaps someone else is more deserving, and you can simply go back to where you were before.”

 “Wait, no, that isn’t it, love,” Kilgrave backpedaled, his smile at Rikarah forced at first as he raked a hand through his hair, then more genuine. “Of course I want to know how you managed this, and of course I’m glad for it. And I certainly want to know how it is you don’t listen to a thing I tell you to do,” he muttered, more to himself than to Rikarah, before addressing her again. “But if you know Jessica, then you must know something of our history, and why I would want to know where she is. She’s the one who killed me, you know. She’s the one-“

   “That,” Rikarah interrupted, to Kilgrave’s barely contained outrage, “is in the past. The present is right here, with me, in this moment. Choose wisely, Kevin Kilgrave, and choose now, while you still have the choice before you. You can realize that I am no ordinary woman you’re dealing with here, that you owe me your life and your loyalty, and I owe you nothing and cannot be ordered into anything you may want from me. Believe me, I hold no liking for Jessica Jones, and as long as I am the woman who comes first and foremost in your world, I care little for how you choose to play with her. And I am certainly not opposed to letting you know every detail of what you have missed knowing of her life over the past year that you’ve been dust and bones.”

 She paused, tilting her head, and gave him a moment to consider, before concluding, “Or you can choose to be foolish, ungrateful, and quite frankly, a bumbling, pathetic corpse, stumbling off on your own in a world that has moved on without you. You would have none of my help or my connections, none of my knowledge, and you would displease me greatly. When and if Jessica Jones kills you again- and she would, you know, if you just pop up on her in her new life without my assistance- then you can be certain I would not lift a finger to bring you back. So, then. What shall it be? I would think the decision obvious, but perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I believed.”

 For a moment Kilgrave stood there, motionless, perhaps still in shock, or perhaps genuinely weighing out his obsession with Jessica and his desire for revenge against the logical reasoning of Rikarah’s words. But then he nodded slowly, reaching forward to take hold of Rikarah’s hand in his.

 “Well, it would indeed be a fool’s errand to let a woman like you slip out of my grasp. Why don’t we start over with introductions, and perhaps something in the way of an explanation.”

 And as Rikarah began to speak, giving Kilgrave some if not all of the answers he craved, she noticed his body relax further, his expression growing more and more fascinated as he came to understand more of the extent of her actions and her power. It wasn’t quite the way, she was sure, that he had looked at Jessica, but for now, it was enough.

 It was enough, in fact, that after he had dressed in some of his old clothing and taken time to familiarize himself with Rikarah and her home, that Rikarah was willing to give him the phone number, if not the address, of Jessica’s new workplace, Heroes for Hire. And she sat back, interested and indulgent, as he placed a call, from a cheap prepaid phone she had bought in anticipation of his need for one.

 It was Trish who answered, her voice bright and cheerful as the company’s head. “Heroes for Hire, we provide help, heroism, and honorable services for those in need in a time where true heroism is more needed than ever. How can we help you today?”

 “Ah, Patsy,” Kilgrave purred, snickering to himself when he heard Trish suck in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing his British accent and self-satisfied tone. “So good to hear a familiar voice, but unfortunately, yours has never been the one I wanted to hear, and you prattle on enough as it is on that bloody talk show of yours. Give the phone to Jessica. Tell her she has a message from an old friend, would you?”

 “This isn’t funny,” Trish said tightly, her voice controlled but barely keeping back anger. “Whoever you are, pretending to be that man is not a joke, it’s cruel, and-“

 “Ah, but this is no joke, Patsy, can’t you recognize your own  would be lover?” Kilgrave asked rhetorically. “Have you had so many men now you can’t remember the voice of all the ones whose throat you stuck your tongue inside of? Let me help you out, then. I’m the one who told you to put a bullet in your head. Fortunately enough for you, that doesn’t appear to have worked out, I never did find out why. Care to explain it to me, Patsy?”

 He and Rikarah both heard Trish suck in her breath on the other side of the line. He doubted that this incident in the bunker was something anyone but she, Kilgrave, Simpson, and Jessica were aware of- and out of the four of them, both men were dead. Or supposed to be.

 “Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer than before. “What do you want?”

 “Unfortunately, Patsy, for me to really make you do what I’d like to make you do, you’d have to be a good bit closer to me than a phone call, something about pheromones,” Kilgrave said casually. “But I do have other ways of making you do as I’d like you to. Put Jessica on the phone, or I will have six people show up at her doorstep and  cut your name into their own foreheads. If she tries to stop them, they will cut her as well. Is that something you want to have on your conscience, Patsy? For a simple conversation?”

 The line went silent for a few moments. When Jessica came onto the line, her voice was hard and cold as steel.

 “Who the fuck are you, and just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, playing this kind of sick joke?”

 “And hello to you too, Jessie,” Kilgrave exclaimed, putting an exaggerated bounce to his voice. “No joke, you never did have much of a sense of humor to waste any on. I won’t say it’s good to hear from you, since I had to get murdered,  raised from the dead, and then still call your sister first and threaten her for you to speak to me, and I must say that hurts a man’s feelings.”

 “You’re not him. You can’t be, you’re just some sick asshole who needs to fucking go put his dick in a-“

 “Oh, Jessie, I can see your language is as filthy as ever, every bit as appalling as your fashion sense. Let’s cut off all the protests of my supposed death and just check your office email, shall we?”

 Five minutes before the phone call, Rikarah had shot a quick video of him smiling and waving into the camera, with the date and time of the video clearly time stamped at its bottom. With a few clicks, he sent the video to the public Heroes for Hire email address, cutting off the call.

 “But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll hear from me again soon. If you miss me before we meet again, you have the video for comfort’s sake.”

 As Kilgrave hung up, glowing with renewed feelings of power over the fear, rage, and helplessness he had stirred anew in the two women he had just spoken to, he sent a genuine smile in Rikarah’s direction, who returned it in kind.

 “You know what, I like you, Rikarah Pallaton. I think we’ll get along just fine after all.”

[2seokfan]

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 4

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

warnings: mentions of physical abuse

word count: 5.3k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year?  So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a roller-coaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

a/n: Y/N gets the surprise of her lifetime today! Also to clarify, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is an old cowboy movie with a very famous theme song (just in case some people don’t get the reference). Thank you for being patient! Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns!

tag list: @wilhelminalucinda @ghostkat23 @ayoo-bangtan @sadgurllayha 

How come whenever you’re excited for something, time purposely slows down?? It’s like the weekend can’t come fast enough. Each day feels like a whole week and each hour stretches like two. You swear the clock hanging on the wall of your clinic has some sort of personal grudge against you, the second hand moving at the pace of a snail.

You’re currently on the last two hours of your shift. The hustle and bustle of morning appointments have died down but that doesn’t stop the constant train of incoming calls. You wonder if there’s an award out there for maintaining a professional voice after getting asked stupid questions, because you deserve that award, exhibit A being the person you’re dealing with right now. You pick at your nails while you balance the work phone on your shoulder.

“Sorry ma'am we’re actually a hybrid clinic so no, I can’t put your son down for a checkup. Mhm. Mhm. Uh huh.” You peel off a hangnail and flick it into the trash can under your counter. “I understand you're frustrated but none of our doctors specialize in human treatment. May I suggest the hospital? Ok have a good day now. Bye.”

You hang up as a string of expletives are leaving the receiving end of your phone. What part of ‘hybrid clinic’ did she not understand?

You lean back into your office chair, vowing for the 100th time to invest in one of those lumbar support pillows for your poor, aching body. Checking today’s schedule, you see that a first-time client should be coming in any minute now. Her voice had sounded eerily familiar when she called all those days ago, but you didn’t bother to think twice.

Right on cue, you hear the clinic door open. A very familiar arctic fox hybrid is ushered in by her impatient owner.

“Hurry up won’t you! We don’t have all day!” 

Yep. That’s blondie alright.

Sylvia has already recognized you, giving you a small smile when her owner isn’t looking. You’re shocked by her appearance, small cuts and bruises adorning her face and a noticeable bandage around her left wrist. You smile back, trying to make her feel as comfortable as possible.

Blondie hasn’t noticed your presence yet, currently rummaging through her gigantic purse for a pen. She freezes when she finally looks up, making eye contact with you.

You both narrow your eyes like it’s some sort of cowboy showdown in the old west, theme song from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing in the background. If it weren’t for the counter in front of you you’d probably be slowly circling each other, hands ready to draw your pistols from your holsters.

Except it’s the 21st century and all you can do is clench your jaw and offer her a steely glare.

“What are you doing here?” Blondie is the first to break the silence.

“I work here,” you say matter of factly.

“Don’t you own hybrids?” Her voice is menacing, but it doesn’t mask her confusion. “How can a receptionist afford two hybrids?”

“I’m here on my off time cause I have nothing else to do.” You find it so much easier to lie to her now that you’ve successfully done it before. No harm in stretching your little fable.

Blondie huffs, having no rebuttal ready.

“Anyways, I need you to fill this out here.” You decide not to push her temper further since you’re at work and need to act civilly. You hand her the basic information form and contact the doctor about their arrival. 

While blondie is busy filling out the paperwork, you make quick eye contact with Sylvia, mouthing a silent ‘are you ok?’ to her. She gives you a tense nod but nibbles on her bottom lip and shifts her pupils in blondie’s direction. You can’t forget that look on Sylvia’s face, one of desperation and misery, and you want so badly to pull her out of this situation.

Blondie finishes and hands the papers back to you. You glance down and find her name on the forms. “And Karen,” of course her name is ‘Karen’, “how did Sylvia get these injuries?”

A flicker of panic flashes across her features but it instantly disappears into a frown. 

“She fell down the stairs.” Karen snaps, then proceeds to tap her foot impatiently. “Well? I’ve got an appointment??”

You sigh and swallow down the urge to talk back. “Dr. Lao is ready for you. Just head down the hall and into the office on your left.” 

Karen puts her pen back in her purse, then grabs her fox by the elbow and pulls her down the hallway, out of sight. When they disappear, you sit back and take the time to process what just happened.

You don’t believe for one minute that Sylvia fell down the stairs. Her injuries seem obviously inflicted by another person, most likely Karen, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions. Since you have no proof, you can’t really report the issue. Also you’re well aware of how corrupted Hybrid Services are and you don’t want to leave Sylvia in their hands. 

The phone rings, bringing you back to your senses. Oh yeah, I’m still at work. You remind yourself to google some safe hybrid help centers when you get home. There’s nothing you can do now but you’ll be damned if you won’t try.

The two emerge from the checkup after an hour or so. Karen turns to your counter, face still in her signature scowl as she approaches you.

“I need to schedule a second appointment.” Her tone sounds a little stiff, as if she didn’t want this outcome. “Sylvia will need another checkup for her wrist.” Her entire demeanor is suspicious to you at this point. When you met her for the first time, you were only focused on getting her to stop bothering your two hybrid friends. You regret not noticing her obvious physical aggressiveness.

As the two head out, Sylvia turns back and gives you a small ‘bye’. You melt at how cute she is despite all her injuries. You give her one last wave, determination welling up inside.

You head home and immediately dive to your laptop. Sylvia’s next checkup isn’t till two weeks later so you want to use that time to become as productive as you can in finding the numbers of various hybrid centers. Even though your work revolves around hybrids, you have no personal experience helping any of them out of trouble so you need the advice of professionals. You have no idea what any of these centers can do and you’re aware that your lack of information means you’re starting from scratch but you refuse to sit by and do nothing. Not when something fishy is obviously going on.

You’re surprised to find no decent hybrid centers, even though you live in a pretty big city. Most seem like shady adoption centers that put in the bare minimum amount of effort in taking care of and re-homing their hybrids. One center was so repulsive you’re surprised they’re legally allowed to operate. You click on their ‘About’ page for shits and giggles and the description makes you want to gag. ‘Having problems with your hybrid? Don’t worry! Call this number and we’ll take them off your hands!’ What the actual fuck!? It’s like one of those junk collecting commercials where they take away your old furniture except they’re talking about living, breathing hybrids, not an old refrigerator. This goes to show how little the government actually cares about hybrids and you find yourself involuntarily clenching your fists.

After a few websites that lead nowhere, you stumble across one for a Hope Hybrid Center that seems promising. The description indicates how they’re dedicated to the ‘safety and comfort of all hybrids without discrimination’. The only catch is that the particular center in your city has just been built and will not open till later this week. Nevertheless, you decide to trust this location since there are several other branches under the same name littered across the country that all have raving reviews. You bookmark the page and remind yourself to contact their main call center tomorrow.

You don’t know what’s come over you. It’s true you’ve always had a soft spot for hybrids, and you’ve always been in full support of every new law that passes, bringing them closer to citizenship. But you’ve never been this passionate about personally helping them. It’s a good feeling, being actively involved in something you care about. Saving your two hybrid friends two months ago has really opened your eyes to what human bystanders can do. Every action, big or small, can have an impact and you mentally scold yourself for not being aware of your surroundings previously. Oh how ignorant you were.

The rest of your research is futile, and you end up closing your laptop with a sigh of defeat. This is all you can do right now. Who do you think you are? Some sort of vigilante? What power do you have to make any change?? You’re just one silly receptionist against the big bad world.

Before you start mentally beating yourself up even more, you close your eyes and remember the image of Sylvia’s face. She looked so hopeless, so resigned to her fate, that all your self pity dissipates. Whatever miserable situation you’re in, you know she’s probably experiencing something ten times worse.

You think about bringing this run-in up with Scarlet and Hazel but you chicken out last minute. They’ve been pretty busy on the days leading up to your dinner doing god knows what. They’ve been polite enough to reply to you but you can tell from the short, quipped answers they supply that they have other things going on right now. You know that they’re not doing this on purpose so it doesn’t bother you too much, but you do miss the comic relief they provide in your hectic life. Guess you’ll tell them all about it when you see them on Saturday.

The last thought in your head before you shut your eyes is to call the Hope Hybrid Center as soon as you go on break tomorrow.

“Hi! Thank you for calling the Hope Hybrid Center! This is Jodie speaking, how can I help you?”

“Uh, hi yes!” Jeez why are your palms so clammy? It’s just a phone call, you do these everyday! “My name is Y/N and I was wondering if you can help me with a couple questions about hybrids, if that’s ok?”

“Of course!” Jodie sounds all peppy and excited. You wish you still had her energy when you do your customer service calls. You were like her for only a brief period all those years ago when you began at the clinic. Boy did that die down fast.

“Um,” You’re not really sure where to start. Do you just straight out say someone is hurting their hybrid? That might sound a little too accusatory. “What do I do if I think someone is abusing their hybrid? Like I have no proof but I still feel like it’s happening?” You’re not used to doing things behind other peoples’ backs, even for someone as awful as Karen, and it’s got your entire body erupting in cold sweat. You mentally reprimand yourself. I’m trying to help. This is for a good cause.

“That’s a good question.” Jodie’s voice is reassuring, like she can hear the nervousness of your tone through the call. “There are several things you can do actually! The first thing we recommend you do is observe their behavior as much as you can and try to record or take note of any signs of aggression displayed by the supposed abuser. This can be used in case any legal action is taken.”

“Uh huh.” You reach into your purse and grab your handy dandy little notebook, pull out the pen stuck in the spiral, and quickly flip to a random blank page to jot down everything she says.

“Now if you want to take direct action, that can be a little riskier but it is possible. The best option is to take one of our unique business cards and pass that along to the hybrid in need.”

“Unique business cards…?” She lost you there.

“Yes. You can find them at each of our shelters or we can mail them to you.” She answers fast, and you have a feeling she’s used to this question. “Each of our business cards contain an emergency phone number, a security code, and are coated with a unique scent that is virtually undetectable by humans. When the number is called, our first question is to ask for the security code, then confirm the matching scent of their business card. These cards work best with the majority of hybrids that contain a heightened sense of smell, such as the mammalian hybrids. We may need to adjust for certain bird or aquatic species that rely on other senses.”

Your writing arm is sore from taking all this down but you pause to answer Jodie. “She’s a fox hybrid, so that should be ok I think?”

You hear a large sigh of relief over the receiver. “Ok that makes things a lot easier.” Her tone switches to serious once again. “But remember this can only be done if the hybrid is willing to contact us in the first place. Beyond that, someone will have to catch them in the act of abuse and that can be very hard to do.”

You nod your head in agreement, forgetting that she can’t see you. “I understand. There’s a small chance this may just be nothing but I want to try and help at least.”

“That’s awesome! It takes a lot of guts to report these issues and you’d be surprised how many people let them slide under their noses.” She’s so encouraging that for a short, sweet moment, you envision the whole plan falling into place. You can see it now, a happy Sylvia free from her oppressive captors. Wow they really do a good job. Jodie deserves a raise.

“Thanks Jodie that means a lot!” You shake your sore arm, trying to relieve the pain. “I might need you to mail me a business card since the Hope Hybrid Center in my city isn’t open yet.”

“No problem! I’ll just need your full name, an email and phone number, and your address.”

You relay all your information over. By the time the call is finished, you have a whole 2 minutes left on your lunch break. You look down at your untouched PB&J sandwich and cry internally. It’s for a worthy cause you repeat again and again in your head like a mantra.

Friday. Finally. This week has been the longest you’ve experienced since midterm week of college. You received a package from Hope Hybrid Services this morning and it’s currently sitting on your bedside table. You won’t need to open that up till Sylvia’s next appointment.

You power through another hectic day at work, motivated by the prospect of seeing your two friends in person tomorrow. Both boys are now well aware of your work schedule and take extra care not to text you until you’re off.

5pm rolls around and your phone vibrates just as you enter your car and buckle your seat belt. You check and see that it’s from ‘Hazel’s Nuts’, your favorite groupchat. You gun it towards your apartment, wanting to reply to them in the comfort of your own home. You must have made it in record time and you’re surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket. Listen, you aren’t the best driver out there but no one’s died on your watch so you count that as a win. When you arrive home you immediately jump onto the couch and unlock your phone.

Hazel: Hi Y/N. Sorry we’ve been so busy this week but we’re excited to see you tomorrow

You: that’s ok! I figured you were occupied

Hazel: Yep. Had to take care of some stuff but we’re all set now

Scarlet: Y/N!!!!!!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOOUUUU

Scarlet: (excited emojis)

You: Same!!!

Hazel: Oh yeah

Hazel: We’re meeting at La Cucina Classica tomorrow btw

You let out a small gasp of surprise. No fucking way?! La Cucina Classica is one of THE most expensive restaurants in your city. You’ve never stepped foot inside their doors because they’re usually booked months in advance. Karli’s lucky ass managed to eat there once before and she described the food as, and you quote, ‘orgasmic’. How on earth did they manage to nab a spot there?

You: No way! Really?

Scarlet: Yes way!!

You: how the hell did you manage to get a table???

