#heat lamp thing sucks in the summer but it is so nice in winter

[andawaywego]

If you’re still taking prompts, can I make a suggestion? Could you maybe write one about Jamie being busy starting up the leafling (or something) and Dani feels a little neglected so she buys something sexy to get Jamie’s attention.

so i actually had a few prompts for Dani buying lingerie. i guess we were all thinking it, huh? this kinda got away from me, but i hope you like it! smutty smut ahoy.

..

Valentine’s Day, Jamie is learning, is one of the most brutal holidays there is; at least, it is when you own a flower shop. Two years in and it’s a hard lesson. Tiring, even. Exhausting. The orders start pouring in starting about a week out and then it’s practically nonstop until the whole thing is over.

Last year, it felt like they got through it by the skin of their teeth. By the end of it, she and Dani had gotten so good at communicating a lot of information quickly—order sizes, specifics, pickup times—that they’ve almost become mind readers. At least when it comes to each other.

This became especially useful once they hit wedding season that same year and Jamie only realizes how much she’s come to rely on this anomaly once she’s without it.

On Valentine’s Day this year, Dani is sick and at their apartment resting and Jamie is forced to finish everything up on her own. It could be worse, she thinks, because the timing is at least a little less suffocating than it may have been if she’d had to send Dani home early the day before. The only business she’s really had all day were customers coming by to pick up their orders or last-minute love day stragglers coming in to buy whatever she had left.

It could be worse. Really it could.

By the time she closes things up, the whole shop sort of looks like someone took a large vacuum to it, sucking up just about all the plant life from the displays and walls. It looks sort of like a ghost town. Jamie briefly imagines a tumbleweed rolling by. Locks the door behind herself. Turns her feet towards home.

She worries as she walks, the complex where they live only a few blocks from the shop itself. Wonders if maybe she should stop somewhere and get some soup for Dani or something, and then remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day and decides to avoid going to a restaurant.

She can always come back out and brave the headache later. Right now, she’s mostly focused on getting home to check on her girlfriend.

The apartment is quiet when she steps inside. It isn’t as if she was expecting any different, but it still catches her off guard. Only the lamp by the sofa is clicked on, meaning that the rest of the space is shadowed in darkness. The radiators by the window hum and it’s a little too hot—buildings like this, she’s learned, don’t know the meaning of “happy medium.” They spend the summers fanning themselves like southern church ladies and the winter much the same. Fall is reserved for wearing too many layers as they wait for the building manager to decide to turn on the radiators.

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. Keeps her boots on for now even though Dani hates that in case she ends up having to go back out. Heads toward the hallway, toward the bedroom, where she assumes Dani must be resting. Walks slowly to keep the floorboard-squeaking to a minimum.

It isn’t until she passes by the bathroom that she hears it: the music drifting gently from the bedroom. A soft drum beat and a voice singing. She doesn’t immediately recognize the song, too busy wondering why Dani is listening to music while she rests. Gives up on tip-toeing and just hurries the rest of the way.

And then, well—

Hot and stuffy in the apartment from the radiators, sweating a bit in her shirt right at the small of her back, and a shiver still trembles through Jamie’s body when she steps into the bedroom, when she sees what’s waiting for her.

“Hey,” says Dani, perched at the bottom of the bed and smiling in that way Jamie knows she only does when she is very, very nervous.

“I thought you were sick,” says Jamie.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted some time to set all of this up.”

All of this being the record she’s got playing from the stereo in the corner of the room, the candles she has lit on top of the television and on the table next to her side of the bed, and, most importantly, what she’s wearing.

Her makeup, her hair, decked out like every single fantasy Jamie’s ever had and never before let herself consider. Worst of all: she’s wearing lingerie. Purple lingerie. Purple lingerie that hardly leaves anything to the imagination. Jamie swallows so hard it hurts a little.

And she’s seen Dani naked before. Of course, she has. Plenty of times. She’s seen her in nice underwear that matched the bra she had on a handful of times, too. But this is different. Lovely on her or not, those things were still functional as undergarments. And this? This isn’t.

This is see-through lace and long, smooth legs. It’s ruffles and a short-sleeved silk robe that’s hanging off her shoulders just enough to make Jamie’s mouth water.

This isn’t functional. This was designed to cause the exact reaction that it has; this was designed to be taken off.

Dani rolls her shoulders back and flutters her eyelashes in a way that should be silly, but only succeeds in making Jamie’s blood race more thoroughly through her veins. “You’re staring,” she says, playing innocence so well that Jamie almost feels guilty about her inability to tear her eyes away.