Hazel: We pulled some strings

You: omg u mysterious boys

Scarlet: We promise to tell you everything tomorrow!! <3

You: ok! but don’t feel obligated or anything

You: i trust u guys

Hazel: Good

Hazel: So tomorrow. 7pm

Scarlet: Oh yeah! Also dress nice

You: you bet! It’s a fancy place so i can’t let them know i’m secretly poor

Hazel: Lol

Hazel: I have to make a call for work so bye for now Y/N

You: bye kitty

Scarlet: See you tomorrow! I can’t wait!!!

You: me too!! 

You: bye!

You set your phone down and whisper to yourself. “What does he mean by ‘work’? They have jobs??”

And they got a table at La Cucina Classica by ‘pulling some strings’, like it was no big deal to them?! Oh my god do you need answers!

You wake up promptly at 9am.

Why? Because it’s #SelfcareSaturday. And this has nothing to do with seeing the boys in person tonight at 7pm. Nothing at all.

You usually have a lot of shit to say about how crappy your little apartment is but today you’re feeling thankful because your dingy bathroom comes equipped with a little tub. You have a bath bomb that was a birthday gift from one of your college friends and you pray these things don’t expire (they do lol) because you’re about to crack this baby open for the first time.

You’ve still got 9 hours, 23 minutes, and 16 seconds till dinner tonight but who’s counting? Not me, you think as you slowly sink into the rainbow-colored tub water. The atmosphere is perfect. You’ve lit up two of your scented candles and have a lofi hip hop playlist on shuffle. You should really do this more often except, you know, water bills.

Right after bath time you decide to do one of your more elaborate skincare routines, hoping to remove the stress and fatigue from your face after a week of work. You facetime Karli so you’re not alone during the whole process.

“Hi Y/N!!” Karli’s face pops up onto the screen. It’s a little more blurry than usual and the sunlight is harsh behind her so she must be outdoors. “Why is your face all glittery?”

“Oh this?” You point to your cheeks. “Remember that fancy Japanese face mask I bought when I got my holiday bonus?”

“Oh yeah! But you said you’d only open it for a special occasion. Unless,” then she comes to a conclusion. “is it for the boys??”

“No!” You correct her too fast. “I mean yes, but also no.” There’s a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Sometimes a girl just wants to treat herself…”

“Sweetie, your idea of treating yourself is ordering takeout and drinking wine on the weekends, but I’m not gonna pressure you.” Karli sure loves to tease.

“Shut up you don’t know me,” you pout. You’re furiously red at this point.

“Au contraire, I know you too well. You’re like that mole I have on my left ass cheek, I’ll never get rid of you.”

Classy.

“True.” She’s not wrong. You two have been through thick and thin and everything in between. It’ll take divine power to separate you now.

“Oh yeah good thing you called! I’ve got some news!” She’s raising her voice since the background noise of traffic behind her is a little deafening. 

You tilt your head, a question forming on your lips. Is it about the wedding?

“Remember that Bryce guy?”

You do now, since she brought him up. But it does bring back a few embarrassing memories. “Yeah?”

“Well he told me he has a football game coming up so he’s probably gonna text you soon to ask if you can go.” 

“I forgot I said yes to that,” you wince as you suddenly remember that night.

“I mean, you can always let him down gently,” Karli suggests.

“No, I shouldn’t. That would be mean. I did agree to go.” Just admit it. You don’t like disappointing people. 

“Ok girl, if you say so.” She doesn’t push you, probably cause it looks like she’s hurrying somewhere. “Ugh I promised to meet my coworkers for lunch but why did I wear heels downtown!”

“I don’t know girl, sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You snicker at her.

“Hey don’t be fucking rude!” She quotes that famous Kim Kardashian meme perfectly.

“Stop! Don’t make me laugh too hard!! It’s gonna mess up my face mask!” You’re trying to keep your face still but it’s damn near impossible at this point.

The rest of the day you spend pampering yourself, the whole nine yards. You even booked an appointment with the nearby nail salon after one glance at your unkempt cuticles. God you’re a mess. All you had today was a salad you picked up after your nail appointment because you want your stomach to prepare itself for the gorging you’re about to do tonight.

As the evening approaches, you hunt in your closet once again for appropriate dining attire. The words ‘dress nice’ echo in your head. This time you do open your ho drawer, because you remember having some sort of shimmery dress that isn’t too bad and can probably pass for being presentable in such a fine dining environment. You reach into the furthest corner and finally feel the soft, silky fabric, pulling it out and hoping against all odds that it isn’t full of wrinkles. Lucky for you, the dress is still in good condition. It’s a spaghetti strap and flows all the way down past your ankles. You’ve never found the occasion to wear it, only buying it cause it was on sale and you thought it was so pretty at the time.

You put it on and glance in the mirror. Usually you have a lot to critique about your physical appearance but today you admit you don’t look so bad. The dress shows a little bit of tasteful cleavage and there’s a slit that rides up your right leg but it isn’t too revealing. Attach some chunky, strappy black heels and you’re good to go. Except makeup, you’ve gotta do that first.

As the clock ticks closer to 6:30, you finish up on your smokey eye and swipe on a little lip tint. You’re definitely taking an uber tonight because you don’t want to miss out on the restaurant's excellent drink selection. Also parking on a Saturday night? Absolute nightmare.

The place is downtown and a good 20 minutes away so once you get in the car you tell the driver to step on it, promising to tip him extra when you get off.

You can’t stop the constant drumming of your heart as the car nears the location. You feel like a kid who’s been told they’re going to Disneyland and you’re giddy with excitement. Maybe it’s better not to see them in person because you might faint on the spot.

As the car pulls up you take a deep breath. Calm down Y/N, you think to yourself, I’m just meeting two good friends for dinner.

The restaurant is located at the rooftop of one of the taller buildings downtown. You enter the elevator, smoothing your dress and your nerves at the same time.

When the doors slide open, you’re greeted by an immaculately dressed hostess. You glimpse at the restaurant behind her. Expensive is definitely the right word to describe this place. There’s dimly lit, warm lighting above each of the tables, and a live band is playing soft tunes in the corner. Waiters and waitresses are carrying loads of food on only one hand, serving each table with grace and poise.

“Name?” The hostess asks you, breaking you out of your observation.

“Um,” You’re unsure what to say. Did they put the table down under Scarlet or Hazel? That can’t be right since those are fake names. 

“Y/N?” You try with your name first to see if that’ll lead anywhere.

“Right this way Miss Y/L/N.” Holy shit, ok. Guess that worked.

You’re led past the many tables, ladened with various couples, and back into a private room. They even managed to book a private room?!?! You really feel out of place with your drugstore makeup and cheap dress.

The hostess graciously opens a door for you and-

“Y/N!!”

“Ooof!” You’re enveloped by the familiar scent of honey and cinnamon. “Hi Scar.” You try to compose yourself since he smells too good to be true. Hazel is right behind him, signature sleepy smile on his face. You back away from them, taking in their appearance

Oh. My. God.

Your jaw drops. Beautiful isn’t enough to describe what’s standing in front of you. Scarlet is in a perfectly fitted, baby blue suit that shows off his lean physique. One of his top buttons is undone, revealing his caramel colored skin and collarbones. You pry your eyes away from such sin and opt to look in Hazel’s direction but that does nothing to help you since he’s also dressed to the nines, wearing all black, silver jewelry sparkling on his neck and fingers, a stark contrast to his milky white skin. You look in between them instead, fearing you’ll drool if you stare at them any longer.

Hazel steps forward and also gives you a small hug. His scent is floral, with a spicy undertone, and you want nothing more than to drown in it.

“Hi Hazel,” God you must be blushing like crazy right now. You can’t help it since they look so delicious. Stop that! They’re your friends and they’re not interested!! You want to slap yourself for thinking such impure thoughts.

Well you say that but the way they’re taking in your outfit sends a shiver down your spine. Is it just you or did their eyes darken? The atmosphere quickly returns to normal and you start to wonder if that moment was all in your imagination.

“Look! We already have the champagne ready!” Scarlet’s tail is wagging a mile a minute as he returns to his seat. Hazel slides next to him right after, trying to swat away the offending appendage that’s taking up his spot.

“How ‘bout you control that tail of yours, hm puppy?” Hazel huffs, finally managing to sit down once he successfully shoves the tail back into Scarlet’s lap.

“Hey!” Scarlet looks downright offended. “I’m a fox, not a dog! We’re a much more sophisticated creature.” He crosses his arms and states pointedly, “just like you can’t control your purrs, we can’t control our wagging.”

Hazel only sighs. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m mated to you.”

“Because you love me. Now shut up or poor Y/N’s gonna feel like she’s being third-wheeled.”

Now this is the Scarlet and Hazel you’re used to. You sit across from them, nursing the sparkling flute of champagne that’s calling your name and trying not to snort out loud at their antics. It’s still extremely hard to maintain eye contact with either of the boys but you put in effort all the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we already ordered.” Hazel shifts in his seat, one hand ruffling the back of his hair.

“Actually that’s perfect!” You chuckle. “I have no idea what to get in places like these.”

“Ok, good.” His voice is now sounding a little bit shaky, which is very puzzling. Is he nervous?

You take a better look at them, temporarily ignoring their attractiveness (which is a very hard thing to do), and you notice their body language is off. Both their tails are now twitching anxiously and their ears are a little droopy. What’s going on?

“Hey guys.” You keep your voice gentle. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! There’s just, um…” Scarlet is twisting the napkin in his lap. “We have some very important things to ask you and-”

“Wait!” You interrupt him, putting one hand up. You need to get this across before the boys tell you anything. “Before you continue, I just want you both to know that under NO circumstances do you ever have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with. I understand that you have a lot of secrets to keep, being two hybrids who probably don’t have owners. I want to respect our friendship and your privacy, and if that means not knowing a lot of your secrets, then fine by me.” You’re almost out of breath from letting all this out but it’s worth it because you truly value your friendship with them. You always joke to yourself about wanting to know what they’re hiding but deep down you cherish being their friend more than anything.

Both boys glance at each other for a second, nerves having vanished, then they suddenly throw their heads back and erupt into giggles. Scarlet is full on shaking, slapping his knee while he roars with laughter. Even Hazel is cackling, gummy teeth on full display.

This throws you off and your eyebrows furrow together. What’s so funny? You were being sincere and trying to protect them from revealing secrets they don’t want to tell you.

By this time the waiter has come by with a tray of small appetizers so you grab an olive and chew on it in confusion, waiting for their laughter to die down.

“See? What did I tell you about her?” Hazel is wiping a stray tear off his face.

“You’re right, you’re right!” Scarlet nods back in agreement.

Their laughter has finally fizzled away and they both turn to face you once again.

“Um,” You’re completely lost for words so you take another sip of champagne for courage. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No not at all!” Scarlet is quick to reassure you. “In fact, we were nervous at first but you’re making this so much easier for us.”

“Easier?” If you had a penny for all the times these boys have confused you, you’d probably be a millionaire by now.

“Right.” Hazel leans into the table a little bit, a small smirk on his face. “You see, there’s something very important we want to ask you tonight.”

“But first,” Scarlet juts in, also leaning in next to Hazel, “just to clarify. You trust us right, Y/N?”

“Of course.” You say without hesitation. These boys literally have no reason to harm you. Except they’re a little too close to you now and you resist the urge to fan yourself because oooh boy do they have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. And their ears! Why are their ears so fluffy looking?! You bet their super soft to touch but you dare not reach out.

“Even though you don’t know our real names?” Hazel urges you on.

“Well, I always figured you’ll tell me when you’re comfortable...” Your voice is getting smaller now, and you feel yourself getting red from head to toe. They’re too close to you and you try not to let your obvious attraction show so you look down and twiddle with your silverware.

“Excellent.” Both boys snap back into their seats, startling you.

“Y/N.” Scarlet clears his throat and tries to make his voice sound serious but he can’t hold back his smile. “We would like to officially ask you to adopt us.”

The fork you’re playing with clatters onto the table.

Previous

[doc-pickles]

i put a spell on you (because you’re mine)

story time: when i wrote my smut for taylor swift week i told lay aka @odd-birds-and-booksellers that i would never ever write it again and she insisted i would. it physically pains me to say this but she was right...

i wrote soulmate au smut and i’m not ashamed of it. well maybe a little. mostly i’m ashamed that this bad boy is what i put the most work into for our whole challenge. anyways enjoy.

tw// sexual content. that’s the whole fic. 

Jo knows how silly she sounds, to hope that someone out there might be her soulmate, but there’s still a small part of her filled with hope that the tall tales people tell are somehow true.

  As a doctor, Jo had taken more than her fair share of classes on anatomy and human sexuality, each one highlighting the fact that while soulmates haven’t been scientifically proven, there’s evidence to suggest otherwise. She feels almost childish buying into the belief that there’s someone out there that’s another half of her, she’s a scientist at heart and doesn’t let herself believe in such foolish ideas. However, she’d worked cases in her med school clinic and even in the Grey Sloan ER where people were overwhelmed with burning desire to… well you know. 

  Jo thinks she was in middle school when she’d first heard the whispers, that if you found your soulmate there was a way to know for sure that they were it. Your first touch, no matter how minute, would send you and your soulmate spinning with the desire to consummate your relationship. It was probably the craziest thing she’d ever heard of, but it crossed her mind every once in a while. There was an all too real possibility that the legends people told were true and that was something she didn’t know if she could live with. She’d already loved her fair share of men and if the soulmate legend was to be believed, she’d yet to find hers.

  There was Chris, the sweetest and most understanding boy she’d ever met. Their long nights spent in the backseat of her car and the way he’d toted her around to his fancy high class events like she was a treasure had made her feel her first sense of belonging. However for all the times they’d touched, there had never been that overwhelming feeling that Jo had craved. Sometimes she felt bad about the ending she wrote for them, but she knew that wherever he was Chris was doing big important things and she couldn’t help but be proud of that.

  Then there was Paul… While Jo was grateful not to have some eternal soul bond connecting her to him, she had still at some point been in love with him. Before they’d rushed off to the altar in his haste to legally tie her to him, Paul had been sweet and kind and really had made her fall in love. Of course things had gone down a path that Jo didn’t like to think about, but the sentiment of lost love was always there.

  Since coming to Seattle though, Jo’s love life had consisted mainly of a random hookup here and there, her mind putting away the idea that soulmates really did exist. In fact, it wasn’t even something she thought of at all as she let random men claw their way down her back or grind their hips into her own. Stephanie had called her a one hit wonder, but that’s easy to say when you’re constantly getting amazing sex with a man who looks like Jackson Avery.

  “Jo come on,” Leah called from the living room of the small apartment they shared. “I look hot and the longer we stay here, the harder I have to work to find a man who isn’t shit faced.”

  Adjusting her headband once more, Jo stuffs her thin wallet into her bra and leaves her bedroom. Joe’s was holding a Halloween party and Leah and Jo were not going to miss out on the festivities. Jo eyed Leah’s firefighter costume that left little to the imagination, the blonde confident in her abilities to snag an actual firefighter during their night out with the ensemble.

  “Look at you Wilson, you’re gonna be pulling them left and right out there,” Leah let out a low whistle as she took in Jo’s costume. “Naughty and nice indeed. Let’s get out there!”

  Jo had opted for a simple angel costume, her figure hugging dress just barely covering her ass and the low cut neckline showing off her assets well. She knew Seattle was freezing in October, but if this dress got her laid she couldn’t complain much. 

  Tugging at the hem of her dress, Jo followed Leah’s lead out the door of their apartment and towards the Uber she’d called while Jo finished getting ready. She’d had a long week at work and all she wanted to do was get drunk and go home with a guy who would take care of the physical needs her body was desperately craving to fulfill.

  “I heard a bunch of the fellows are coming out tonight, maybe you’ll get one of them to get into your pants,” Leah’s eyes were glued to her phone as she spoke. “Personally I’m hoping one of those hot EMTs rolls by. I would love to get a piece of that action.”

  Jo’s eyes bulged at Leah’s suggestion, scoffing at her friend, “Jeez you don’t beat around the bush. Besides there’s not really any hot fellows that are on the market still.”

  “Mmm Karev is,” Leah looked up from her phone, just in time to see Jo duck her head down. “And let me tell you, he is a fantastic lay.”

  “Leah! Jesus!”

  “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the guys you bring home and I’m sure none of them are completely satisfying your needs,” Leah shrugged, eyes looking out the window with a grin. “And we’re here! Thank god, I’m ready for shots.”

  Jo rolls her eyes, following Leah out of the car and into the crowded bar. The throngs of people help Jo’s body to warm up a bit as her and Leah push through the crowds. 

  “Oh! Grab those barstools, I’ll go get us drinks,” Leah pointed to an empty table in the corner, motioning Jo towards it as she headed for the bar. 

  Jo settles herself into one of the seats, pulling her phone out to distract her until Leah comes back. She needs alcohol desperately, she needs to be drunk and she needs to get laid. Whatever else happens tonight doesn’t matter as long as those two things happen. 

  She’s pulled out of her thoughts by someone sitting in the seat next to her. Already annoyed with them, Jo turns to chew out whoever decided tonight was the night to mess with her, “Listen, I don’t know who you think- Oh.”

  Sitting next to her was Alex Karev, dressed in casual street clothes and taking pulls off the beer in his hand. She hadn’t seen him all day, she’d been working in ortho with Torres, so he wasn’t an unwelcome sight. 

  “You gonna continue yelling at me Princess? Or maybe I should call you Angel tonight,” Alex grinned at Jo, flicking the halo atop her head as she rolled her eyes at him. “You come down here all alone?”

  “No I came with Leah, she’s grabbing us drinks. She’s been gone forever though.”

  “Yeah well she’s making out with some guy in the corner,” Alex’s eyes scanned the room and pointed the blonde out to Jo, who grimaced. “Doing that in public should be illegal.”

  A laugh left Jo, taking in Alex as he surveyed the room. They’d worked together a lot lately, developing a close relationship that consisted of them joking during surgeries then coming to the bar for a few rounds of beers. He was funny, more charming than most gave him credit for, and he had a huge heart for the kids he worked with. It was easy for Jo to form a bond with him, something that Stephanie teased her about whenever she had the chance. 

  “Come on, I need a new beer and I’ll get you one too, only cause I feel bad that you got ditched,” Alex stood and gestured for Jo to follow him towards the bar. “So you trying to get laid tonight?”

  “Oh my god! Alex!”

“Oh please, I’m not hitting on you. That dress just tells me everything I need to know. Besides, I’m sure any guy in this place would take you home,” Jo almost has to laugh at Alex’s commentary as they walk towards the bar. “Seriously, I’d be shocked if you didn’t get laid tonight. You look hot.”

  A snappy comeback is on the tip of her tongue when Jo finds herself all but pushed towards Alex as a pair of stumbling idiots behind her attempt to find their footing. Alex’s hands reach out to steady her, falling to her bare arms as they lock eyes. 

  Holy shit. 

  The feeling coursing through Jo is unrecognizable and familiar all at once. Her eyes lock with Alex’s, noticing the dark look that’s taken over them as they hold each other’s stares. Her skin is burning where his hand is still laid across it, the sensation rippling out across her body and sending a chill down her spine. Despite not having a drop of alcohol tonight, Jo’s head is fuzzy and her senses fluctuate uneasily as she processes what’s just happened. 

  “ Oh fuck .”

  The words leave Alex’s mouth and tug harshly at something deep within Jo’s core, her panties immediately soaking themselves at just the sound of his voice. What the hell was happening to her? Alex pulled his hand back from her arm, the absence turning wheels in her mind that told her to touch him again, to bring him closer and not to stop. She could tell from the way he was fidgeting that he felt the same intense feeling pulsing through his body that she did. 

  Was this it? Was this that all consuming feeling that people talked about? Her mind was screaming at her, telling her to press her lips to Alex’s to feel more of the electricity crackling through her veins. She couldn’t though, she realized as reality slapped her harshly across her face, there were so many reasons why she couldn’t shouldn’t do this but… 

  The feeling building inside of her comes to a startling peak as Alex leans close to her, his breath fanning across her neck as he wraps an arm around her waist. The fire inside of her reignites as Alex’s fingers brush against her bare skin again, the apex of her thighs burning at how close his body is to hers. She can barely comprehend what he’s saying, her mind clouded by a thick fog that threatens to consume her whole being, but the words he speaks drag her up as if she’d been drowning and he was a fresh breath of air, “Bathroom, now .”

  Jo just nods, not trusting herself to speak as she watches Alex weave through the crowd of people and disappear behind the bathroom door. Her heart is hammering, her mind on another plane as her feet carry her down the same path she’d just watched Alex take. 

  She had a soulmate. Jo couldn’t believe it, she had found the person she would spend the rest of her life with and it was Alex Karev. She’d thought that he might be different, that he might be special in a way she wouldn’t dare to say out loud. But she had also thought she was wrong, their first interaction consisting of their gloved hands brushing against one another in a rush to grab trauma gowns. Then again in the NICU as they high fived each other nothing had happened. Still rounds of radio silence as Alex pressed his hand into back when they’d walked the halls, when she’d settled a hand comfortingly onto his shoulder after they’d lost a patient, and again when they’d worked in the OR and their hands had passed surgical tools back and forth. 

  Jo realizes then that her and Alex, for all the times they’d touched each other, had never touched each other’s bare skin. Her arm begins to burn at that thought, the spot that Alex had grabbed her tingling as if begging for his touch again. Her body was no longer her own, Jo thought, as it thrummed and yearned for Alex Karev of all people to touch her in places she wouldn’t dare to say out loud. She stops suddenly as she stands in front of the bathroom door, breath coming out in spurts as she stares at the wood. Once she walked in, her life would be changed forever. She contemplated not going, turning around and leaving the bar altogether, but the longing building in her core wouldn’t stop, an all consuming need to walk into whatever unknowns faced her if it meant Alex would be there too. 

  With a silent resolve, Jo pushed open the door, quickly shutting and locking it behind her. As soon as she turned around, she felt lips against her own that helped quell the burning need deep in her belly. She couldn’t help the low moan that left her, Alex using the movement as an opportunity to sneak his tongue into her mouth. His fingers were running up her legs, moving dangerously closer to the hem of her skirt as she pressed herself closer to his touch. 

  “You… I knew there was something about you,” Alex’s lips were trailing down her neck now, Jo’s skin flaming hot as his tongue darted out to cool the skin. “Should’ve known it was you.” The moan that leaves her as Alex’s tongue pulls down the strap of her dress and licks a path down to her breast is almost embarrassing in how desperate it sounds. It feels like she’s lost control of herself, her body reacting to Alex in ways she never would normally. Her fingers are running through his hair, eyes closing as she leans back against the wall in pleasure. She finds her free hand moving of its own will, snaking down Alex’s chest and under his shirt to claw at the skin there. 

  “ Alex . Off.”

  She can’t get more words out than that, her fingers moving to try and push off his shirt in a daze. He takes the hint and pulls back to rip it off himself, his fingers then moving to quickly undo the clasp of her bra. Alex pushes her dress down quickly and throws her bra to the side, hands coming up to pinch her nipples in a way that makes her hold back a scream. Jo knows that with less clothing the air should feel cooler but her body instantly heats up as Alex’s bare chest meets her own, his lips colliding with hers again as her nails rake down his back. 

  She’s had sex before, she’s had phenomenal sex with different partners, but this… the connection she feels with Alex as their bodies melded together was unreal. They hadn’t even taken their pants off yet and Jo knew that this was by far the best sex she would ever have. 

  “Oh Jesus,” while trapped in her own mind, Jo hadn’t noticed Alex’s fingers moving lower and slipping under the thin lace of her panties. Now that she has though, she can’t ignore him or his fingers that are curling so easily into her and hitting her so deliciously that it feels as if he’d done it a thousand times before. “ Alex .”

  “Say it again.”

  His voice is rough and desperate against her lips, her head tilting back in pure ecstasy as his fingers continue to move inside of her. 

  “Oh god, Alex . Please don’t stop. Alex , Alex .”

  His name sounds different on her tongue, the word rolling off so easily that she wants to say it again and again until her voice is hoarse and she has no more words left. His breath is hot against her neck, hitting in time with the fingers that are still stretching her and bringing her closer and closer to her breaking point. She’s close, she’s so close and she knows he can feel it, Alex’s lips trailing back down her neck to bite lightly at her breast. 

  “You’re gonna be the death of me,” his voice is a growl, teeth skating her skin as she whimpers. Jo can feel herself ready to fall over the edge, her body tensing in the best way as she digs her nails into Alex’s shoulder. “Come on baby, you’re so close. Come for me.” His voice sends her over the edge, the words falling from his lips sending her into ecstasy. Every nerve in her body is on fire as her orgasm washes over her, pleasure taking over every bit of sense she has. She can feel Alex’s hands wrapping around her waist, his lips trailing back up her neck and towards her mouth, but doesn’t fully register him until his lips are pressing against hers again. This kiss is less needy and desperate, but the passion between the two is still burning bright as Jo follows Alex’s call to wrap her legs around his waist.

  She thinks he’s going to settle her onto the sink counter, but instead Alex drops her in front of it, flipping her around so her bare breasts are pushed against the cool marble as he bends her over. He doesn’t waste any time, quickly throwing her panties to the side and letting his hands wander her bare ass. She can hear his belt and pants clattering to the floor, eyes closing in eager anticipation of what’s to come. 

  “I feel bad for taking you in a bar bathroom for our first time,” Alex’s words are hot and heavy as he leans forward, his lips ghosting her ear as he runs his fingers through her folds once more. “But you’re so damn eager.” “I don’t care where, please just fuck me,” Jo’s voice is bordering a whine as Alex removes his fingers from her, leaving her wanting more as her chest pressed against the countertops harder. “ Alex, please.”

  He’s silent for a moment, Jo’s about to turn around when his fingers squeeze her hips tightly as he sheaths himself inside her in one fell swoop. Her voice isn’t her own as she leans forward, a loud moan leaving her as Alex sets a pace that's altogether torturously slow and the exact thing she’d needed since his hand grasped her arm. 

  “God, you’re so good,” Alex’s voice is husky, a moan intermixed with the words as he lets one hand wander up Jo’s body. His pace picks up a bit, Jo’s own moans growing louder and more frantic as she grasps the sink tightly. “You feel so good wrapped around me.”

  “ Alex ,” the word barely drips from her mouth as he continues his quickened pace, fingers tightening against her hip. High pitched moans punctuate her words as her body takes him with everything she has. “Mmm… wanna… see you… Alex .”

  Alex doesn’t waste any time, releasing her hips and flipping her quickly around to face him. Jo’s legs are around him in a flash, his arms settle around her as she takes him once more, hips grinding down against his as she leans her forehead against his. 

  The pace they set is fervent, their bodies moving in tandem as their tongues battle each other. While her body is rolling through waves of ecstasy, Jo feels something deeper inside of her building. There’s a connection, a bond building between her and Alex as their bodies connect in the most intimate way. The urge she feels deep within her causes her to open her eyes, meeting Alex’s dark eyes that are already on her. The interaction alone causes Jo’s heart to skip a beat, her fingers coming back up to Alex’s face as she brought their faces closer. 

  “You… you’re everything. You’re so beautiful. God, I’m so glad it’s you,” the words leave Alex in a breathless whisper, but the sentiment behind them isn’t lost on Jo. The look in his eyes isn’t the raging lust that it had been when they’d locked eyes at the bar, instead there was a genuine longing and love behind it. “Come here.”

  Alex brings her lips to his, one hand gripping tightly to her waist as his strokes went from hard and heavy to slow and intimate. With every languid thrust he makes, Jo’s body reacts in turn with a moan that drives her closer to her breaking point. She’s close, so damn close.  

  “ Alex , oh god,” Jo knows she sounds desperate, but the way Alex is moving is driving her crazy. As he bottoms out once more, she breaks their lips apart to take him in again. His eyes are closed, forehead resting against hers as he lets his own frenzied moans fill the air. He’s close, she can tell by the ragged breaths coming out between his moans as his fingers squeeze her hips and surely leave marks on the delicate skin. “Come with me, please Alex .”

  His eyes pop open then, their gazes meeting as they both topple over the edge in unison. A carnal moan leaves Alex as he buries himself in her, teeth desperately nipping and biting at her neck once again. The feeling washing over Jo as her second orgasm overtakes her is indescribable, like her whole body is on fire in the best way. Her nails claw down Alex’s back, her mouth agape as she relishes in the feeling of him  pulsing inside of her. 

  When they've both taken a minute to recover, a low laugh erupts from Alex, his lips still brushing against Jo’s neck. His fingers find her cheeks, eyes moving up to meet hers with a crooked grin that makes Jo melt a bit inside, “Hey there.”

  “Hi,” Jo can’t think of anything else to say as she takes in Alex’s face. She’d looked at him hundreds of times before, but this felt different. It was as if she was staring at an entirely new person, which she almost was. This wasn't Alex Karev her boss, this was Alex Karev her soulmate. The man she’d spend her life with, the man who would father her children, the man whose last name she would take. 

  “You wanna get outta here? I really wanna take you home,” Alex’s words are soft and low, as if there’s a chance that Jo will say no to his request. 

  “Yes please, I can’t think of anything better,” she presses a light kiss to his lips, a grin overtaking both of them as she does so. “Mmm you’re gonna have to move if we wanna leave.”

  Alex chuckles, finally untangling their limbs and beginning to gather up their clothes that they’d discarded around the small bathroom. He hands Jo her dress and bra, her cheeks heating with a blush as she watches him slip her lacy white panties into his pocket. 

  “Did you think maybe I needed those,” Jo’s voice was filled with amusement as she looked at Alex, who held the door open for her as they slipped out of the bathroom together. “You’re gonna let me walk through the bar with a dress this low and no panties?”

  Alex slings his arm around Jo’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple as he whispers in her ear as they make their way through the crowd, “I know the angel getup is just a costume, you’re pretty naughty on the inside.”

[denkilightning]

zuma timeline aka im finally writing all the trauma shit down pls bear w/ me

(tw: rape, csa, child abuse of multiple kinds, fires, burns, death, scars, trauma, suicide attempt, organized crime groups)

ill keep it in a age - what happens chart so it’s easier to keep up with

0 - 6 - baby denki is born in malibu, when he’s 5 and get’s his electric part of his quirk* he and his family move to eureka, california 

6 - 6,5 - baby denki and family (without charles and tora, denki’s sister and her gf) move to japan, saitama 

6,5 - (24.12) the raid happens, lead by eandevor and planned by shakai. denki watches his mom (reine) die in a fire, almost dies in a fire himself. dad kaminari (daichi) gets taken by the police to tartarus, but denki doesn’t know that and he thinks his dad is dead. denki gets taken by HPSC officials to make him a perfect hero like they did with hawks

7 - right after denki ‘starts his training’, falling under shakai’s (his handler) care, he starts planning his suicide. after few months he attempts, and fails. in consequence he loses the water part of his quirk and develops a quirk disability, and he goes hard of hearing. he spends next few months in physical therapy filled with emotional abuse, constantly drugged with quirk repressants and gaslighted. he meets keigo.

8 - denki’s assigned role changes, instead of a pro hero he’s trained to be an assassin. he’s also given the name ‘zuma’. given zuma’s cold, distant and stubborn nature (SzPD + ASD), zuma’s trainers and instructors, as well as shakai, start to physically abuse him.** shakai’s emotional and psychological abuse keeps on going. zuma and keigo’s relationship grows to be sibling-like

9 - 11 - (rape tw) shakai takes zuma to venice, italy. the main plan is to exploit zuma as much as she can, and then kill him indirectly. to do that, she ties with organized crime group (mafia veneta). in overall consequence, for three years zuma gains assassin experience (and he’s damn good at assassinating people), claiming an incredibly high body count, while for the same three years he’s sexually abused by one of the italian mobs (no i did not bother to give him a name yet, ill get to it eventually), and psychologically, financially, emotionally and physically abused by shakai. because of zuma excelling at his job, shakai decides to keep him alive. when zuma finds out shakai wanted him to die, venice massacre happens. (here should be a link to a post describing what happened at the massacre, but it doesn’t exist yet). zuma develops an eating disorder.

12 - shakai and zuma come back to japan. keigo takes zuma into his custody, becoming zuma’s legal guardian. (*finger guns* AAYYYYYYY- sorry sorry im serious now) keigo also lets zuma to cut his hair, that’s been long, impractical, and annoying. 

13 - 15 - nothing really happens that i thought of, unless i forgot of sth. untreated trauma, personality disorders (PPD, SzPD, STPD)

15 - zuma applies to ua, as a way to run away from shakai. he (against his will) keeps his jobs as a HPSC assassin.

also he ends up in QPR with shinsou, becomes an underground pro hero, a pro-hero-medic, and bakusquad agency’s manager. FIGHT ME ABOUT IT.

*here’s a post about denki being a double elementalist - electric and aqua type

** that is an incredibly shitty ass excuse, no one, especially a fucking traumatized child, deserves to be abused. im noting that just to point out that most of the abuse he’s encountered is rooted in ableism, and some is rooted in racism.

additional notes:

if you wonder why charles didn’t do anything about denki’s situation: she thought he was dead the entire time. HPSC literally falsed denki and daichi’s deaths. in records denki kaminari died at the age of 6.

daichi dies when denki’s 17 

if you ask why denki’s age of 6,5 matters: it doesn’t i just figured the date when the raid happened

fuck shakai, ill have the time of my life killing her off, but keep in mind yall that she’s following the circle of abuse. most of shit she does is because she’s been abused, too. it doesn’t excuse her actions at all, tho obviously. also she’s been only abusing denki, not both keigo and denki, so additional fuck you @ her.

both of the abusers die before denki :) very painful deaths if i have to say anything about it :) (/no sarcasm)

[smells-like-ink-and-fire]

Innocence died screaming, honey I should know

Here’s the thing: For all his talk of Gotham being a life-sucking, happiness draining shithole, leaving it had never been truly an option on Jason’s mind. It was his shithole of a city goddammit, the grim dirt streets he would die on. It was his home, the blood on his veins. This city had its claws deep into him, and leaving, especially leaving never to return, had been simply impossible, did not compute to him.

Especially now, that Jason was getting along better with the Bats these days. He still didn’t, and never would agree with Bruce regarding his no-killing rule. But things were better, or at least he thought they were. His presence was expected and even accepted. There were some awkwardness and silent nobody knew how to fill, but there were also jokes and eating junk food together after patrol. Sure, there were a lot of snippy comments but he made those too, gave as good as he got, and Bruce still didn’t quite trust him, not to the extent he did with the other, though that was just a given, he had made peace with it, he still killed, after all, a little suspicion was an acceptable price to pay for it.

Self-righteous, holier than thou bat.

Still, there was an uneasiness on his chest whenever the pointed looks got too much when they would start questioning his actions and his plans like he hadn’t been trained by the world's greatest detective like the rest of them and League of Shadows on top of that. Forgetting that Jason had effectively taken control of the East End in less than two months, and without any of them noticing.

The good parts didn’t lessen the rage-hurt out when Barbara sneered at him, acting like he couldn’t be trusted in the field, like the fact he had issues, that he cared about the victims because he had been one made him incapable of being rational, turned him into something that was eternally compromised. Like he was a mindless raging monster, who would shoot to kill at mere provocation.

He had been, once, fresh out of those green waters, traumatized, angry, afraid, and replaced. He had been a child, too, didn’t that count for something?

Their veiled accusations of insanity, that he had a problem, that needed to be handled like he was a fucking dog, the angry gremlin claims that he was unhinged and the only reason that they kept him around was to keep an eye on him, it all made Jason feel queasy, made him feel less than human.

It made him wonder how truly welcome he was. Was he welcome or they were just trying to appease their guilt and keep a loose cannon from the streets?

But there were undoubtedly good things too. Moments that made it worth it. His relationship with Steph and Duke, and surprisingly, Replacement was getting better, even though the first two were not around as much as he would like. The nights they had spent chewing off some of the undoubtedly brilliant but assholes teachers while demolishing mountains of homework had been fun, and Replacement-Tim was quite a sass master, now only if he could convince the kid to take a step back from WE so that he wouldn’t have a heart attack before he could drink legally.

Replacement, however, was why he was here. Here being diner on the border of the Bowery and Robinsonville, The Raging Duck, a new place that Golden Boy wanted to try, make a family bonding experience out of it, Jason was sure. Replacement had twisted his way around with words in a shape that made it impossible for him not to come. His saving grace was that Jason had already made clear that he couldn’t stay long, under the pretext of having to verify that month payments collection from the Bowery.

Which was goddammed good thing because this whole outing had been a mistake. The last couple weeks had been rough, with the stress of studying and writing applications for his master degree, the couple of murders that almost led to a gang war between the Falcone and the Russians,  plus a decoy staged by the Riddler, as his newest scape plan, that had taken too long to crack leading to an accident that had killed three people and would have killed a lot more if Jason hadn’t said fuck and put bullet holes on some goons heads. This in turn led to an inevitable argument because of Batman's continuous incapacity to see the necessity of his actions while on some level recognizing that was the only poss0ible decision meant that tension had been higher than usual.

Therefore, putting everybody in a room together was definitely not the best idea, Dickie! The last ten minutes certainly proved so, what had started as an easy-going conversation about their early on mishaps of the field, which included a hefty number of stories where the main theme was “And then I said Fuck Batman – With varying degrees of success” that had started as a split-second change of subject in order to avoid a fight breaking out, had turned into passive-aggressive attacking Jason. The worst part was that Jason wasn’t even sure they were doing on purpose.

Did the even realize he was sitting right next to them? Or was he just a ghost?