Except Dani bought this at some point just for the sole purpose of sitting on their bed looking like that. She did that knowing full well that Jamie wouldn’t be able to keep from eyeing the curves and sways of her, the pale skin and soft lines of her jaw and neck. Wouldn’t be able to want anything more than to press Dani back into their mattress and cover every inch of her, lace and all, with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, and—

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

“Something the matter?” asks Dani, so utterly dedicated to this flirtatious act of naivete.

“No, I’m good. Perfect.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yep.” Jamie turns to glance at the record player as “All Out of Love” comes on. “Cheery song.”

Dani’s act falters. She blushes. “I didn’t know this was on here. It’s...new.”

Jamie frowns and walks over to the record player, reaching for the unfamiliar album sleeve. “Oh? What is it?”

She feels almost guilty for knocking Dani off her game, but she’s so desperately starved for context, for anything concrete to grasp onto so that she doesn’t just pounce, that she just waits for an answer. As it turns out, she doesn’t need one; the cover speaks for itself.

“Wait,” she says, looking it over. “Is this…?”

“You’re not allowed to laugh,” says Dani, pointing at her sternly.

Jamie smiles. “Not laughing. I just can’t believe you actually bought this.”

“The commercials were very convincing!”

“Did you actually call the place?” is her next question because she can’t imagine her girlfriend calling some commercial-boasted number to buy a four-record album named Secret Love just for this occasion. Jamie usually has to call and make her doctor’s appointments for her.

Dani blinks. “No,” she says. “I sent them a check.”

Jamie grins. Can’t help it. Loves Dani so very much at this moment. “Just one payment of $19.95?” she teases and it works: Dani smiles, too, looking less nervous by the second.

“It’s a good deal, you know,” she says.

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“You had a tone.”

“I did not have a tone.”

“Sure you did.”

Jamie isn’t actually sure how she’s managing to control herself anymore. That silk robe slipping off Dani’s shoulder looks so enticing; she wants to press her mouth to the skin it’s left uncovered. Wants other things, too—so many she can hardly decide where to start.

She sets the album back down and takes a few, slow steps towards her girlfriend. Still too far, but closer. “You went to all this trouble,” she says, “for me?”

Dani’s expression softens and she gets to her feet, moving closer. “Yeah, Jay. I did. We’ve just been...so busy lately, which is great! Don’t get me wrong! But...you’ve had so much on your plate and it’s stressful and I didn’t want us to...not get a Valentine’s Day. You know?”

Jamie isn’t sure what there is to say to that except for: “I love you.”

Another step forward and then Dani is grabbing her hands. “I love you, too,” she says, hypnotizing in this outfit, in this lighting, all the time. Her gaze sticks to the pale skin visible through the lace at Dani’s waist, so distracted that she hardly notices when she’s being turned around and pushed back toward the bed, gently guided by Dani’s hands on her shoulders to sit down on the mattress.

The mattress isn’t very tall, which means that, when Dani sinks to her knees, she’s only really a head shorter than Jamie. Her palms run up Jamie’s trouser-covered thighs, fingers curling around them a bit to guide them open a bit so that she can slide her body between them, get closer. Her body is fever-hot and Jamie has the sudden thought that she may not make it out of this surprise alive.

Dani has a knack for making her feel like she’s two seconds from a heart attack every time they’re intimate already. Now she’s wearing lingerie and looking at Jamie like that and Jamie doesn’t know where to put her hands, or where to settle her eyes.

The swell of Dani’s breasts is enticing, so she looks it over for a bit, and then there’s her freckled collarbones, the sleek and taut muscles of her neck. Her pink lips. Jamie feels hot, sweating in her clothes from the heat of the radiators.

Dani looks up at her, blue and brown eyes bright and eager beneath the flutter of her eyelashes. Normally, Jamie would be filling the air with mindless, nervous chatter, trying to calm herself down before the main event, but it feels different this time. The silence, save for the gentle croon of another sappy love song coming from the record player, seems sacred. She doesn’t want to break it for anything.

She curls her fingers in the ends of Dani’s hair, brushing it behind her shoulders, and then Dani is leaning up and she’s leaning down and they’re kissing. Dani’s hands fist the fabric of Jamie’s shirt right at her hips and Jamie cups her face and cranes her neck, and it’s too fucking hot. They should open a window. But Dani’s kisses are hungry and eager and there’s this knot of pain in Jamie’s chest because of it, so she doesn’t dare break away.

Instead, she lifts one of her hands and curves her fingers around Dani’s breast, pushing her palm against it to make the rough lace fabric brush against her nipple. Feels it poke up against her skin a bit and Dani’s answering moan vibrates her lips, flicking her tongue out to tickle the roof of Jamie’s mouth. Jamie scoots forward on the bed to be closer and lifts her other hand to do the same with Dani’s neglected breast.

“Jamie,” Dani pants as she rips her mouth away, eyes clenched shut, “this is supposed to be about you.”

Jamie smiles. “Trust me,” she says,“it is.”

Dani’s eyes open. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

A long look of consideration. Jamie momentarily stops her movements at Dani’s chest. And then Dani unbuttons her trousers and starts tugging at them, saying, “Get these off. That’s what I mean.”

Jamie takes them off. Her shirt, too. Drops each of them to the floor carelessly, too eager for the next part to worry about where they land. In all the rush, Dani begins to slip the silk robe from her shoulders, but Jamie stops her with a shake of her head.

Says, “Leave it on,” with the sort of breathlessness that makes Dani smile.

She leaves it on.

Jamie brushes her thumb against Dani’s nipple and then trails her fingers up the bony press of her sternum. Cups her jaw and cranes her neck down to kiss her, hot press of lips together and Dani gasping into her mouth.

Wanting to be closer in a way this particular position won’t allow, she breaks away from the kiss and guides Dani up by the shoulders until she is sliding her knees onto the mattress on either side of Jamie’s thighs, straddling her. She rolls her hips down and now Jamie can feel the fabric covering Dani’s body against her own skin. Fears she’ll go mad from desire before she can do anything about it.

It’s cooler in just her underwear, certainly, but that doesn’t mean the friction of their bodies together isn’t creating a fine layer of sweat between them. Their legs slide together and Jamie is so wet, so ready, that it’s beginning to hurt a little.

She kisses Dani’s neck and slides her lips up to the corner of her jaw, to her earlobe. She nibbles a little, then scrapes her teeth down to her neck again. Nips at her pulse point then smoothes it over with her tongue. Dani curses against her hair, breath a hot spread across Jamie’s scalp as she rolls her hips down.

A moment later, her hand is working its way inside Jamie’s panties, fingertips brushing against her clit very lightly and it’s Jamie’s turn to curse.

“Fuck.”

Dani smiles, kisses her forehead. “Doing okay?” she asks, that impersonation of complete chastity back in her voice, in her lips, the way her head tilts flirtatiously as Jamie meets her eyes.

“Doing great,” Jamie manages through gritted teeth. She is fighting back the urge to simply reach between them and push Dani’s hand against her harder. She drops her head and presses her lips against one of Dani’s nipples through the lace, mouthing at it hotly and making Dani sag against her, a little boneless, with a moan.

Payback, she thinks, is definitely a bitch.

She can be one, too.

She grips Dani’s hips in that tight, fierce way that Dani likes—thinks it must be at least a little painful, but maybe that’s why Dani likes it—and rolls up into her hand in a way that pushes the back of it between Dani’s own legs.

“Jay,” breathes Dani, and her expression is purposefully seductive, playful even as she is genuinely reacting to Jamie’s movements. She flutters her eyelashes with the best of them and she is the only woman Jamie’s ever been with that can make her go mad just by smiling at her. “Lie back.”

Jamie doesn’t understand the order at first, can’t wrap her head around it because Dani’s fingers are circling her clit now. It isn’t until that hand pulls away and Dani gets back, slowly, to her feet to give her room that she gets it. It feels like every part of her is positively vibrating as she uses her hands to slide back and back. Lowers herself to the mattress all the way and tilts her chin down so she can watch her girlfriend climb up her body in this ridiculously erotic and mind-numbing way.

“God, how are you not naked yet?” she asks, pressing her lips to Jamie’s breastbone, dipping down to tongue at the edge of her bra.

“How are you not fucking me yet?” Jamie returns, just to see Dani’s reaction—the way her cheeks go even pinker, the way she blinks in surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

She swallows thickly. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Not when you look like that it’s not.”

Dani tugs the left cup of Jamie’s bra down and ducks her head to hide the way her expression changes, lips curling around Jamie’s nipple. Jamie can feel her smiling. “Like what?”

“You’re a tease, you know that? You’re such a bloody tease.”

Her mouth moves down to Jamie’s ribcage. “Would you like to lodge a formal complaint?” she asks.

Jamie curls her fingers into her girlfriend’s hair and cranes her neck to get a better look at her in that damned lingerie. “If you don’t touch me soon then yeah, I would.”