“… and then the fantastic Robin fell three stores down only to be needed to be saved by the incredible Spoiler! So, listen to me kids, if you’re going to say fuck Batman you should at least be sure there is something to break your fall before you jump.”  - Steph finished the story with a flourish, going back to her waffles.

“That was a level of stupidity that I wasn’t aware that you were capable of Replacement. Really, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.

“Please, as if you weren’t the first one to ignore an order just to fuck with B, Jason. There’s a list. The Incident with the Falcone. Killer Crock latest scape. The entire shit show that was last week. – Tim shot back, mulish, poking at his fries

And every single of those missions was a raging success.

“Which is the one involving Babs, back when she was still BG, you know the one she always mentions, because I don’t know what you did dude but she’s still pissed at you for it.”

“Oh, I know! Bruce forced them to work together on that one, it was a drug-smuggling operation that involved kids. Jason jumped in instead of waiting for her signal. Needless to say, it did not end up well. Babs was so very pissed.”

Yeah for the assholes that thought using kids as drug mules was a good idea. BG was just made the street rat had a better plan than her

“Is that why warehouse 25F is a gory, burned-out mess?”

“Nah, that came later, during that corruption case that nearly put the Comish in the hospital. Or maybe it was the one involving that Nazi Arts dealer?”

“Is there a difference? They always end up in unnecessary explosions. Todd’s need for dramatics and overuse of force are well documented”

Because you can talk about overuse of force, demon spawn.                    

“Robin. Less explosions. Trying to help. Hurt.”

“Yeah, he was trying to help Cass, nobody is denying that the thing is Jason desire to be a little shit and prove Batman wrong is way stronger than his drive to help people, and even though there were far less explosions back then, both he and innocent people have gotten hurt.”

How you’d know? You weren’t around back then Dickface.

“So, we can agree that it’s basically a Pavlovian response for him at this point. Your stubbornness and desire to say Fuck Batman no matter the consequences have been able to surpass death Jason, and if that it’s not a feat, I don’t know what is. Congratulations, really!” – Steph summarized.

He had been holding up fine until that point but he just didn’t have the strength to it anymore, every word out it Tim's mouth felt like the blow of crowbar shattering his ribs, chocking on his own blood because a Batarang slashed his throat. He felt faint. He felt dangerously close to crying.

“I have to go.” – Jason got out of his chair.

“Jason…” – The pitying and yet reproachful note on Dick’s voice made his skin crawl.

“I said I couldn’t stay very long. Some of us have stuff to do. You know criminal empires to run, places to blow up, kneecaps to shoot.” – He doped a twenties bill on the table.

“Todd. Cease being childish. Just because you are unable to accept your failures, and the fact that you were incompetent and arrogant enough to be captured by an enemy does not mean you should incapable of accepting constructive criticism.”

“Not being childish gremlin. I do have a criminal empire to run. And I do take constructive criticism, preferably from people who know what the hell they are talking about. You know people that are more than the “blood sons” of people that are greater than themselves. Noise midgets, not so much. Bye.”  – Jason out of the dinner before any of them can reply.

See you never again.

He doesn’t know how he gets back to his closest safe house. It’s a reasonably good one. He likes this one. He focusses on the things he likes. Hardwood floor. The light green paint. On the things, he doesn’t. The shitty heating. The fact that the cabinets doors don’t shut all the way.

Breaths. Slowly. In and Out. Counts to three hundred. Breaths again.

The tears still prickle on his eyes. His chest feels hollow. His throat is dry. He doesn’t have the strength to move from where he’s sat on the floor, his back against the door. Going a few rounds with Deathstroke had hurt less. It certainly never made him want to crawl under his bed and stay there until the world forget he existed. Of course, Slade had also never blamed for his own death.

Even though his own father had. Reckless, overly aggressive, incapable of following orders, loud-mouthed Robin that got what he deserved, Bruce had said. Maybe not to his face but he had said it. Then again it had been his fault, hadn’t it?

He takes a few more breaths, tries to push his emotions back, locking them deep, and walks to the fridge, pours himself a glass of water. Drinks it. His mind goes back to the conversation. The glass shatters in his hand.

“Oh, fuck!”

He goes to the sink, to clean his hands and throws the broken glass into the trash. Lucky there were only some minor cuts that don’t need stitches even if they hurt like a bitch.

Take that universe!

Still, he wraps them in bandages since he doesn’t fancy cleaning blood out of his sheets. Sleep, however, doesn’t come easily that night, and the time he doesn’t spend tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position to follow to try to fall back asleep in, he spends waking up from dreams that leave him feeling like he’s constantly falling, sharp terror waking him each and every time.

There is no rest for the wicked though, and so he takes off by late morning and goes to check o on the rest of the gang, makes sure Antony is running things smoothly. All in all, it’s pretty boring, with enough paperwork to make a bonfire, but it does the job of taking his mind out the things for a while. Patrol is uneventful, which is a welcome respite, and Jason doesn’t do much more than stop a few muggings and beating up some creeps.

During that time, he keeps an ear out for the bats, especially Dick since he’s not anywhere near the mood to listen to another of the boy wonder lectures about how “Damian is just a child; you shouldn’t take what he says seriously”, especially those came with the addition of being delivered in that tone that screamed, “even though he’s right”. But he must have gone back to his turf because he sees no hair nor hide of him or any of the others.

The next two nights are very much a repetition of that first one, with little sleep and little action, so much so that a paranoid and exhausted part of him gets a bit terrified and so he ends up calling Roy just to hear the genius talk about whatever crazy project he’s been working on lately. If the redhead has any idea why Jason is calling him at four in the morning, he doesn’t comment on it and simply talks until his friend's breath has even out.

This way when the sun comes up the next day, Jason drags himself out of bed and heads straight to the shower, the cold water helps ground him back into his body. Still feeling like shit but at least knowing the difference between dream and reality he eats his breakfast while checking his messages and it’s more than a little bit shocked to see a text from Bruce asking, as in there is an actual please in it if they can talk about a possible case with a few crossed wires. There’s even an invitation to stay for dinner alongside with it, which makes him wonder if Bruce hit his head a little too hard the other day, or if Alfred finally made good on his promise of finding a drug that made him less emotionally stunned.

No matter the cause, the message leaves him hopeful enough that he answers with a yeah, I’ll be there by five.

He arrives at the Manor door fifteen minutes past five, just in case, greeting Alfred with a smile that the old butler easily returns. They make some small talk as the older man demands him to at least drink a cup of tea before heading down. Still, they part at the entrance of the cave and Jason takes those final steps alone.

“Sup, old man?”

“Jason.” – Bruce answers, his back turned, typing at the bat computer, probably filling some reports.

“C’mon B, you’re the one who called me unless of course, you somehow have been possessed and that please was you asking for help, in which case, give me a second and let me call the Martian Manhunter, you gotta give a bit more of information.” – Jason kept his gaze on Bruce’s back, his breath steady, he was not rambling thank you very much!

“There been some talk about an escort service in Diamond District that works as a front from money laundering. I think you might know some of the girls.”

“Little bit out of my way. Maybe you should check with Cat.”

Bruce’s eyes were shining, and the line of his mouth meant that he was finding it funny and Jason was filed to the brim with a wave of warmth and nostalgia. It made him feel like a kid again, it made him like Robin again, like magic.

“Maybe we should.”

“Oh gross! Let’s go back to the ever-existing cases of corruption and gross old man please?”

“Isabella McGarvey”

“Know the surname. Any relation to Ophelia McGarvey?”

"Her older sister I believe, records show that she moved from the East Side two years ago but didn’t take her sister with her because she was a minor…"

Most of the afternoon passed that way. With the Batman and the Red Hood checking financial records, discussing disappearances and police reports in an amiable tone, full of teasing.  It was a welcome change of pace being the one providing the answers to all-knowing Batman for once. So, he took his time explaining the inner workings and the shady dealings of the Alley, preening at the attention and the approval, something he would deny until his second dying day.

Perhaps the only dark spot in the otherwise bright day was the fact that Jason kept purposely having to avoid looking at the southeast corner of the cave, at the glass cage that seemed to hover over them.

Refusing to acknowledge that some part of Bruce would always believe he was dead

“There maybe be a loose end might be worth exploiting but I don’t know how long that window would be open: There was a shooting, a few days ago, near the Bowery and Robinsonville, no cameras, three dead, the assailant left no evidence behind.”

“Don’t know what to tell you Bats, last time I was there I was with your kids, didn’t hear anything, neither did mine. I mean, I could ask but this is Gotham, murders are pretty much the norm. Unless those guys are part of something bigger, I got you nothing.” -  Jason shrugged, already calculating the possibilities of why this is relevant and coming out with nothing.

Damn all-knowing paranoid bat.

“They were. Trafficking ring. Middleman.”

“There is no trafficking ring in the Alley”.

Of that he’s certain.

“There is not. Because those men were killed before they could take anyone. But they were known for it, and they were asking the sort of questions that could ping on your radar.”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything. I’ll make sure to pay more attention, update some protocols.” – Jason answered, already planning to investigate it.

If they were acting as a middleman for someone roaming around then that someone would send more to scoop the territory out and he would be prepared when they came, regardless of what else could be there. There were no trafficking rings in Alley.

“Or maybe you did and decided to take care of it your own terms”

The abruptness of the question was so earth-shattering that he took a few steps back to regain his balance.

“Jesus Christ Bruce if are gonna accuse me of murder you could at least have the decency of start with that. No, I did not kill them. If any of mine did I haven’t heard of it. But as far as I’m concerned is no great loss.” - He succeeds at sounding nonchalant and enraged, hiding the fact that the question felt like a bucket of water, leaving his cold and shaking.

So, this is why Bruce actually called, so he could question Jason about his latest failure, his latest disappointment in Bruce’s eyes. Of course, it was, and he was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. For letting himself hope that Bruce was trying, that he wanted to rekindle the relationship they had when Jason still wore those green panties.

“Where were you at 2:30 in the morning, three nights ago?”

“What?”

Please god, everything but this. I can’t do this again

“At the time of the murder, where were you?

“In a dinner with your kids.” – Jason’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as if all the air had been pushed out of his lungs.

Why you don’t believe me? Why you don’t trust me?

“Damian said you left early, earlier than that, because he got home at 3:00. It takes at least half an hour to get here from there.

“Safehouse a few blocks away, then. Sleeping. Bruce, please”.  – Jason was begging now, voice raw and full of hurt.

“Can you prove that?”

"The hell is wrong with you?!? I already told you: I. DID. NOT. KILL. THEM. When have I ever not taken credit for the people I’ve killed?"

“What’s going on?”

And of course, because his luck could not be worse, that was the Perfect Grayson coming down the stairs. He could feel the headache forming behind his eyes. He did not want to deal with this shit right now.

Was it too much to ask for the ground swallow him whole?

“Nothing! Bruce’s just spent the last five minutes pointlessly accusing of murder! Can you get the fuck out so we can continue discussing it?”

“You were near the scene of the crime, you have a motive, the means, and a history.”

“Wait you killed someone?”

“No! Keep up, Bruce is just being a dick, you know like you usually are.”

“Is a valid concern”

“Is a piece of shit that is what it is!”

“Can someone please explain?”

“Bruce thinks I killed three people after I left the dinner the other day.”

That what you did after you left? It’s that what you meant by shooting kneecaps? Jay… I know that you were angry but this…

“Jesus Fucking Christ Didn’t I just say its bullshit?”

“You said that?”

“It was a joke”

“You have motive, means, no alibi and now your brother is telling me that you left because you needed to shoot someone. What do you want me to believe?”

“THAT I WOULDN’T LIE ABOUT IT!”

“If you were planning only to main them, if your anger got the better out you, as it has before if you did it out impulse, and is trying yo hide it.”

“You know what Bruce? You’ve already made up your mind so I will do us all a favor and get myself out. You can’t trust me? Well, I can’t trust you. From now on there will be no bats at the East End. If you are seen, you will be shot. That’s how trigger happy I fucking am!”

He pushed passed Dick and Bruce, the world was tingled with pit green glow, his ears were roaring, no sound, only rage, and loss. Every step he took was calculated, his breath was short, measured. A of violence ready to blow up at the mere provocation held together only by the barest threads of sanity and humanity and the training Ducra had given him. Roy’s voice babbling at him. Kori’s booming laughter. Kyle ridiculous art. Donna’s everlasting sass and warmth.

Somehow, someway he made home without turning Gotham into a bloodbath, and the relative he felt at activating the security protocol was fastly overtaken by fear. He hadn’t had an attack like that in over three months. Hadn’t let the Pit burning so strong in his veins in so long. Hadn’t felt that disconnection to reality since his early days out of the Pit.

Just the idea of what could have happened in case he lost control made Jason grab the nearest bucket and puke. He stayed there, pressing the palm of hinds to his eyes, heaving.

It didn’t matter, because it didn’t happen.

His phone rang, and if it was anybody else calling, he let go straight to voicemail, but it was Talia’s ringtone and she didn't call jus for kicks, so he presses answer.

“If I told you I didn’t kill a man would you believe me?” – Jason blurts out before he can stop himself, red coloring his cheeks as he realizes what he just said, cursing himself for his stupidity.

“Of course. Why would…I see.” – Talia’s face goes from neutral to confusion and finally anger in a matter of seconds. – “Your father does not know you at all Habibi, and that, rest assured, is entirely his fault. He’s too caught up in the image he made of you to be able to see you as truly are.”

“Batman being a stunned idiot, who can look past his own reasoning of the world? What an earthshattering idea T! – Jason says sarcastically trying to cover up his earlier emotional outburst. -  Anyway, got a reason for calling?

“Do not play coy with me, Jason, it’s unbecoming. Regardless, I do not believe Gotham has done you good. Moreover, I do not believe your father's actions towards you have been in any way helpful to your recovery and growth.”

“What are you? My therapist?”

“I would not be against for you to see one, but I would not force you either. Your choices, as always, must be your own. Besides is my understanding that to be effective therapy must also involve privacy. Another thing that its unlikely to come by if you are to remain here.

“Gotham needs me. The Alley needs me, God knows the Bat can’t handle this shit, they don’t care and even if they did the Alley would never trust them” – It wasn’t as much a rebuttal as it was an excuse

“They do, but you are of no use to them if you are constantly emotionally compromised by the rash and thoughtless actions of those who do not understand you and do not seek to. Loyalty is a gift that must be not be given lightly and they make ill use of yours while reaping the benefits of it. Perhaps it’s time for them to learn how to much you do for them. The absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

“You’re telling me to leave.”

“I’m telling take a step back. You’ve done tremendous work, but there’s more to you then violence. The petty criminals and drug dealers and the pimps are all properly terrified, your minions are capable enough that they can keep your operation running without your direct involvement. Rest. Recover. Come back when you are ready. Besides, you do have your master’s degree to consider, don’t you?”  - Jason blushed, Talia wasn’t one to give compliments that she didn’t mean, and she did have a point, but…

But what? What did he truly have here? It had taken less than ten minutes for Dick convince Bruce, based on nothing more than a few throw away words Jason had said when he was angry and hurting, that Jason had killed a man and once that decision had been made no amount of evidence would make Bruce turn around in his favor. The others probably already knew what had happened and just as likely had decided to stay away from him from now on. After all, if he couldn’t take a little teasing without blasting someone’s brains out then he was certainly no better than the crazies in Arkham, to them.

What Talia was offering has the peace of taking a walk without being judged by the path he chooses to walk on, let the dust stele until bygones were bygones and he could look at Dick’s- Holier-Than-Thou face without breaking every single bone in it.

What did he have to lose that he couldn’t take back later on?

“You do realize that this will take quite a bit of work and resources, right? – Jason could almost see that pleased little smile of hers spread on Talia’s face.

“You do realize who you are speaking with don’t you Habibi? Let’s get to work.

[sonderrow-moved]

                           LINK TO QUINN            LINK TO JAEL           LINK TO ROY

LIKE for a preestablished relationship/plotting line with Archer… BUT have at least one category in mind before I hop in your IMs!

I entirely get the urge of wanting to roleplay, expand our muses together, and this is my personal starting pack for Archer! If you’re hooked to one category but don’t think your muse can fit still HMU about it and I’ll see how we can work that out!

REMINDER I HAVE A LOT OF THREADS. Like often a lot. Roleplaying is something that effortlessly really relaxes me, but I am still one human. I like to see all my threads through no matter how long the wait is and do my best ! Thus we might not be threading right off the bat depending on how much stuff I have, but everything established can get into asks, dash shenanigans, etc. What matters is that it shapes our characters. 🙏

BUSINESS PEERS. Archer’s professional and very efficient work ethic made him notorious in unspoken matters as someone who will get things done with no needs of public recognition… which would lead to inner, private and ultimately more treasured recognition. He used to have clients, partners and met a lot of others at parties he went frequently to, mostly charity parties often disguised as business ones. Those partners may have known his father, maybe his grandfather, or maybe they’re fresh right out the bat, maybe the Kessler company sought them, maybe your muse’s company sought them and you stumbled upon him. Mind you that Archer has made the scandalous decision to sell the majority of his actions towards the company and doesn’t get more involved than necessary with its activities. This profile fits to every muse high enough in the business ranks to meet Archer; at least chief of a team in a department. It’s all about title. Do be reminded that the Kessler company is known to have an illegal and scandalous history as of NOW and that a lawful good muse would probably not want to be associated with it, or any muse wanting to go legal.

LEGAL WORKERS. With the horribly enormous pile of cases Archer’s been involved with, he needs a lawyer cabinet to back him and his business. Multiple ones. Maybe it is a genuinely crooked one, or a blindly optimistic one who believes his claims of innocence and being against the world, maybe the whole cabinet is broken and as a newly employed lawyer you are still too innocent until you notice. Law enforcers and government representatives knows how much Archer is guilty (or not), making him infamous in their ranks as one of those irritating cases where the system doesn’t seem to work. For muses working in the justice system, on any side, from judge to prison guard.

“FRIENDS”. Archer lost all of his friends when he was accused and imprisoned. He would have done the same thing; every one who was still linked by friendship to him risked everything. You’re one of those, because you’re not an idiot… or maybe you are and you did lose everything to keep your integrity. Or maybe you really were too stupid and loyal and believed Archer did nothing. This applies to particular muses who can fit in a scenario like this. Although for the sake of social standing Archer could “befriend” quite some people, he had a particular preference towards artists and introverted yet talented minds who had lots of potential, wanting to make them grow.

CRIMINALS. Con artists, mafiosos, yakuzas, drug dealers, maybe assassins, thieves, hackers, corrupted law enforcement agents, rich guys with illegal fetishes… Archer has dealt at least with all of them at least once. As a “cleaner” before he finally sat down on the CEO chair, Archer was the one who by circumstances became known for his professionalism, cool head and ability to erase any evidence from even the most alarming and need-to-be-quickly-done situation. Even a killer who does so as a hobby or for personal gain would eventually be caught as he goes on, unless he can take a contract or too, and have him give a helping hand in exchange for secrecy.  This applies to muses with at least a medium-ranked profile in the underground (so no simple alley drug dealer unless plotted).