She feels the blunt edge of Dani’s teeth below her belly button, scraping down to the waistband of her panties. “Your request has been noted,” says Dani, her voice even and sort of mockingly robotic. “Please allow three to four business for—”

Jamie’s laugh cuts her off, fingers combing through her hair until Dani finally lifts her eyes to look at her again. “Dani, I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

“But you have to do something, or I’m going to—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dani catches the edge of Jamie’s panties between her teeth and begins to pull them down like that, laughing around the material as Jamie wiggles and shifts her hips, giggling like a maniac, to try and help. Eventually, hands are required to finish the job. Jamie isn’t actually sure what Dani was thinking.

Goofy, ridiculous Dani. She’s the only woman Jamie’s ever loved, the only woman she’s been able to laugh in bed with, and she went out and bought sexy lingerie, called a number from a commercial to get the proper mood music, sat here on their bed on Valentine’s Day to surprise her.

Jamie doesn’t understand her life, doesn’t understand how she could possibly ever deserve this.

Once her panties are all the way gone and Jamie is naked, save for her bra, Dani’s eyes linger between her legs, a loose smile fixed on those pretty lips. “There you are,” she says.

“There I am,” Jamie exhales, shakily. “Now—”

She should be expecting it, but she isn’t, and so Jamie makes the most embarrassing sound ever when Dani’s tongue first makes contact. An electric shock between her legs, a match being struck, and she arches a little too much off the bed, one of her arms going back so she can comb her fingers through her own hair. Slams her eyes shut to keep from coming almost immediately—this won’t be her only chance, she’s sure of it, but she wants this first one to last—and then has to look, so she opens them back up.

And Dani is always a sight between her legs like this, but she’s on her knees and bent down in a way that makes her breasts hang deliciously, bumping a bit as she licks and curls her lips around Jamie’s clit. Jamie brings her other hand down and brushes her hair out of the way, over her shoulder, so she can see her mouth work.

“Fucking fuck, Dani,” she says, so eloquent with a beautiful woman bobbing between her legs.

Dani hums in response and Jamie can’t help it, groans a little too loudly. That fucking silk robe and the contrast of purple lace to pale skin, blonde hair fisted in her hand, and then Dani brings one of her hands up and slips a finger inside and Jamie feels, very suddenly, like she is splitting apart at every seam that’s ever kept her together.

The sound of Dani fucking her like this is almost obscene. It’s slick and loud, the suction of her mouth audible as she alternates movements against Jamie’s clit. She’s smiling despite how busy her mouth is and then she slips a second finger in, then a third.

It’s so hot, sweat pearling on her chest and forehead. Her hair feels damp at the base of her skull, she feels sort of like she has a fever but everywhere, and fuck—

She nearly bites through her bottom lip as she comes, trying to keep quiet. Her pulse drums like waves on the shore as it whitewashes through her ears, her veins.

Dani pulls back, licking her lips clean sloppily and her eyes are so dark that Jamie feels like she's burning again in moments.

“Come here,” she croaks, propping herself up on her elbows. Hopes that Dani knows what she means.

She must, though, because she doesn’t come up on the side of the bed. Instead, she just straddles Jamie’s waist, giving Jamie a full and uninterrupted view of what she’s wearing again.

“God,” is the next thing she says. Then, “You know how to pick ’em, huh?” as she tugs a bit on the end of the robe.

Dani smiles, somehow shy despite everything else. “You like it then?” she asks, like she has no idea, like she didn’t just fuck Jamie stupid while wearing the sexiest thing to ever exist. “Successful Valentine’s Day?”

Jamie rolls her eyes affectionately. “And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to—”

Dani pushes at her shoulder, giggling. “Hey,” she says. “Give me a break. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the shop I got this from.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really! Like, three shop girls came over to help me because I was so lost.” She looks so sincerely flustered by this that Jamie can’t help but be endeared by it. “They kept asking me what my ‘boyfriend’—” and she uses air quotes there, “—likes to see me in. What his favorite color is.”

Jamie laughs. “What did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did they say to that?”

“They asked me what my husband likes then.”

Jamie nearly chokes on her tongue from laughing so hard. Almost knocks Dani to the floor, too.

And, yeah, it’s a pretty successful Valentine’s Day.

[impossible-rat-babies]

at least the apples taste sweet

shepherds of haven | 1651 words | hurt/comfort

read on ao3 here

Wind calm up on the battlements, the night just cool enough for a jacket or a cloak. Just a caress of the heat of summer still clinging before autumn truly sets in, winter not long in its chase.

Apple peel falling into Andromache’s lap, gently guiding a knife through the bruised skin. It’s quiet, the last lingering people shuttering their stalls below and chattering with their fellow merchants, others shuffling towards home or the taverns to abide by the rest a good drink or a good courtesan can provide. Men with long handled wicks light street lamps dotting the street below, casting their glare across the cobblestone and drawing moths in to batter themselves against the glass. Lights flicker in open windows, families gathering for dinner around round tables, thanking the One God for the blessed meal and one more day.

Andromache sighs, breath lost to the wind and she combs a hair from the corner of her mouth, letting it flutter behind her. Footsteps echoing on the stone and she turns, spying dark eyes flickering from the lantern light.

“What’s toward?” She asks, scooting along the crenellation, enough room for Blade to sit down beside her.

“You’re not on watch tonight.” He glances and she meets his eyes with shrug, tossing the last of the apple peel to the street below.

“It’s quiet up here.” She carves out a slice of apple and pops it in her mouth, chewing silently. It’s nice to eat fruit that isn’t sour—isn’t hard or has spots she has to carve around where worms and bugs have burrowed. “Can see most of Ashtown from up here.” She adds, squinting in the heavy dark only punctuated by the little dots of light stretching out until they meet the dusty white walls of Haven.

“You’ve never lived in a big city?” He asks and she shakes her head.

“Visited one or two. Conte-by-the-sea, Capra—never stayed long enough to know them though.” She answers, taking another bite.

“I thought to at one point—entertained the idea of leaving home when I was old enough, travel around Blest and see what there is. Maybe become a mercenary like my father out on the Sea of Plenty, Take down pirates in fearsome raids. But I,” she snickers as if she can’t help but think of the idea as utterly silly, “I even thought of becoming a famous painter or artist.”

“Impress the world over with your skills?” There’s a smile in his voice and one on her face as she replies.

“As a child thinks of such things.” She shakes her head and carefully carves out a slice and offers it to him. He takes it and she slices away another chunk, chewing slowly.

“When I was fifteen I worked as a stablehand for some rich noble in Capra. Helped the horse-master tend to the creatures the nobleman liked to collect--all manner of fancy horse or ahfuri. Had a thing for the beasts. But there was a serving girl about my age...pretty blue eyes, a fair face and rosy cheeks enough to make anyone turn envy green.” She laughs quietly, cheeks flushing.

“Did you fancy her?” Blade asks softly and the smile persists on her face.

“As young people or lovers do.” She sighs out of her nose. 

“We would meet up in the hayloft above the stable late at night. We thought ourselves all clever like in those romantic books, meeting like secret lovers do. We would talk and talk for hours--meaningless things, things I barely remember. She said she liked to dance and weave, that back home her mother was an accomplished seamstress--sought after for her beautiful blankets and quilts. I...told her how I liked to draw, liked to paint. Scribbled in the dirt or in the dust on the windows I was supposed to be cleaning. A few sennights later, she gave me a gift.”

“Paints and a journal?” He asks and Andromache nods, turning the apple over in her fingers.

“I nearly threw a fit over the gift when I unwrapped it. Lamented about how she shouldn’t have gotten me something so trite, spent her hard earned coin on it.” She pauses, chewing the corner of her lip, a strand of hair once again caught there.

“She had younger siblings back home to feed, dreams of her own, to leave behind being a laundress and...I don’t know, become a famous dancer or a weaver like her mother. But, she shouldn’t have wasted her coin on me. She utterly refused to take it back, begging me to keep it, threatening me that if she found out I had sold it to give that money back to her that she would have my hide. Don’t you go selling that Anne or you’ll be worse off than if you got kicked by a horse!”

She looks back across the city, a few more lights pressing against the sky now turned from indigo to deep purple—almost black. Her shoulders fall and she’s a hundred miles away, a decade ago, still clutching that tin of watercolors and the small book of paper shoved into her hands. Hands trembling, searching those pretty blue eyes for why the hael she would give her such an unnecessary gift. 

Silence fills the air, Blade’s attentive eyes still on her, waiting for her to continue--waiting for her to be ready. He’s far too nice to her and she shoves aside the cascade of emotion building in her gut.

“She told me that it was a gift, something to help make my own dream come true. She even said I could practice painting her up in that dusty old hayloft, or paint the horses. Some kak like that.” Andromache shakes her head, sadness drawing her brow in tight, lips narrowing as she carves off another chunk of apple and offers it to him.

“Funny how that little dream didn’t work out.”

Blade takes the slice and she watches him look it over for a long moment, the corners of his lips turning, wrinkling the corners of his eyes just so when he thinks.

“Where is she now?” He asks, eating the apple slice.