ENTERTAINERS & SEX WORKERS. Given how Archer sees sex as being an extremely powerful tool, he often got around the latter, choosing carefully which escort he’ll personally put at his services. Archer kept the best ones at hand, to please contacts and clients. He respects them for their work, but he wanted professionalism from you and not cry if you got almost cut in half after a night. Although he stepped down from his CEO position, Archer was pushed into his sire’s hotel line, which secretly dealt with human trafficking and prostitution. With his experience, he slowly is coming back and is moving all his contacts over there, wanting to change his approach. Despite the need of running a very real business, he cannot ignore the amount of work his sire’s illegal business brings. This profile fills every muse working in the sex business outside camshows and movies. They don’t have to be the ones close to Archer.

VICTIM(S). Archer is a very high-rated criminal. Although he has only been found guilty of extortion, corruption, blackmailing, piracy and other business-linked crimes, he was accused but not found guilty of sequestration, serial murder, serial rape, torture, committing indignity to a body, publishing obscene material, harassment, insert lots of other legal terms surrounding this. Accusations which have been highly mediatized given how high profile he was at the time, him being used as a scapegoat and the scandal only worsened when it was said it was both on minors and adults. I won’t get too much on what the truth is, but if you’d like your muse to be victim of Archer’s real crime(s), do hit me up I’ll be very selective on this given it’s important to his background story. This profile would fit highly disturbed muse, hobos, prostitutes, people living in very poor districts, pretty much people who have the perfect victim profile. OR it can also be other businessmen, common people, those who would have their life ruined indirectly or directly any organization Archer was or is involved with, the most common being as putting you in debt with the mafia knocking at your door to kill you, break your legs or torture someone you love until you give them what they want.

NEAR THE VICTIM(S). There are suspicions your friend/lover/brother/whatever was done wrong because of Archer. Maybe you’re the one who pressed charges. Maybe it’s not you, but in some way you were involved indirectly in the scandal and it did something to you and you have your own opinion on it. Maybe you seek where Archer is to kill him, maybe just talk to him and understand… something.This profile fits a muse who has lost someone close to them in suspicious circumstances.

PARTNER IN CRIME. You were there and you liked every bit of it probably (or if not you’re surely dead). VERY SELECTIVE. This profile fits muse with probable sociopathic and/or psychopathic tendencies who knows their way across the most fucked-up places of the underworld.

OBSESSION. High profile criminals with atrocious records are known to, sadly, have, yes,fans. Your muse believes that Archer did most of what he was accused for, choose to your discretion. Maybe they wanted to visit him, maybe they sent him gifts and mails, maybe they were already almost obsessed with him BEFORE he was accused given his bit of a disturbed but extremely charismatic and successful behavior and just FELL more as he was sequestrated. This profile fits muse going to the simple nerd with morbid curiosity to the very intense stalker.

MATCHMAKING. Since his teens, Archer has met multiple people for a potential marriage; the woman in question and the relatives that accompany her. And… when bored, his sister has the nasty habit of wanting to play matchmaker with him; Archer may not be the best person, but he’d hate to not make up to someone his hell of a relative tricked. Self explanatory. Archer’s sister, Eve (Everleigh), is owner of two modern galleries, so single people susceptible to befriend her could fall into that trap.

SCHOOL FACES. Archer cut next to every tie which couldn’t help in business after he graduated from university. It was brutal and without much warning although given how he was drawn to his duty, nobody was surprised. Archer got schooled at home as a child after becoming a depressed before going to a rich high-end private school. Afterwards, he became a star tennis player and the moral support of the team. He was also the president of a literature club where he was able to bond a bit with nerds and was known to tutors younger kids he believed had potential to help his reputation or parents who had power to help his family. Archer was mostly loved by everyone, but still bullied the weak or didn’t hesitate to stomp on other to raise himself higher. Victims of his young impulses, partner or rival in the tennis court, maybe the librarian, maybe a classmate, maybe someone from another school who always saw him and wanted to know him. This profile fits muses that Archer would not talk to unless he knew them from the past. Mostly younger muses that leads a life that has nothing to do with his work. RP can be during his younger years or simply skipped to the main verse.

MEALS. As a vampire, Archer consolidated his hypnotic powers and feeding, starting to leave some preys alive, but dazed and forgetful at times. On top of the numbness and blinding aphrodisiac the poison in his biting provides, he is able to leave the impression like their meeting was a dream; victims will remember vaguely his face, voice or other depending on characters, but not remember the feeding. However, willing and loyal ones may even befriend Archer, who finds consenting people much easier to deal with than laying bodies and sudden disappearances. This profile fits grey morale muses, ones who loves the supernatural, masochists, etc. who’d trade their blood and silence in exchange of being around a vampire. Archer only feeds on females if they ask directly for it or if there is nothing else, highly preferring to feed on males, which is linked to his sexual preferences.

RED LIGHT DISTRICT. Archer has become a prominent figure of the red light district; as the one guy who owned everything (which is not true, but blown out of proportions). Due to the forceful, ruthless and undeniably lustful reputation his sire has, being the envoy puts him in a powerful position where the line between him and the one who turned him might blur to others, as if they were the same person. Anything new in the district goes through him and pros and cons are weighted for healthy competition. Outside the hotels and their affiliated businesses, Archer personally owns two bars; one is lounge gay bar and the other one of the same style, only for the supernaturals of every shape and form, with products to cater their needs. Both are actually places made to cater to his difficult and high maintenance taste; if you cannot find it, do it yourself. Those bars include their own staff, which he selects himself to make sure nobody he would find inappropriate works under his image. As for the hotel line itself, it includes its own staff, administration, underground administration and staff, restaurant staff and entertainment staff for diverse shows and parties thrown. This profile fits any muse which would frequent the red light district, from newcomers to others looking for a job, frequent visitors and owners of businesses. From the woman who runs an escort club with a heart of steel to the bartender who just wants to pay his education fees to the security guard who has nightmare about the noises he hears behind closed doors.

HITMEN. You were paid to fuck with him, but thing is it’s pretty complicated. This profile is picky since obviously the attempt is going to fail and you cannot always RP back and forth attempts. This would be nearly a comical bond with a need to plot a resolution depending on your muse!

SUBMISSIVES. Archer’s history as a dom was… infamous. Long story short, he was known to be good, but dangerous. With a more stable mind he wouldn’t mind going back to one of his favorite hobbies. The deal is simple; he owns the person obviously, no penetration sex, no deep kissing, no romance (which doesn’t mean no affection or love) and not to start screaming about it on the streets. Although he wouldn’t mind so much now to play by the rules, if allowed Archer will become ruthless, enjoying giving permanent marks on others and inflict gradually harsher punishments or rewards. This profile fits, well, masochists and submissives people, from any form and shape really (a victim is a victim) who are willing to give their body for a mutual game, be they be paying Archer or not. Very selective… because Archer is difficult. The way he treats your muse can be from pretty sweet to downward harsh… entirely depends on what degree he finds your muse attractive. Beware scars and broken parts. Sessions can last from one evening to a whole weekend.

MISC.I’ll add more when I think of them! DO THROW ME YOUR IDEAS LET’S GO.

Like with any interaction, relationships are officially in the singleverse timeline if it is roleplayed to a minimum extensively. Looking forwards to write with you!

[poisxnyouth]

teacher!dave chapter 3. (d.d)

A/N: tell me what u think babies!!!!! <3 -hailey

WC: 3.5K

Mr. Dobrik nervously lectures the rest of the day, only 3 more periods, but the day seemed to inevitably drag on a little longer every time he thought about you. He felt as though he should have been ashamed of his actions, that his attraction should have been halted by his shame, but he’s actually ashamed of a) not kissing you sooner and b) how greatly his attraction intensified following your kiss. He hates it, he truly does, and he had been trying to talk to his class about the significance of Moby Dick, but every time he had paused for his students to finish their notes, he had been thinking about kissing you again. He continuously glanced at your empty seat each time he briefly stopped, uninhabited by a student for that particular period.

Unfortunately, the class following lunch was filled with people you knew, including your regular friend group. You knew you had to act normally or you’d give yourself away, and it spurred you to make a visit to the bathroom to allow yourself to think. You were confused and had absolutely no idea how to approach your situation: obviously, you weren’t going to report him and cost him his job, but he would either cut it off or want to continue, putting his new job at risk. You briefly wondered if you had been manipulated, like everyone would most likely assume if it got out, but he asked you if you were legal, immediately retracted when he thought you had no interest in reciprocating, and asked you for permission more than a few times. In fact, you kissed him. And then he kissed you, and so on. You wanted it to happen again; not for the sole reason of Mr. Dobrik being your attractive English teacher, and maybe you felt slightly crazy at the thought, but lust wasn’t the only underlying feeling in his kisses. Perhaps it was wishful thinking; he’s a cute, smart guy, who’s good at what he does even though he’s new at it, why wouldn’t you develop feelings for him? Even if he is your teacher? Maybe the only solution was to kiss him again.

++

You do. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He lets it happen.

You were nervous as you had walked up to his room at the end of the day, his door propped open. There was still another student present speaking to Mr. Dobrik about an assignment, and Mr. Dobrik had looked up at your arrival, biting his lips and returning his attention to the student. The student stays for what feels like eternity, asking questions as Mr. Dobrik circles and writes notes on his paper.

Eventually, you hear the beloved, “I’ll see you on Monday, kid. Kick the door stop in on your way out?” The student obeys, and you and Mr. Dobrik watch the door close completely before speaking.

“We need to talk,” he says, organizing papers on his back counter.

“I don’t want to,” you admit, placing your belongings in a random seat and approaching him.

“I don’t care. We have to,” you push yourself up onto his counter, ankles crossed as he continues stacking assignments by period.

“Look,” he says, “I know we really aren’t that far apart age wise, my parents have a bigger age difference than us, but like, hun, I think it was a mistake.” Mr. Dobrik’s not looking at you as he says it, though, leading you to believe he doesn’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth.

“Sir, you don’t have to like, worry about me reporting you or something -.”

He waves you off, “That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t care about that. As your teacher, I don’t think it’d be good for me to be influencing you in that way. I don’t want it to get in the way of anything.” He’s moved across the classroom now, filing graded papers into students’ folders.

“That’s bullshit. I hope you don’t think you forced me into anything because um, honestly, I want this. And like, I’m not pissed or anything, ‘cause I understand, and I don’t want that to be how I’m coming across. I’m not acting like a brat just ‘cause my teacher won’t let me kiss him but-.”

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he laughs lightly, still filing papers, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Don’t overthink this. I don’t think I forced you into anything. You kissed me. Which is fine, really. It doesn’t bother me. I won’t lie to you, I want this too, but I’m just saying, I don’t think we should. I like what we have going right now. Maybe after you graduate-”

“Uuuuugggghhhh,” you groan, “After I graduate? That's so far away. This school has literally no surveillance, it’d be so easy. Do you know how many kids get their dick sucked in the stairwell? Totally not speaking from experience or anything.” You’re still sitting atop his counter, legs swinging lightly as he returns to you, smile hinting at his lips at your endearing attempt to make him jealous.

“It’s not about getting away with it, hun. We could if we wanted to, but it’s about me being your teacher and not wanting to ruin the relationship we already have. Besides, a kiss means virtually nothing, so what were you even thinking about continuing with me?” Mr. Dobrik pushes himself up to sit next to you, resting his weight on his hands splayed behind him. He’s too close, thighs brushing against yours.

You give him a confused turned sarcastic look, eyebrows scrunching together before rolling your eyes, replying, “What do you mean? Why did you talk about checking me out and ask me if I was a virgin if you hadn’t been thinking about fucking me?” For a brief second, you feel like this conversation should be more serious than it currently is as you meet his eyes, suddenly aware of how much he’s playing you. He’s saying one thing, meaning the complete opposite, and it’s painstakingly obvious as he glances between your lips and eyes.

He shrugs, breaking his gaze and looking at the ceiling. “It may have run through my brain. More than a few times. Seriously, you need to stop breaking dress code, hun. It’s distracting. I can write you up for that, you know?” You grip the side of the counter a little tighter at his admission as he continues to stare upwards, no desire to meet your eyes.

“I don’t get it,” you say, “Even if we were out of this room, would you fuck me? Or would you say no ‘for the sake of our relationship?’” You’re embarrassed at the question, heat rising in your cheeks, but Mr. Dobrik pays no mind to it.

“I’m not answering that.” He has a smile on his face, though, lips going in between his teeth at your boldness and playing of his game.

You sigh. “Why are you making me ask all of the questions?”

“Fine,” he says, sitting up straight and meeting your eyes, dusting his hands off, “You really had sex at school?” His eyebrows quirk upwards, lips parted as he tries to hide his smile.

“Yeah,” you shrug, “I mean. I told you I blew somebody, but that was another time. Fucked that dude in the closet of the art room. It’s too easy to get away with here.”

“Should I be worried for myself?” he asks, hands in his lap.

“Why would you be worried if you weren't planning on fucking me?”

“I don’t know why you’re trying to talk me into this, sweetheart-”

“I’m not talking you into shit, Mr. Dobrik. You already have your mind made up. You know what you want, you’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” He goes quiet, eyes dropping as his hands run down the tops of his thighs. He could write you up for that, probably get you suspended, and you’re about to apologize before he speaks.

“David. Dave. I don’t care. Either or. Please. ‘S so weird hearing people call me Mr. Dobrik.” He’s not looking at you, voice steady and normal. He seems to have brushed your comment off; you must have been right.

“David,” you repeat. “First name basis now, huh?” He smiles, shaking his head and brushing at his pants.

“I don’t really want to be called Mr. Dobrik in bed, babe.” You breathe in sharply at the pet name, it taking you off guard.

“Then this is a thing now? You went from hun, to sweetheart, to babe?”

“I mean. What else would you prefer to be called?” You’re tired of only sitting next to him, crossing your legs in an attempt to brush against him more.

“I’ll let you know,” you promise, “I’ll be honest. I thought it’d take a longer conversation to convince you.”

“Oh, so you were convincing me?” Mr. Dobrik - David - prods, “It’s hard to persuade me into wanting something I’ve had from day one. I honestly just wanted to hear you say you how badly you wanted it.” His smugness is astounding.

You’re both on thin ice now, wanting to touch each other but having no idea how to approach the subject; it seems inappropriate of him to place the first touch, so he doesn’t. You feel awkward laying your hands on your teacher without his permission, even though he essentially did consent.

“I’ll see you later tonight, hun. Just let me know if you want to do anything. We can figure it out. Your friends are waiting on you.” David slides himself off of his counter, standing and taking his hand in yours, pulling you off with a leading hand at your waist.

You use his gentle, affectionate touch as an opportunity to lean up, rolling onto your tiptoes. Both of David’s hands immediately reciprocate, splayed on your lower back as you lean in closer. He pauses slightly, faces close, as he murmurs, “You’re sure about this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, David.” He nods scantily, placing pressure on your back as he pulls you in closer. You’re tired of him beating around the bush; he’s going too slow, purposely, of course, but the sensory becomes overwhelming as you become increasingly aware of how low his hands are and his wandering eyes across your face. He stays close for too long, it feels like; so long that he’s beginning to make you self-conscious.

“You’re really gonna make me do it?” You ask, eyes lazily blinking as you stare at his lips, arms thrown around his neck and playing with the fine hair at the nape. You see David’s eyes drop slightly as he murmurs out a “Yeah. Just so I know it’s okay.”

“I told you it was,” you say softly, fingers still threading through the short hair on the back of his head. His hands are still applying light pressure on the small of your back, tempted to slide underneath your blouse and run against the skin there.

You feel your heartbeat rising as he tilts his head further to the side.

“Still,” he breathes. Your lips are centimeters away from his, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him as you move to close the space between you. You hear him breathe in before your mouths attach, pulling you into his body so you’re chest to chest. The kisses start slow and shallow, but as your breathing gets more hurried in between kisses, your mouths begin working quicker and quicker the more excited you both seem to get.

He spins you slightly, lips still attached, and presses you against the side of his counter. One of David’s hands leave the small of your back, pushing hair behind your ear and placing itself upon your cheek. He feels the warmth of your skin and it causes him to smile, just barely, into the kiss as you make a noise from the back of your throat.

The noise causes him to retract, your hands running down his front.

“Toniiiight, baby. I promise. We’ll figure something out. My car,” you feel his knuckles run slightly down the sides of your neck, his head leaning in shortly afterwards and planting a kiss at your mandible. “Your car…my apartment...my room...your room?” He presses short, wet kisses down your throat after each suggestion as your hands remain at the nape of his neck.

“My mom’s gonna get home at 8,” you say, “No time. As you said, babe, we’ll figure something out.”

He tuts, lips brushing against your neck. “Aww,” he pouts, “Damn it. I wanted to see your Justin Bieber and One Direction posters!” David pulls away, hands on your waist, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. He can’t wait to get it off of you.

“Fuck you,” you laugh, hands moving to his shoulders.

“Sweetheart, you need to goooooo,” he prods, obtaining the courage to push the hem of your shirt up, his hands resting at your hips.

“I could always cancel,” you promise as you toy with his collar, meeting his eyes. “They could find rides home.”

“I’m not gonna let you be a shitty friend, sweetheart. You made plans, now go,” you feel his fingertips rubbing at the bare skin as he moves away from you, removing his hands. “I’m serious! You need to. We’re seeing each other later.” Your hands drop as you groan.

“You’re right,” you respond, moving across his room to grab your belongings.

“Y/N, let me give you my number.” You blush as he rattles off the numbers and you type them into your phone. He looks over your shoulder as you type his first name into your contacts, saving it and closing.

“Okay. Shoo. Get outta here, hun. Text me. Or call me. Whatever. You don’t have to use it sparingly.” You’re making your way to the door as he follows you closely behind.

You decide to kiss him once more, since you know he won’t try to initiate anything. David seems surprised at first, kissing back with his hands shoved in his pockets. You pull away with a smack, taking your lips between your teeth as you look up at him.

“Bye, sweetheart. Let me know what’s going on or what you wanna do.”

++

Your afternoon following your meeting with David - Mr. Dobrik - was relatively easy and relaxed: you located your friends, piled into your car, and took them to your empty house, getting ready for the game. You continuously thought about David and what he was currently doing, wondering if he had been thinking about you as often you were thinking about him. You thought about him as you all did your makeup in the mirror, as you changed your clothes, as your friends changed the song, as you did your hair, and so on.

It’s surprising to you how willing he is to begin this with you and it almost feels like things had moved too fast with him. It’s this thought that makes you realize you hadn’t set any boundaries with him, making your earlier conversation nearly pointless. That conversation established a requited want between you two, ensuring neither of you were delusional in your desire, but it didn’t put anything into words. He wants to fuck you, you want to fuck him, but you also like his touches way too much.

He’s willing, but his wariness in making the first moves confuses you. He reciprocates as soon as you do it, but you wonder if it’s genuinely because he wants to be sure you’re comfortable or if he’s trying to keep his distance in an attempt for keep strings from wedging themselves between you two.

You don’t text him until you’re already in the bleachers, half-heartedly texting an “I’m here. Let me know when you can get away. You’re right. We needed to talk. We still do.”

You see the three wavering bubbles immediately appear, staying for a few seconds before revealing his response: “I know. Wait until it gets dark and we can find each other. I’ll text you, babe. No worries!”

You wait and wait and wait anxiously all night, getting glimpses of him every now and then at the bottom of the bleachers.

Eventually, he texts around 9, “Meet me at the gates!! We can go drive and talk, if you want.” You say yes, feigning an illness to your friends and making sure they have rides home. As soon as they ensure they do, you book it to the gates, David leaning against them nonchalantly, scrolling through his phone.

“David,” you say, getting his attention, his head snapping up and his hand immediately shutting his phone off and sliding it in his pocket. You slip out quietly together, assuming he’s leading you to his car as he swings his lanyard through his fingers. It would have been smart if you had taken your car, to coincide with your fib, but for the sake of his ego, you let it slide.

It’s a comfortable silence as you walk, knuckles brushing together every few steps. It’s silent as you both climb in the car, David pushing the brake and turning the key as you both slide your seatbelts on.

“Um, so what did you realize? That made you want to talk, I mean?” He’s backing out of the parking space, hand holding onto your seat as he glances back and pulls forward, driving out of the parking lot.

You shrug slightly, playing with your hands in your lap. “We never came up with any boundaries, I guess. We said hey, I want this! and then made out and that was it. We didn’t, like, legit talk about anything.” David has one hand on the steering wheel, fingers tapping against it, with his other arm resting against his window.

“I mean, yeah, for sure,” he clears his throat, “That’s important. Can I be honest, sweetheart? I wasn’t expecting this to be either/or: a no strings or full on relationship. I’m not opposed to either of those things happening, but I don’t want to get either of our hopes up in case we want different things, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t have to worry about like, getting my hopes up-”

“No,” David shakes his head, “Hun, I already know what you’re going to say. It wouldn’t matter if you were my age or my student. Me not wanting to get your hopes up isn’t an age discrepancy thing, it’s a decency thing.”

You nod slowly. “So, what does this mean? Like, how do we find out what we want?”

You’re stopped at a red light, David looking over at you as he sighs, rubbing at his scruff. “I think it means I fuck you and we go on a date. If you’re cool with that. I wish we could do it tonight, but I’m in my work clothes and it’s late, so-”

“We could still go...You could fuck me and we can go get dinner. Across town. So no one sees us. Or we could get dinner first. Doesn’t matter.” He mulls it over, licking his lips as the light changes.

“When do you need to be home?” You tell him it doesn’t matter; your family believes you're with your friends and by the time you usually return, everyone in the house is usually asleep, anyway.

“I’d like to fuck you in a real bed for our first time, if that’s fine with you. I’d feel bad if it was in my class or something. We don’t have to do both tonight.” You assume he’s taking you to his apartment as he gets stopped at a light again. He doesn’t say it, but part of him is worried that if he fucks you anywhere but a bed, he won’t be up to par sexually. David wants to be good for you, he wants to impress you, and he wants to feel you cum under his fingertips. Because of him.

For the first time, he leans in for a kiss, one of his hands landing upon your thigh. You make out softly for a few seconds before he pulls away when he’s noticed the light change, hand remaining on your body, slightly rubbing up and down.

“I don't want to be a cum and dump,” you admit, his eyes meeting yours briefly as he continues driving.

“Honey, you’re not going to be,” David ensures, thumb rubbing against your thigh reassuringly, “I don’t want it to end up like that, either. I wanna get to know you, you know? You have nothing to worry about, baby.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, sweetheart. Trust me.”

[comicteaparty]

May 2nd-May 8th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from May 2nd, 2020 to May 8th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What are some of the weirdest things you've Googled while researching for your story?

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

For Whispers of the Past, the weirdest thing I googled was probably: "puncture wounds versus lacerations" and "chance of survival after getting stabbed." Pretty sure I also looked up: "treatment for arsenic poisoning," "lethal dose of arsenic," "arsenic in nature," "broken ribs symptoms and treatments," "pneumothorax," "can a horse kill someone by trampling them?" and "how far can you fall without dying?" Basically, just a bunch of medical questions. For another story, I think the weirdest thing I looked up was, "can you take antidepressants and sleeping pills together?" More medical questions

carcarchu

@ cronaj's answer "i swear i'm an author not a serial killer"

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Hmmm.

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I think for me was searching up symptoms of PTSD, eating disorders, and also victims of cheating

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Probably that time trying to research poisonous substances available in Victorian and earlier households with potentially fatal results if ingested but not immediate, and their symptoms/treatments

The answer, incidentally, is that most of them aren't treatable if you've had a high enough dose to get symptoms.

And non-lethal doses tend to have unpleasant long term effects

Deo101 [Millennium]

I don't remember all the crazy stuff I've looked up. What's popping into my head at the moment, though, is I did almost a month of research into time travel paradoxes for a plot that I ended up not using! So that's fun

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Also that Victorians kept arsenic (a white powder) in the same place as sugar (a white powder) in often unmarked containers since literacy was low and labels only work if you can read them

There was far more accidental poisonings from putting arsenic in your tea than I can count

carcarchu

what about having a picture of a skull and cross bones on the arsenic tin

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

I think it was arsenic. Maybe cynanide...

Ahaha

You'd think so wouldn't you?

That's not even going into the whole thing about green dyes for clothing being made from arsenic as well I think and being uh

Literally fatal to wear?

Well done, Victorians.

Let me grab y'all a source for that one

https://youtu.be/K2McemVuG28

Here you go!

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Oh my god what the

Them victorians are so morbid

Did you know that they have a garden of poison

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Welcome to writing historical!

Yes I did

I wanna go

But yeah go back a century or two

Literally everything seems to be poisonous

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Arsenic, radium......damn they don’t follow WHMIS

carcarchu

wasn't even that long ago when they were putting mercury in everything

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Including NORMAL FOOD

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

And toys

Kids were playing with them

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Oh the Bradford Sweets Poisoning was a whole thing!

Hang on

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/1858_Bradford_sweets_poisoning

This one is uh

Definitely worse

carcarchu

bruh

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Yeah

There's so much of this...

It's amazing humanity made it this far

So yeah that's what I've googled

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Would that...even fly here nowadays

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

What the arsenic

Nooope

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Hooooo god that is mildly terrifying

Like I make sweets for a living

I don’t even want to think how I’ll feel if I accidentally poisoned 200 people

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

It did lead to modern food hygiene laws and much better regulations on chemists being responsible for their supplies

But yep

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I remember someone telling me “Behind every rule/regulation was someone who got hurt or died”

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Yeahhhh

Sometimes also where there aren't rules because hahaha some companies are shit

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Yeah it’s sucks and it’s even worse because you KNOW they’re just pushing the limits

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Capitalism has always been like that, it's just people can see it a bit more now

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Yeah, the age of information has really exposed the nasty side of things huh Hmmm I think I’ve studied something really different for my webcomic. I was looking into the justice system and how it treated minors

And I had to look up burn victims/homicides soooooooooooo

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

Whoops sorry for the ping, I thought you said mirrors not minors and was gonna ask

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Oh god that would be....completely different

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

I'm writing about vampires, mirrors are more common (concept and word)..

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Yes! I think it’s because back in the day silver was used in mirrors and that’s why you can’t see a vampire’s reflection

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

weirdest thing I searched so far is about er the male modeling industry and how they have to slap cheeks and junks to get the body to fill in clothing

and I wondered "do I need to do a deep dive in this or"

Nutty (Court of Roses)

I tried to look up what damaged vocal cords looked like, so i could show it when Count Bailey got poisoned, but I mostly got body camera shots inside a person's throat, so I had to largely wing it by darkening the veins in his neck lol Other than that, I have to look up Irish slang a lot, as Merlow slips into it more when he gets drunk.

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

I have a twittee thread somewhere about mirrors and vampires

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Okay tuyetnhi I’m a bit more...disturbed yet intrigued by that idea. Nutty yes I noticed that! I liked that small detail actually And Eilidh, i would love to see that twitter thread

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

Yeah, I ended up making a deep dive and ho boi

it's darker than I expected LOL

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I tried to look up people getting crushed by cars or falling objects but the videos were very blurry and made me dizzy so I just went fuck it my comic's not realistic anyways I'm winging it

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Probably an extensive search for all things occult? Its such a wide topic so it was daunting to sift through everything, but also really cool to see so many different cultures have been influenced by such things! Ive read some excerpts about the sixth sense and human capabilities too, very interesting!

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

@Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!) That is the most splendidly weird research I have heard of

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

I was trying to research for one of my characters and i'm just

the things they do

I scream everyday

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

lol tuyetnhi got me to look it up but all I can find is stuff about sexual assault

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

that's what I mean

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

OH

:(

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Whoa okay

That’s really dark

Like I had to look up abuse relations

DanitheCarutor

Oh geez, I've looked up a lot of stuff. Recently I Googled public bathrooms and backs of toilets because I'm too lazy to get up and look at my own toilet. SAECKs/SAKs, the price with and without insurance, how it works and if men can use them. (Which was kinda sad that I didn't know they could although the resource was surprisingly hard to find, all except one link I found were about women using them.) I've looked up medical stuff like the different stages of certain cancers, their symptoms, treatments and other things involves like their effect on the person's mental health, if things like physical therapy is needed and the effects of the treatment along with the types of treatment needed. Also the cost with and without insurance, as well as cancer treatment facilities for people with low income. Various mental illnesses/disorders, the different types treatment, the effects of the treatment, as well as cost and facilities that offer free/cheaper treatment for people with low income. Lactose intolerance, celiac disease, gaslighting, trauma brought on by abuse. Things like the mental effects of children taking on adult responsibilities early on, growing up with lack of stability and human trafficking. Types of physical abuse that doesn't leave obvious bruising/scarring, psychological abuse (outside of gaslighting). Court stuff, like legal charges for attempted murder, court procedures. Caregiver programs for family members caring for someone with a severe mental illness. What actions are taken when someone files a charge for being drugged against their consent and the steps that need to be taken if your ID and credit cards/debit cards have been stolen, as well as what the police need do in those situations. Gosh, I can go on and on, just go on forever about all the things I've researched.

Most of it is medical and mental health related.

I feel this is fitting for some of the subjects we've Googled.

DanitheCarutor

Wow, I didn't realize how much I looked at the cost of stuff. Like a good chunk of my research has been dedicated to what different insurances cover, how much, the base price without insurance and payment plans for people in the latter category. I guess the upside is I'll have some knowledge on the different insurance companies if I ever get to a point where I can get it, as well as payment plan options if I'm ever hospitalized.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Googling images of cadaver hands for reference was... not a pleasant experience

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Most recently I was looking for heart dissections. I had to take a break cuz I was making myself feel sick X')

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Searching up burn victims was not fun either

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

also this has made me realize that artists can be a very morbid bunch

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

yeah like dang ya'll lmao

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I know someone who had to look up (a bit gory) "can you strangle/hang someone with your intestines"

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Chances are the audience is not gonna know either so

dunno how much accuracy matters in this situation :p(edited)

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

I mean....unfortunately I know what it's like to see a drowned corpse So if it's accurate....I would...strangely appreciate it more?

Like you never know your audience

DanitheCarutor

When I was first starting to dabble in comics I was attempting this dark fantasy/mythology-ish story that would have some gore. I looked up stuff like "skull being crushed", "what does 'x' limb look like when being ripped off", "what does a corpse look like after sitting for 'x' many days". Most of my searched led me to the Best Gore site, which is totally recommended if you need references for your gory horror comic, but is NOT a site for the faint of heart. You will most likely get sick from the content... and the comment section.

Oddly enough, when I used to do the occasional stand alone gore-ish illustration I'd get 1-2 comments with people being grateful for the accuracy. It's... interesting that they would know what would and wouldn't be accurate with stuff like that.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh, I looked up burn victims before.... Yeah, I've looked up a lot of weird stuff.

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

I had to look up fresh and healed burnscar myself for a comic, a character survivived a housefire.

Most of the time I am googling history actually - and mostly tech-levels of a given time and what was contemporary with what - guns and knights for example co-existed for quite a few decades, that kind of stuff.

Deo101 [Millennium]

Y'know I'm thinking about it more, and I'm realizing why I can't recall the weird stuff I've looked up. I usually ask people for information! I know a lot of different kinds of people who are more than happy to talk about their experiences, so I can ask them for first hand experience with a lot of situations where I then don't really need to look up much other than to maybe fill some holes I have. It's a different kind of research

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Huh, the weirdest thing I’ve googled? Well, there’s the ever-uncomfortable ‘Googling certain body types for reference but probably looking like a creep to anyone who looks at my search history’. I’ve also googled very oddly specific things like ‘What is a 5-cube called?’ (It’s a pentaract). I’ve also watched videos that demonstrate how a bump key works, and to my FBI agent, I swear it was only for my comic. My search history gets pretty eclectic. I look up a lot of religious lore, and do lot of research into medieval times - mostly about the daily life of the average peasant. Also things like quantum physics, customs in other countries, and animal facts.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Just realizing that I once researched "medieval brewing." That was an interesting train of information.

Erin Ptah (BICP | Leif & Thorn)

For a lot of gruesome or dangerous scenes, I try to aim the search toward movies and TV screencaps. Like, if you need to draw a crashing car, find a series with a dramatic car chase where they slammed a stunt car into a wall in high-def slow-mo.

kayotics

I think the weirdest thing I looked up was trying to figure out the answer to the question “is the gas released by decomposing bodies flammable? And if so how much gas do you need?”

eli [a winged tale]

now I’m curious what’s the answer

kayotics

The answer ended up being that if there was enough gas being created it was probably not enough to be flammable: aka it would not light up the room.

I ended up asking a friend who knows more about decomposition to figure out the answer, but I just wanted to make sure if a character brought a torch into a musty murder basement, it wouldn’t light them up like a Christmas tree

Mostly: it gets smelly and stale

eli [a winged tale]

Good to know!

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Hmm I think the wierd thing I looked up was whether Smile Therapy was a real practice? There are Photos too and I have a feeling it was real. Another thing I look up was; How would a real lady pirate dress in historical times? I did alot of extra research for some little visual hints.(edited)

I feel like Mob psycho nailed the creepiness of Smile Therapy because they were patients forced to pretend to smile, that's what I envision each time. That ep stayed with me(edited)

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

oh my god

Miranda

What is that picture from?? it's creepy haha(edited)

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

mob psycho 100

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

smile therapy is terrifying. Imagine getting punished if you didn't smile

in the end you'll be smiling as a conditioned reaction to fear, not because it's genuine

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Yes exactly, the original one was hard to record so the Google was ambiguous about its existence but there's photo proof that it was a thing

[pen-whipped]

∞ Wold in an Inch ∞

                    ~for Carlton & Erica~ 

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞ Prologue ∞

Never give ‘em the last inch was scratched on the wall of the jail cell next to several pairs of initials with hearts drawn around them. A 12’ X 10’ holding tank decorated with similar slogans and signatures where people seem to have thought about only two things while they were here: holding on to one final piece of anything to control and … Love. The walls, ceiling, and floor were coated with thick grey paint where the scriptures were etched; and a metallic bench, toilet, and sink matched all the blandness. Here I realized that one of the greatest motivators of the world is Love. I thought of The Trojan War. Boudicca’s Rebellion against Rome for her daughters. Rama and Sita. Fairytales and over-stretched history, of course. I also thought about ... Nationalism—the disgusting love of country. Racism—the even more disgusting love at the expense of its hatred for others. Capitalism—the love of material goods beyond need and necessity, at the expense of others. Religion—the love for some version of god or gods and the ideals and values that uphold that version. Movements and Rebellions in the name of Love. And so of course I thought about Ernesto “Che” Guevara and how when asked by a reporter, “What inspires a revolutionist,” he responded after a pause and a grin. “Amor” (Love), he said.

I realized then that the other motivator of the world is this power structure that harnesses the actions of those motivated by Love or some extension of Love such as jealousy, desire, passion, rage. Of the two locals I was locked up with, in this small shithole Texas bo-dunk town, one hospitalized a man who slept with his wife and the other had a physical fight with his own wife. A third man loved a woman so much that he joined the carnival she was part of so as to not ever be without her, and thereby revoked his probation. And me … I was headed to a wedding from Colorado to Austin, TX, where my best friend had claimed the love of his life.

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞ Rite of Passage ∞

You forget these people exist. Even having been raised around them, with them, and by them, you just forget. I was born and raised in Texas, in their jungle like Tarzan with gorillas. And that’s actually the perfect analogy because right when the state trooper says to me, “With a Black in the White House, Queers havin’ a Christian’s marriage, and dope bein’ legalized all over God’s good country, you just cain’t be too careful these days,” what comes to mind is the evolution chart where a drawing of a man standing upright is preceded by different hunchbacked ape-like creatures. Here, barely across the border into the Texas panhandle, knuckles still drag on the ground. You spend over a decade in the land where people walk upright and you forget the knuckle draggers exist.

Karl Marx tells us that killers first make an enemy of their victims before killing them. This is how the crime is justifiable. Such sociopaths have the same characteristics of a nation that makes an enemy of another nation before destroying it. America and its fictitious WMD ploy that led to the Hussein regime’s demise. A nation ran by a Texan. “Now that’s when the country had its head on straight,” he says peeking through his rearview mirror at me behind the glass that separates the front seat from the back.

Red neck adages—they’re like poetry without everything poetic.

“A good Christian was pullin’ the reigns then,” he continues.

I wonder why they speak in parables—southern draw riddles filled with similes and metaphors. His “Christians,” sound more like “Chrust-yens.” I get it. The same way Jesus’ parables made all the rest of the world understandable for the knuckle draggers in his time, so do the redneck adages for our time. And they loves them some Jesus too. He’s everywhere.

I could take his last adage a million different directions other than the one these handcuffs connected to the yellow rope ran through them and around my waist and back up through my thighs insists that I do. He’s fucking hogtied me. I look at the cuffs and yellow rope and think how man is the cruelest of all animals, for a dog would only bite another dog, but we … we shackle and belittle, demoralize and strip identities, rape and enslave, indebt and un-educate one another to the point that we ourselves forget that others are living, breathing human-fucking-beings. But, even with this in mind, I say with a hint of delight, “And we was all better off when it was,” leaning forward to the hole in the glass divider, referring to when a good Southern Chrust-yen led the nation. Never mind that it was war, poverty, and a greater divide between the classes that he led us to.