“I don’t know. I left for the Circle only a year after my employment began and she was still there. I thought to write to her, but...servori.” Andromache sighs. “Hopefully she’s off having someone else wash her underclothes while she makes pretty blankets and dances.”

“Are you upset? Being part of the Shepherds?” Blade asks and she drops her hands to her lap, only the last bit of the apple before the core remains, turning it over and over in her hands.

“No, I’m not upset.” She mumbles, looking over at him and he hardly seems convinced. “Not upset at being part of the Shepherds. I’m...”

She pauses, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, the choke of emotions building behind her voice, behind her eyes. There’s a familiar sting there and she quickly looks away.

“I am lonely for what could have been—longing for something I don’t even know, something or someone I cannot picture. I don’t know who she is, who she could have been--if she could’ve been a better or a worse than I am now.”

The words rush out and she sucks in a deep breath, willing the tears to stay behind her eyes, staring up at the sky overhead like it will hold all the answers. Like the gods will point her in the direction she’s supposed to find, the correct path amongst the hundreds and her feet are bloody from all the walking.

“Could have been a painter.” 

Blade says softly, gently and Andromache can’t help the soft broken chuckle that she lets slip, head dropping to her chest.

“She could’ve been a painter...”

She whispers, silence passing between them like the breathless quiet between church bells, the empty space from one resounding ring to the next. The silence of a breath taken in and held, waiting to be breathed back out.

“We can only do that which we believe is best, Andromache.” Blade finally speaks, exhales into the chill of the air. “Look towards what to do next. There are hundreds of ways by which to go—we cannot grieve for each path we do not take.” He says quietly and he meets her eyes; he’s always so terribly resolute. She nods, looking away first, eyes drawn to the abandoned apple in her lap.

“Speaking from experience, Commander?” She asks and he gives her nothing more than a careful knowing look, barest hint of a smile catching the corner of his lip his answer.

It’s all the answer she needs. He pulls himself to his feet, settling his cloak back into place, smoothing aside the wrinkles.

“Make sure to get some sleep.” He tells her and it could almost be an order, save for the softness in his eyes lingering on her face, the twitch of his hand at his side.

“I will.” She nods and he looks away, turning on his heel. “Thank you, Blade.” She speaks up, smiling and he nods in return, almost silent footsteps disappearing into the dark.

She sighs against the quiet once more, eyes falling back to the apple and she turns it over in her hand, carving off the last bit of her apple and she pops it in her mouth. Standing, she tucks her knife away and tosses the core of the apple in the air once, twice, three times before chucking it over the side of the wall. It disappears into the dark, to be lost by the morning.

She stares once more out across Haven, the black of night finally blanketed across the city, cradling it safely behind it’s walls. Maybe one day she’ll paint it. 

She can’t help but chuckle; she isn’t a painter, but at least the apples she eats taste sweet.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Made Man

Part Three: Mob Mistress

A/N: Woah. Sorry it’s been so long, but we’re back in business with Nick and the Jersey Boys. He’s officially reporting for duty at the Dockside, making allies and enemies within his new crew. Where do you fall on that scale, and is your job as cut and dry as it’s always been? (this one went through a lot of changing and shuffling but here we are.) 

Warning: lotsa swearin’, trigger happy morons. 

Word Count: 3,516  

The lamps that capped the tall poles in the municipal parking lot next to The Dockside were still glowing orange against the early morning sky. The sun had just started to come up over the choppy slate gray Atlantic, its first rays of light weak against the clouds and the lingering darkness of night. A few gulls were perched on the weathered pylons, feathers fluffed against the cold, beaks tucked under their wings. You coulda flown south, you dingbats, you thought as you passed them each morning, their beady little eyes blinking in stubborn support of their decision to tough it out through the winter. Dumb birds. The wind whipped hard across the water, snapping flags and rattling chains throughout the marina. You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets and shrugged into your coat, longing for summer. 

 Squinting to combat the way the cold was causing your eyes to tear, you let daydreams of warmth and sun on your skin carry you the rest of the way across the parking lot and closer to your destination. I’m cranking that heat when I get in, I don’t care what Steve has to say. You were nearly on the doorstep, fingers already curled around your keys when you finally noticed the outline of a figure leaning against the front window. You sucked in a startled breath, heart rate picking up as you stiffened, letting go of the keys in your pocket to grip the small canister of pepper spray instead. Shit, who the f-

 But before you could finish your panicked thought, the figure moved. Your eyes were drawn to a small reddish circle hovering at face-height in the shadows, the end of the lit cigarette casting just enough light on the man’s features to identify him. Letting go of the spray attached to your keychain, you released the tension in your shoulders. Nick. You recalled the conversation you’d overheard in Steve’s office a few days prior, when your boss had told the Bostonian transplant when to come back. Right. It’s Thursday. You took another step forward and crossed your arms over your chest.    

 “How long you been standing there?” Your breath puffed out before you in the frigid salty air. “You look like a popsicle.” And it’s 6:57 am. 

 He smirked around the cigarette in his mouth, taking a drag before his red knuckled and raw right hand came from his pocket to pluck it from his lips. Shrugging, he pushed away from the wall. “Didn’t wanna be late.”

 Despite the fact that only a few seconds ago you were ready to blind him with capsaicin, you found yourself laughing at his response. Shaking your head, you pulled the keys from your pocket, shaking them out until you found the one you needed. “Lesson one,” you took a step forward and motioned for him to move away from the door so that you could unlock it. “I come in to open at seven, and Steve’s never here before nine.” You fit the key in the lock, pulling up on the handle as you pushed the door open, the cheerful jingle of the overhead bell announcing the start of another day. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him toss his cigarette before following you inside and out of the cold. “Lesson two?” You raised one eyebrow, lowering your hood and smoothing back your hair. “Never smoke out front. Out back by the walk-in, or behind the kitchen door, but never out front, got it?” 

 He narrowed his eyes over his crooked grin. “Yeah, got it. Thanks.” It was still dark inside, the only light coming from the emergency signs above the doors. And that damn smile of his. He looked good in the shadows, with a red glow on his skin and a gleam in his eye, and you knew that could only mean trouble. You turned to flick the lights on, the overheads humming to life to banish the dark gleam from his eyes. There, not so dangerous now, you lied to yourself. “So you live close by?” He asked, unzipping his jacket without removing it. 

 Your eyes were immediately drawn to the scrawling black ink visible above his neckline. You could tell that it was elaborate lettering, though you couldn’t quite make out what it said, the bulk of the phrase still hidden by his black tee. That’s new. You’d noticed the folded hands and rosary on the right side of his neck when he’d come in the other day, making it a habit to commit as many identifiers like scars and tattoos to memory as you could. Sure, that’s why. Realizing that you were still staring at his chest, you shook your head and started unwinding your scarf. “Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Why?” 

 He shrugged, hands plunging into his pockets. “Nah, just,” he scrunched his face up in a nonchalant fashion. “Ya know, saw you walkin’ so I figured you must live close is all. I mean if you don’t gotta drive, must mean you’re close, right?” 

 You pulled your arms free of your coat and tossed it, along with your keys and purse behind the bar. “I do have a car, if that’s really what you’re trying to ask. I just don’t drive to work.” You lifted the hinged portion of the light blue countertop and let yourself into the horseshoe shaped bar, closing it behind you before he could follow. “Sorry, trained bartenders only,” you explained, his hands falling to the rail as you clicked it closed. 

 “Nah, no that’s not...I mean, I wasn’t askin’ if you had a car, I’m just tryin’ ta make conversation.” 

 “Uh huh,” you reached back to hit another switch, another set of lights brightening your workstation and the kitchen space through the doorway behind it. “Okay. So where’d you park your car then?” You stood on your toes and peeked over his shoulder and out the window before letting your feet go flat again, one cheek lifting in a smirk as you met his eyes once more. 

 Nick pressed his lips together, but as you turned away to start the coffee maker you heard him laugh under his breath. “I ain’t got one anymore,” he admitted, “I walked here too.” You heard the scrape of stool legs against the tiled floor as he pulled one out to take a seat at the bar. 

 “Well,” the ancient machine hissed and sputtered as it heated up, and you slid the round bottomed glass carafe atop the hot plate. Turning back to face him, you continued. “Glad we got those very important facts out of the way.” He let out another small laugh at your sarcasm as the hissing gave way to a slow drip. Coffee underway, you let yourself back out of the bar and started taking the chairs down from the few small tables, flipping them over and pushing them in. After you’d taken down the first three, you looked over your shoulder at Nick. “You gonna just sit there while I do all this, Boston?” 

 Even though it was still early and you were far from a morning person, you found yourself laughing internally at the way he sprang from his seat, nearly knocking over the stool that he occupied. “Yeah, no I mean, here, lemme help.” He crossed to the table next to where you stood, gripping the backs of two chairs and flipping them down off of the table. 