To reverse Marx’s notion of the killer, if the victim can make the killer identify him or her as one of the killer’s own, or at the very least as a human being, then the victimization is more likely to cease or at minimum the inflictions lose harshness.

There’s a Bible in the front seat, and I’ve heard numerous Chrust-yen references and seen two crucifixes since I was pulled over: one around the narcotics officer’s neck and one dangling from this trooper’s mirror. So I continue, “Yes, sir. My uncle’s lil’ chapel in Amarillo donated all they could to support both Bushes, Junior and his daddy.” (There’s no chapel. No donations. The point is that I too am a Christian, and even greater so, I too am a Texan—though I was born in Texas, I am neither a Christian nor a Texan; he, however, should believe that I am both).

His eye brows perk up. He glances twice in the mirror before saying, “You from Texas?”

“Yes, sir. Born ‘n raised,” I pronounce with a draw that would win me an Academy nomination. “Up north they still make fun’a my accent.” He tells me he didn’t even notice the accent till now. “I hide it so much, ya know. So’s to not get made fun of up ‘er in Colorado.” … and so the game goes until I’m a human being, and then eventually I’m one of his own and he’s telling me about his family, his farm, his career, and finally I get him to admit why he stopped me. This is only an inch, but it’s something.

I’d like to thank The Academy, first; then my rhetoric teacher; followed by my redneck uncles for the southern draw and simplified grammar.

He’d been claiming I was driving over the speed limit, even though that’s anything but true. Since I don’t have a driver’s license, I kept to the limits the entire drive and planned on it all the way to my destination. Never once drove 5mph more than the limit. And so each time I’d asked how much over the limit he clocked me at, he’d just say not to worry since he’s droppin’ that charge.

“Reason I’m takin’ you in is cuz drivin’ without a DL is breakin’ the law here in Texas.”

But the reason he pulled me over … the reason two K9 Units parked on both sides of my rental car only minutes after I was pulled over … the reason the narcotics officers gave me the 3rd degree interrogation about drug trafficking … is, as he says from under his ten gallon hat, Colorado just passed a law legalizing marijuana, and well, “With a Black in the White House, Queers havin’ a Christian’s marriage … dope legalized in God’s country … you just can’t be too careful these days.”

“Now listen,” he goes on to say, “I realize I’m ‘bout as tight as bark on a tree when it comes to the law. Some may’a just gave ya a ticket and sent ya on yer way, but I believe it’s just as likely fer you to sneak back ‘cross the state line and never return to pay for yer crime. You’d just be whistlin’ Dixie up ‘er like you’d never did nothin’ wrong down here. This a’way,” he says, “You have to wait and see the judge in the mornin’. Pay yer dues and what not.”

I’m shackled like a killer who’d forgot to make an enemy of his victim first. Hogtied like a baby pig that’d escaped the pen. A one-time freed slave who’d left the North and returned South only to be caught without his emancipation papers. I’m thinking in redneck adages. I was driving without a fucking driver’s license for crying out loud!

More laws lead to more crimes lead to more criminals lead to more jobs to catch, house, and process the criminals, which lead to more revenue leading ultimately to more money circulating within the system. Criminals are filters for the process in this way, lab rats exploited for the greater good, space monkeys for the ruling knuckle draggers. Karl Marx claims that in capitalistic societies, the people are concerned more about money and commodities than they are other human beings.

Dogs, on the other hand, well … they just bite one another.

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞ Crossing the Threshold ∞

It’s hard to believe Nietzsche’s claim that we should celebrate the rebel for reminding us of our enslavement to the system when I’m told to strip all my clothes off and lift my dick and nuts up to show that nothing’s stashed away in some secret compartment.

The first steps to make a slave of an individual are to separate them from their own kind and then strip them of their identity. Separate the rebel from his support group and give him the title criminal, thereby giving a less lustrous title and making the act of any rebellion lose any glory to others contemplating similar actions.

Ranchers hang dead wolves on fence posts for similar reasons. Other wolves are deterred from entering land when they see the carcass of what was one of their own that dared to “trespass.”

Romans left messiahs hanging on crosses to discourage other messianic aspirations.

A simple change in titles shows the power of words.

They take my cell phone and my wallet with all its contents including cash and ID card. No contact. No identity. They take my clothes, which could in many ways show identity. And as I hold my dick and nuts in my hand and he gazes long and hard at my taint, I think, I just didn’t have my mother fucking driver’s license, though I dare not utter a word.

To fight monsters is to become one, Nietzsche says.

I’m handed a green jump suit and a pair of flip-flops, and with that, a new identity. I am no longer the rebel who dared to drive to his best friend’s wedding without a driver’s license; I am now a criminal in the Republic of Texas. I’m a fucking dead wolf on a fence post. Jesus hanging next to others who did not abide by the law.

I am one step closer to the beast’s belly as they seat me next the woman who’s only job is to tag the slaves and send them to their quarters.

“98% of Colah’rahdins that we pull over have marijuana on ‘em. That’s statistically,” she says popping her gum and not taking her eyes off the computer screen for one moment.

I’m not human to her. I’m a product with a barcode that she runs across the scanner. I’m an enemy, soon to be a victim. A rebel turned criminal. I am not one of her kind.

“They come in here cryin’, talkin’ ‘bout how it’s legal up in Colah' rahda. Well it ain’t down here. Those types is ‘bout as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party.”

She’s as poetic as the trooper. Stoic.Short, round, and full of attitude. Dedicated to a system that is more unjust to those who are of no concern to it than it is unjust to those who are offensive to it. Another Nietzsche claim.

As a new challenge arises within me, I notice something in myself that I begin to notice in all human nature. I want to break this preset image she has prescribed me with, partially as a challenge of wits, but also because I want to get as much as I can from her, however little it may be. Even if … it’s just an inch. With the trooper gone and the officer who checked my taint nowhere to be found, this lady has current reign over me like a slave master.

I start the game with the presupposed idea she has of me. I can’t speak in a dialect that makes me sound ignorant and fitting to the image she has of all who come through here; and I can’t speak from the education level I have that is far above her own. I have to speak plainly. To her. Not above, nor below. All we have in common at this point is our current relationship. And that’s enough to work with.

The strategy behind me telling her, “I bet you see the worst of the worst,” is to separate myself from those who are in fact the worst of the worst. And she responds to this.

“You have no idea.”

Now, to connect more with her, I say, “Well, my cousin’s a prison guard at the federal penitentiary in Colorado; and he tells me that every four years a prison guard works, what it does psychologically to him or her is equal to what one year does to a prisoner. You’re still behind bars and surrounded by criminals in here. Man, I feel for ya’.” Now, I’ve further separated myself from the criminals she’s used to and have shown that I am more on her side of the law, even if just through a relative. I’ve also dabbled in some sort of empathy of her situation, shown understanding as to why she wears that frown and never looks a processee in the eyes.

“This job has made me never trust men again; I’ll tell ya’ that much,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong,” and for the first time she turns her head and looks me in the eyes, “I ain’t no fuckin’ carpet muncher though.”

I’m in. Ten minutes later and she’s laughing with me and barely asking the questions the computer screen tells her to: do I have this ailment or that ailment, am I suicidal or have I ever been suicidal, am I addicted to drugs or have I ever been…and so on.

“Listen,” I say during one of the most intense moments of laughter shared between us, “Can I ask a favor of you?”

Her posture shoots straight up and her frown returns. She doesn’t look me in the eyes anymore and she certainly does not laugh. She says, “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

“Calm down,” I tell her with a smile, “All I want to know is if you can prolong this processing. I ain’t gonna lie, an extra moment spent out here laughing with you is greater than any moment spent in the holding tank.”

An extra moment is an inch.

I see her body ease from its defenses. “You mean you ain’t ready to paint your butt white and go runnin’ with the antelope just yet, huh?” And she smiles.

“No, ma’am, I ain’t.”

All I’d done with the trooper was try to get anything I could from him, even if it was just the admission to why he pulled me over. With her I want as much time out of the holding tank as possible, or at the very least, same as with him, I want her to see me as a human being.

I think about life outside of here, how all we do in life is try to get a little more than we have from those who are in control of us or in control of the things we want. A nickel raise from our boss. A better position in the workforce. A higher grade from a teacher. Equity on homes. More square footage in our lofts. Return on investments. Sex from a lover. Devotion from a lover. Love, period. All we want is to get a little more of the control that controls us. And then Nietzsche comes to mind:

This world is a will to power, he says, and nothing besides.

A new rebel comes in and this lady has me stand in a corner while she processes him. She does this twice more before I realize she’s stalling for me. Rather than process me and have them wait their turns, she goes through them first; thus allowing my processing to be prolonged. I am now a human being.

After the third rebel passes through and into his new criminal identity, she finishes my questions, finger prints, and mug shots; and then says, “That was the best I can do. It’s time.”

I thank her. Tell her it’s more than enough.

“Now, walk down that hall to the laundry room," she motions the direction with her hand, "And then we’ll get ya’ in that tank”

She follows me. Doors buzz open as we arrive at them. In the laundry room she tells me to grab a mat, a sheet, and a blanket, all of which are stacked neatly on different shelves next to industrial size washers and dryers. “If you want two blankets, I can do that for you too; but you’re gonna have to deal with the others bein’ jealous.”

“Gladly,” I say.

“Then unroll ‘em and roll ‘em back up together so it looks like a mistake was made.”

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞Belly of the Beast∞

“It’s gonna be about 12 hours before the judge is in,” she says as the door shuts behind me. The three rebels from earlier are sprawled out on the floor. Same jump suit as me. Same blankets. Same matts. Same flip-flops next to the matts. We are one and the same.

The messiah on his cross did not stand out from the murderer or the thief on theirs.

One lifts his head up and slides his pallet over to make room for me. “Don’t shit unless you absolutely have to,” he says looking at the silver toilet fully exposed in the corner. As he rolls over and back to sleep, he continues, “Even dogs don’t shit where they lay.” The others never move. I make my bed, careful not to reveal that I have two blankets.

I lie in utter silence.

I think first about Martin Luther King, JR and his Letter from Birmingham Jail, where he too was arrested for being, as his jailers claimed, an unwelcomed outsider in their state. Though I dare not think my circumstances are remotely comparable to his and his time in the Alabama jail, I am reminded of him saying in his letter, Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

And though I was not racially profiled, I was indeed profiled. With a Black in the White House, Queers getting married, and dope legalized all over, a change is slowly coming—a change that threatens the way of life where these types of comments are made. To a far smaller degree, my green and white Colorado license plates are Martin’s black skin. And, with everything stripped from me, I lie here experiencing what Martin called, nobodyness.

This cold, horizontal floor is the belly in the beast of order. All laws, all virtues, all values—all of which are based on perspective, are the means to make order from the seemingly chaotic. And this is the bottom of that order. The exploited who arrive here, or any floor like this one anywhere, are merely, as Nietzsche claims of all exploitations, consequences of the will to power, which is after all the will to life.

I’ve become the consequence of a way of life fighting to sustain itself. I represent the other life that strives to grow, spread, seize, and become predominant - not from any morality or immorality but because it is living and because life simply is… again and again I claim with Nietzsche and experience it now more than ever … a will to power.

I'm sorry that I can't praise the police department. It is true that they have been disciplined in their public handlings, but for what purpose? To preserve an evil system. I try to make it clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or even more, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends. So said Martin Luther King JR in that letter he wrote from jail.

I imagine the letter I’ll write, and think that it has to be dedicated to my best friend and his new bride. Like the little drummer kid in the manger banging bongos next to bay Jesus’ crib, this letter is all I have to give. And in it I’ll mention how I thought mostly of Marx, Nietzsche, King JR, Lacan, and Campbell. It will only be a matter of time, I think, and I’ll be out of here and writing my own Letter from a Texas Jail.

That very matter of time stretches beyond all previously known flexibilities for time. No prior concept of it exists in here. I clear my thoughts of King JR when one of my fellow mates awakens and asks a passing guard for Tylenol. And when the guard returns with a bottle of pills and a sign-off sheet, he asks the guard what the time is. I’d been to Birmingham and visited the King in his cell after I watched him protest with non-violent means he’d learned from Gandhi, saw him arrested by bigots with faces as stoic and prescribed with presupposed ideals of particular people as that of the lady who’d processed each of us in this cell, I sat next to King JR while each pen stroke gave birth to one of the most widely anthologized letters of our time, and when the guard looks at his watch and says, “a quarter to midnight,” I am in utter disbelief.

You can fit days inside the minutes of a jail cell, so I learn. Centuries in its hours.

The other two wake and ask for Tylenol too, admitting quietly amongst ourselves that they don’t need it. “You might as well take what you can get around here,” one says. And it’s at this moment that we all introduce ourselves for the first time and then tell our tales of capture. After this the conversation goes directly to, and never leaves the topic of, pussy. The variations of pussy from looks to feel, from hair lengths to shaved, from menstruating bloody to (what each of them agrees is the best of all pussies:) pregnant pussy. “I wouldn’t know, honestly, never have had that kind,” I say.

But what I really want to say is …

I want to tell the guy who beat his wife’s lover to a pulp about how Jacques Lacan took one of Sigmund Freud’s studies a layer deeper than Freud himself did. Freud demonstrates that at times children will not want to play with a toy, nor will they care at all about a particular toy, until another child wants to play with it. Lacan studied infant twins who could neither speak nor barely move more than their arms and heads, but would easily and obviously be overcome with a fit of jealous rage when the other sibling would suckle from the mother’s breast. I imagine this guy probably not wanting much to do with his wife until someone else did. He threw a fit like an infinite. Something intrinsic in us seems to want to control everything, even if it is only the desire of the other. A child would rather destroy a toy it cared nothing about than to see another child enjoy that very same toy. It’s about control, holding on to every inch within reach.

I want to ask the other cell mate why he beat his wife. He never tells why they fought, but I'm certain it can be connected to Freud’s idea of the Ego being projected from within us and into our outwardly real world surroundings, creating all things we fear and hate, as well as all things we desire and love. This means all things externally felt and imagined are more than directly related to our inner selves; they are, more particularly, our inner selves externalized. Buddhists have a similar belief that all enemies are only such because we have made them so. No one is our enemy whom we have not made be; and furthermore who our enemy is says more about us than them. These ideas combined mean that all things are manifestations of the Ego. We set all challenges and obstacles in our own way. And so I wonder about this other cell mate of mine; what could he have projected from within himself onto the woman that birthed his children; what fear or hatred brewed inside himself so much that he beat the shit out of her as if she was the embodiment of that abstraction from within himself. I wonder…

I want to discuss the carnival love. This guy loved a woman and didn’t want to be without her, but he’s been cycled and recycled in the system since he was a teenager, and so he had to rebel against an order to be with her. He committed a crime as a child and has been paying for it since through a series of revocations and so on. He’s one of the oldest in our cell but he has a childlike quality to him, an innocence that none of us possess, as if this system has kept him in the state he was in when he committed his crime. I think about Nietzsche saying that at one time in history, people who wronged others in their social group were punished with a severity that equaled the crime; and after that punishment, not only did they not repeat the offenses, but they also were considered to have paid their debt for the offense. Nietzsche claimed in the late 19th century (and I would claim is even more the case in our 21st century) that nowadays people pay for a crime for the remainder of their lives, whether it be through the inability to acquire decent work based on criminal records or it be the continuous revocation of the same crime committed decades prior. The overall goal for the endless un-reconciliation is one similar to medical industries not wanting to find a cure for ailments. People dependent upon and stuck within the system become filters for the process of monetary circulation and are best kept as such, as lab rats for the greater good, as space monkeys for the knuckle dragggers.

I’m thinking these things, though I dare not utter a word of them. Instead, I join in with the dogs and bark about the variations of bitches and pussies as I know them. I would separate myself from the pack if I were to provide my insight to anything other.

It’s here I realize we’re all in this cell due to some relation to love, even if by some extension of it: jealousy, passion, and so forth. I represent the beginning stages: a wedding. The carny represents the next: giving up the self for love and fulfilling the desire of the other. The guy who beat his wife is some stage nearer the end, either right before or directly after she cheats on him. And thus the final stage, the guy beats the wife’s new lover to a pulp. And the cycle is complete in a way that makes an enemy of Love and thereby justifies the system that controls it.

I wonder if it all is really, rather than being about love … is all this … is life and the control of it all really about … I mean … could it be that as the dogs in this kennel discuss nothing more than … could all of life, directly or indirectly, really be about pussy? This is, of course, from a man’s perspective; we could say “cock” for a woman’s, or perhaps some ambiguous sexual connotation to encompass both genders (Freud and Lacan would say both genders are phallic, for even the lack of something is the representation of that something that is missing). 

I wonder ... Is love really our own childlike want to control a vagina like a toy? Do we ever leave the Oedipus and Electra Complex stages, where the moment a child first recognizes their own sexual identity, the very next step is to focus libidinal energy on the parent of the opposite sex? Then, all extensions and versions of jealousy and rage focus on the parent of the same sex. Is the guy who hospitalized his wife’s lover not the unrepressed Oedipus Complex, since his desire to possess and control the sexuality opposite his own and destroy the one that is the same as his and therefore the rival to him actually plays out, as if it escaped its subconscious repression? And he, like most of us, dared not think about sharing that vagina, as if it were his little toy that he could not stand the thought of someone else getting pleasure from. He demonstrates how we will throw tantrums that destroy others if they play with or attempt to play with things we claim as our own. We are nothing more than infant twins, each on opposite tits, sucking away and making an enemy of our own brother for indulging as we do. We will beat him to a pulp. Hospitalize or imprison him. Make a repeat offender of him to trap him within the system that supports this behavior because this justifies its existence. Even if it is all over a toy we care nothing about.

The law shapes man into its image, Lacan says, exploiting the poetic function of language to give man’s desires symbolic mediation.

I often think that we are no different from salmon, spending our whole lives trying to get back to the place we came from. We swim up streams of vaginas every chance we get until we die, and sometimes we die by them or because of them. Salmon spawning in the one place it was spawned from. I say vagina, or I say pussy, but really I understand that this is connected to reproduction. This is connected to survival of the species. We humans are a living, breathing organism that strives to grow, spread, seize, and dominate every inch of our immediate surroundings (for us as individuals) until this inch grows into all space (for us as whole organized units).

Everything we do is connected to the womb—that which we crawl out of like Jesus rolling the stone back for resurrection. To die and be born again in the same place, we have to protect the womb. We have to keep it sacred and cleanly, preserve its virgin-like and godly qualities. We have to claim it as our friend, our soul mate, our companion, our wife, the mother of our children. In other words, we build walls of illusion around it like fences around territory. And then we hang dead carcasses on posts to deter other dogs. We have to claim the womb by some way that designates us as the sole owner; meaning, we control it and only we can touch it; only we can play with it; no one else can stick their cocks in it but us; and no one but us gets pleasure from the one we claim as our own. Otherwise … we will destroy it—a Pagan temple where queues of beasts await in provocation. The goddess becomes a fallen statue in her own bed of ash, dripping, oozing, disease infested, and speaking the language of heathens from some dead religion. Decrepit and useless. There will be no rebirth otherwise.

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞Road to Trial∞

Just before the twelfth hour in the tank, when conversation was dead and sleep was impossible, I lie awake reading all the markings on the walls and floor. Hieroglyphics of the slaves. None betraying the pattern of either keeping control of something or always loving someone. I wonder by what means were they able to leave these marks, but then I see the broken pieces of concrete rock lying loosely about the floor. As an unfamiliar feeling sets in, something beyond boredom and close to devastation, I understand how scratching philosophy into the layers of paint would help ease this approaching panic. A small purpose would be given in this way, a tiny goal, something that lets us and others know we were here, alive, and real; and something that (once again) becomes our own.

I grab a rock and underneath the slogan Never give ‘em the last inch, I start my own contribution, slowly inscribing: and take

The guy who beat his wife, he jumps up as if he’d woke from a nightmare. Sweating and breathing hysterically. He pushes a button on the wall and a woman’s voice comes through a small speaker demanding to know what his emergency is. He can’t speak. He’s hyperventilating. Me being close to panic already, I feel his instability spreading to me. Like some air born pathogen. And from the looks on the faces of the others as they begin to watch, it’s spreading to them as well.

A loud buzzer. The door opens. A guard takes him out of the cell and as he does he says, “Holy shit, this tank’s stuffy’er ‘na horses face eatin’ corncobs.”

The window is completely fogged over, as if we’ve been recycling each other’s breaths for centuries now. The guard stands next to the open door allowing new and cold air to come in. I sit upright, lay a blanket across my lap, wrap another around my shoulders, close my eyes, breath deeply and slowly, and attempt the first meditation of my life. I don’t know what meditating actually is or even what it consists of, nor do I know how to actually do it. But I attempt it anyway, attempting it as I’ve heard of it being done. I eventually calm myself through the process and end up in some place other than where I am.

I journey through Joseph Campbell’s theory of monomyth. Thinking back to Colorado when I, the hero, was called to action as Campbell says is the first step of all heroes ranging from Greek and Roman mythological heroes to Buddha and Jesus. I see the mountains—snowcapped and towering in their implications of a land where it’s okay for Blacks, Queers, and drug users to be human beings. According to Campbell’s theory, after the hero begins his journey, he will first cross a threshold where some foreign creature will take him further into the land of the unknown, or as Campbell says, the entrance to the zone of magnified power … where darkness and danger reside … a passage beyond the veil of the known into the unknown. The threshold guardian takes the hero closer to if not directly into The Belly of the Whale, according to Campbell. Jonah comes to mind, of course. But also, Dionysus and Hestia. Jason and Medea. Odysseus and the Odyssey. Jesus and the Romans. Me and the knuckle draggers. The hero enters the belly of the whale where the metamorphosis begins. Once inside he may be said to have died, only to return to the World Womb anew.

“Where’d you get two blankets from?” the guard asks me, and my eyes snap open and I’m brought back into my cell. I shrug my shoulders, act clueless, and say they were wrapped this way. “Supposed to only have one,” he says and turns around. And with that our cell mate returns, pale but calmed. He apologizes and goes right to his mat and blanket. Everyone rolls their backs to one another; and still seated upright, I close my eyes to the heavy noise of the door shutting.

Campbell says the hero, upon exiting the whale’s belly, is no longer who or what he was when he entered it, and he is then ready for a series of trials and tests from some awaiting female character—either a goddess or a temptress of some sorts—who has the ability to lead the hero astray or to encourage him to continue his journey. After her, the hero meets a male father figure for atonement consisting in the abandonment of the self-generated double monster—the superego and repressed Id. This requires an abandonment of the attachment to ego itself … and one must have faith that the father is merciful. This center of belief will be transferred outside of the self.

After a few moments of being lost in the silence, I wake. I grab my piece of the floor, the small chiseled concrete rock, and I continue my contribution to the slogan. As quiet as I can, next to my two words—and take, I press the rock into the paint and drag it into figures forming the words: back every inch from ‘em you can.

With a small purpose, there is no panic. Time is irrelevant. I take careful pride in my lettering and refurbishing the part of the slogan not created by me. I add a comma after the other rebel’s part of the slogan and a period after my own, uniting them as one and the same and ending them together as such. I brush the remnants clear and blow heavily across the phrase that now reads:

Never give ‘em the last inch, and take back every inch from ‘em you can.

I read it and wonder if others will understand it, or if it will be hidden by all the other slogans like the messiah surrounded by murders and thieves. I wonder if others will add to it. I think in years it will turn into a poem—stanzas by those of us who know what it means to own nothing except that final fucking inch. In decades it will become a new decree … maybe. But really I know it will be lost and forgotten once it’s covered with a new shade of grey paint as thick and dense as the power structure that willed it to be. Winds turn sands and hide footprints this same way.

Centuries pass and then the door buzzes and the guard says, “Westerholt. The judge will see you now.”

I throw one blanket to the carny and one to the guy that beat his wife’s lover. The guy who beat his wife, he says to me, “Hey man. Larry’s the impound guy; I know him. He ain’t gonna give you your car without a license. He’s gonna bleed you for every cent he can.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say. And the door shuts behind me.

A new lady sits where the first did, but they are one and the same, like Romans to a messiah.  She hands me my clothes and directs me toward the same room where I showed my dick to the officer earlier. It’s almost 10am. Within ten minutes I dress, and then I’m given my wallet and cell phone back. And with that, my own identity.

“Directly across the street's the courthouse.  Judge’s chambers is down the hall, last door on the left. She’s waitin' for ya’.”

When all the barriers and ogres have been overcome … the triumphant hero meets the Queen Goddess of the World. This is the crisis at the nadir, the zenith, or at the uttermost edge of the earth, in the tabernacle of the temple …  The meeting with the goddess is the final test of the talent of the hero to win the advantage of her charity …  And if she shuns him, the scales fall from her eyes; if she does not, her desire helps him find peace. So says Joseph in his Hero of a Thousand Faces.

Outside the sun is warm and bright and opposite everything from where I just came. I breathe and taste the air like a newborn resurrected from the womb. Squinting and yawning and stretching. Each vehicle that passes is a truck of some kind: dualies, F150s, and old farm pickup trucks. The buildings are from some other era, pre 20th century. No stop lights in either direction for as far I can see. It’s like a dream. I’m lost on some time travel expedition. If a horse and buggy came down the street and stopped to watch two gun slingers pace and draw on one another, I would not be surprised in the least.

Down the hall of the courthouse and in the last door on the left, I wait to see the judge in an office with Jesus décor all over. Crosses hang on the walls. Bibles on the shelves. Magnets on the filing cabinets: several with proverbs and one with a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. A picture on the wall shows a man and a woman holding hands and walking on the beach toward a sunset that colors the entire scene shades of orange. At the bottom of the poster it reads, Our love is designed by Jesus. And though it’s a silhouette of a male and a female figure holding hands, it’s obvious they are a white couple. A white, heterosexual, non-drug using couple, designed by Jesus himself. I am in God’s country, at least this version of god; and I am about to have one his own protégés pass the same judgment on to me as they would have he himself pass it. Since he hates Blacks, Queers, and junkies I think it fortunate, at the very least, that I am white, heterosexual, only on the proper occasion do I use drugs, and it helps that I really am originally from this god fearing jungle.

She yells from the courtroom next door that she’s ready for me and the secretary gives me a nod. “She’ll see you now,” she says as if I was too stupid or not worthy of hearing the judge’s yelling myself.

The courtroom is empty of people but filled with antique wooden chairs with red velvet cushions aligned in scattered rows. Her desk is at the front of the room. This is not the typical courtroom you see on TV depicting the 21st century. This looks like an elementary school from a time when plainsong and national athems filled the rooms. It’s still haunted by such chimes. 

An old white lady with short and tightly curled grey hair peers over the rims of glasses at me as I approach. I ask her very politely if I may take a seat at one of the two chairs across from her desk. The game has already begun; I know the one inch I want from her. I no longer use the dialect I did in the tank where pussy was the topic. I now speak with a language even elevated above that I did with the lady who gave me my slave tags. I follow our introductions with lots of yes ma’ams and no ma’ams. And when she gets a pencil out to start figuring the total fines, I quickly mention that I am an English instructor at the university back home and so math certainly isn’t my strong point. Simultaneously I have informed her of a respectable career as well as humility exposed through a personal weakness. We laugh a bit at my expense: the joy of all I’ve been through and the circumstances that caused them. I admit fault repeatedly, bring up the importance of the wedding, and I most certainly mention being originally from Texas myself. And not two seconds after she tells me the total for my fines, I ask for my inch.

“Your Honor,” I say, “I wonder if you might consider giving me anything for the time I served in your jail. I spent nearly 13 hours in the tank and just wondered if you can give me anything for that. However little it may be. I would be more than grateful.”

“Well, we don’t give anything for time less than 24 hours served,” she says. And just as I nod in understanding and tuck my chin to my chest, she says, “Usually… that is,” and she smiles. “How ‘bout this?” She scribbles through the original total she’d written down, which was just over 400 dollars, and she draws a new figure that is just under 300 dollars.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

I shake her hand and thank her. And I notice, Joseph Cambpbell was right, scales do not fall from her eyes.

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞Atonement∞

One step closer to getting out of God’s country, I call Larry’s Tow. After I tell him who I am and ask for directions to his impound lot, he says, “Hell, boy, I’m out-n-about. Only two clicks from ya’ now. I’ll pick ya’ up.”

The final step for Campbell’s hero is confrontation with a male figure who holds the key to either life or death. In my case, the final figure holds the keys to my rental car. And I’ve already been warned by my cellmate that once this Larry guy discovers I have no driver’s license, he’ll care more about money than he does about me as a human. He will see me as some sort of cash cow ready for the prostate milkin’, or something like that; I’m sure. But, as Campbell claims, the hero must have faith that this male figure is merciful. Paralleled with Freud’s claim of the Ego’s projections becoming manifestations, the hero must transfer his inner mercy outward and onto this male figure who then reflects it back as an act. In other words, I have from the time Larry picks me up on the corner near the courthouse until wherever his impound lot is to pull out all the same inch winning tricks I have so far.

As I stand on the corner in the centermost part of this Wild West remake, an oversized truck with a diesel engine’s purr pulls up next to me and the door swings open. “Hop own in,” says the old man. In a Western flick, his name would be Stretch. His boots rest at the bottom of his long thin legs that are wrapped tightly with denim. His belt buckle protects his entire midsection like a shield. Button collar shirt with stripes and his lip’s fat and full of chew. “Colla’rahda, huh? Bet it smells like pig’s shit and cow guts to ya’ll when ya’ll come down here to the panhandle.” And he’s right. The stench is everywhere. Breezes are unwelcome; all they do is spread the horror. “Ta’ us, down ‘ere, That’s the smella’ money, son.”

I don’t hold back. I fire at him with a southern draw, because I know my time is limited. I have to become one of his own and he’s already attempting to separate me from being such.

“Born an’ raised in the panhandle, sir. I know the smell quite well.” With that, I talk about Amarillo being my hometown and I thank him repeatedly for picking me up. Then I continue on with all the same previous strategies as those I used to get every single inch I could from everyone who had some control over my life within this last 20 hour period:

Get those in control to identify with you. Match your language and intellectual level with that of their own; you cannot have those in control thinking you are smarter than they are and you cannot give those in control any reason to believe that you are dumber than they are (one insults their intelligence; the other confirms their stereotype). However, you must behave in a way that lets them know you are aware that they are in control; this will keep them from feeling as if they need to remind you who is in control. This is indeed the classical dialectic of Master and Slave. The slave must know and accept his position, so that he can maneuver through all the barriers that create this position before he can free himself from those very barriers. In other words, a slave must know he is a slave and all the ways in which he is a slave before he can free himself from slavery.

The recipe for making a slave:

• Remove one individual from his or her own people: family, friends, and any other social group.

• Further separate the individual from all people who speak the same language as him or her.

• Just prior to basting, brush away any previously known identities (this includes everything from the individual’s name to associations they identify themselves with).

• Add new identity in 2 parts: Part One. Give the individual a new title, not a name in the sense of a Proper Noun (this should be something derogatory, something that lets the individual know every time he is summonsed by this title that he/she is at a lower status than his master and/or all those who refer to him by this title). Part Two. The slave should no longer be considered an individual. Their new identity should have him/her assigned to all groups similar in stature as their new position, thereby also losing any individualism. Nigger, Queer, Dope-user, White-Trash, Criminal — these are good examples for both Parts One and Two.

• Prior to adding the slave to one holding tank with no windows to the outside, an act of humiliation should precede (public nudity often works well). The walls of the tank should be painted a dull color so the slave gets no stimulation at all. The tank should also be no more than 12’X10’ in diameter. If a tank of this sort is unavailable, a cage or a shack directly behind the master’s mansion should suffice, so long as the cage or shack is in similar condition as all other animals’ cages on the same property.

• Beat, whip, or whisk the slave at your leisure and to a pulp that is to your liking.

• Serve to a God fearing Christian; and Enjoy!

And since this is the process to make a slave, the recipe need only be reversed for the slave seeking freedom:

• Do not Enjoy! Get/be/remain angry (History shows that angry people are those who shift the course of mankind)

• Do not serve the Christian god. His book and ideals promote slavery (amongst other things like homophobia, patriarchy, servitude to a master [even when not a slave as the current topic], narcissism, and murder of those that are different in any way).

• Consider all beatings, whippings, and whiskings as Nietzsche claims of all things that do not destroy us. Even if they truly do not make us stronger, believe it is so while it’s happening so that you may get through the process and eventually overcome it.

• Remove yourself from the confinements of the master’s tanks, cages, shacks, and even the shadows of his mansion. Position yourself in a way that makes it impossible to be caged (i.e. do not drive without a driver’s license).

• Get your identity back, and associate yourself with those you identify most with, and those whom encourage your self-expression.

• Master the use of language (knowing when and how to use its variations among whom)

The whole reality and its effects lies in the gift of speech, Jacques Lacan says, for it is through this gift that all reality has come to man and through its ongoing action that he sustains reality.

Never has this quote rang truer than here in this desolate Texas dirt-hole town, where language creates both a law and a belief system that imprisons someone for something so minor in its true essence because of how it is greater in its implications. That is to suggest: the act of driving without a driver’s license is not the same threat as the driver and what he represents when coming from a place where value systems are different. But language is the bridge of the dialectical process; and though language enforces, language is used to challenge the enforcer's words. Those who use language like whips and chains to control others as they will themselves into positions of power through it should not be surprised when someone uses language and lashes back in a way that calculates repositioning that same power, even if it is only by an inch in favor of the one lashing back through tongue and pen.

At the impound lot, Larry and I are like old buddies talking about high school football in Texas being better than college football in other states, and Texas women have asses like no other women on the planet (I don’t give a fuck about football. Give me Nietzsche, Freud, Lacan, and King any day. Talk about Campbell and his “follow your bliss” philosophy. Rhetoric and its power to seduce and manipulate. And I damn sure don’t care about Texas ass no more than I do pregnant pussy. But Larry doesn’t need to know any of this). I never lose faith in his mercy; and I’m projecting my inner belief outward and on to him. Tough I dare not do it without the assistance of words, for I believe in the power of language irrevocably.

In this tractor garage just on the outskirts of this shithole Texas town, the lot is filled with locus shelled cars and tow trucks and trailers. And in here, Larry sits at a desk and adds up my cost. Just as he tells me the total, another 300 and something dollars, he orders some other gentleman who's legs dangled out from underneath a truck to go fetch the red hatchback. Instead, just as I hand Larry my debit card, his partner (or employee or whatever he is) rolls out from under the truck and walks right up to us and says, “He ain’t got no DL, Larry. Trooper Walkins told me last night about ‘im not havin’ it. We cain’t let ‘im outta here in that car.”  His greasy cap and brown coveralls become the focus of my hatred.

I turn directly to Larry and ignore ol’ Skeeter, or whatever the fuck his name is, and say, “Larry, I just wanna get home. I’m 50 miles from the Texas border and all I want is to get back to Colorado. I ain’t got no one who can even come get me.”

Larry puts his face in his hands just as ol’ Skeeter, or whatever the fuck his punk ass name is, says, “Cain’t do it. Larry, you ain’t even considerin’ doin’ this; are ya’?”

Skeeter is about to get a drop kick to the fuckin’ throat and a karatee chop to the bridge of his nose right when Larry says, “I don’t know why, but I am considerin’ it. 31 years in this business, and I never have allowed it once." He pauses. Shakes his head. Looks up at me and says, "Why this time, I do not know.”

I’ll tell you why. I’ll tell everyone why … because while I was here in God’s country … I fought, through the use of language—the only tool I’d been afforded and the only tool they did not strip me of—for every last mother fuckin’ inch that was rightfully mine to begin with anyway.

∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫∫

∞Epilogue∞

The drive home was done at neither one mile over nor one mile under the speed limit. Until I crossed the state line into New Mexico, I felt like a slave on the underground railway. My palms were sweaty; I had cottonmouth; and I kept looking in the rearview mirror for police or troopers. All I wanted was to be back in the north. The moment I was in New Mexico, everything felt differently; and as I approached Colorado, the mountain range in the distance made me feel at ease. I felt proud to call Colorado "home."  I imagined the mountains representing this strange place where black people are accepted, gay people are allowed to love one another, recreational drug use is permitted. I imagined just over the approaching mountain range, Colorado as this land like OZ where witches and flying monkeys all walk upright and don't drag their knuckles on the ground, unicorns and fairies prance and frolic beneath rainbows, more gods than the Hebrew wolf hanging from a cross are celebrated, music plays in streets of gold, dogs chase only their own tails, and police and state troopers spend their time focusing on real crimes.

I missed my best friend’s wedding. The only request he made to his bride to be in regards to the wedding, he said that she could have everything she wanted for the wedding, the only thing he had to have … was me there. It’s been nine days since Carlton and Erica’s wedding and I have not stopped typing this essay since I got home. Every spare moment I found has been spent in front of my laptop laying down this story. I believe dogmatically that language creates and sustains our reality, controls us and gives us the ability to control. And so this story about language, told by way of language itself, is my attempt to capture a moment in time, to control the narrative before it slips away. This is my gift to Carlton and Erica. But more so, it is my apology to them both. Two of the most powerful words in the world, said in any language at any time, are I’m sorry. And though it will never make up for the ceremony I missed, I have just said how sorry I am in just over 9.6 thousand words.

Carlton and Erica, I’m sorry. 

I’m so sorry that I missed the ceremony of your union.

I love you both dearly—forever and always…

One Love.

~Harley