 “Thanks,” you threw him a real smile as you each moved on to the next tables. He returned it with one of his own, the two of you finishing the chairs in half the time it would have taken you alone, the quiet sounds of rolling waves slapping against the docks and the occasional cry from a gull filling the silence. You moved to each window next, pulling the chords dangling from the neon signs to bring them buzzing to life. Nick returned to his seat at the bar, leaning back against the rail with both elbows behind him. “So, you just gonna wait here for Steve? That your plan?” You pulled the last chord on the largest sign, The Dockside in curling white light blinking on. Unlocking the side door that lead out to the ferry dock, you realized that you were hoping that his answer would be ‘yes’. Company is always nice, you reasoned, knowing that your first few customers were still about an hour away. Well, maybe not always, not when it’s Ralph. 

 Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Didn’t really have a...a plan.” He cleared his throat. “That okay with you?” 

 Yeah it’s fine with me. You caught yourself before answering too quickly. You wanted to be careful with this one, remember? You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossed and head tilted to feign deep thought. “Yeah,” moving over to the corner where the thermostat hung, you lifted the cover and spun the dial to raise the temperature. “I guess you can stay.”  Flipping the cover closed with a snap, you heard the heat kick on. There we go. You rubbed some warmth into your hands and made your way back over to the bar. “You want some coffee?”

 He turned on his stool, dark eyes following you as you moved to grab two white porcelain mugs from a rack. “Sure, thanks.” His tongue pressed into the side of his cheek as you poured the hot beverage. You looked over your shoulder discerningly at him for a second, his tongue sliding down along his teeth behind his bottom lip and turned into a questioning grin. “What’s that look for?” 

 “Tryin’ to guess how you take your coffee,” you responded. He started to answer but you held up a finger. “No lemme guess.” Tapping your lips you squinted at him. “Black and sweet, right?”

 He laughed, looking down as he shook his head. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

 So far, you are. So far, there hadn’t been a single thing about him that surprised you, but the closer you looked the more you knew that the predictable was likely to run out soon. He’s young, and he’s in deep. There’s gotta be more than what I’m seeing. “Nah, I’m just that good.” You handed him his mug and passed a few packets of sugar across the bar. You left your own bitter and black, taking a scorching sip as he thanked you. “Sure,” you watched him tear open three sugars, dumping the pure white crystallized contents into the steaming liquid before tapping them with the side of his pointer finger. Without taking your eyes off of him, you reached for a spoon from the silverware bin to your left. You could move around the entire bar and kitchen blindfolded at this point, never grabbing anything but what you meant to. Holding the spoon out to him before he could ask you for it, you winked over the top of your mug and took another sip. 

 He let out a low chuckle under his breath as he took the spoon from you. “Thanks.” Crumpling up the empty sugar packets in one fist, he dropped the spoon into his mug where it clinked against the bottom. You watched his knuckles squeeze tight around the empty packets in his closed hand before releasing them, letting the papers fall to the bartop. They were bony, his knuckles, and you couldn’t help but notice that the middle one looked slightly larger than the rest, swollen and bruised like it had been broken. Recently. His palm curved around the warm mug as he stirred the sweetener in, and you blinked away from his hands, stepping forward to grab the empty packets and toss them in the trash. Three packets of sugar and broken knuckles. A smile like that and a gun on your belt. What are you about, Nick?   

 You cleared your throat and set your coffee down on the lower counter beneath the bartop. Nick looked up at the sound, raising his own drink to his lips, the spoon held to the side but still inside the mug. “So I gotta go do some numbers for Steve in the office.” He nodded. “It’ll only take me a few minutes, just gotta get it done before Ralph gets in, so-” 

 “Yeah,” he nodded again. “No problem, I get it, you got work ta do.” His eyes flicked from your face to the door to Steve’s office and back again. 

 You rolled your eyes inwardly at the word ‘work’- you were just going to fill envelopes for drop offs- and left him with a warning not to go behind the bar, reminding him of the wall of cameras above your boss’ desk. He held his hands up in a gesture of innocence, promising to behave himself. I’m sure you will, Trouble. Leaving him sitting at the bar, you disappeared into the tiny room to complete your task. 

 It only took twenty minutes, sorting payments of various amounts for various reasons- hush money to guys that knew things, cuts to guys that “helped” Steve out, compensation to families of guys either in jail or in the ground- and orders, slips with names and locations, coded instructions and messages. You never read the slips, never questioned the amounts, not wanting to know who was owed what or when so and so was supposed to be where. The less I know the safer I am, the smoother the ride for everyone. Closing the cashbox, you locked it back away in the bottom drawer of Steve’s desk. You gathered your two stacks of envelopes and stood, bending your body so as not to hit your head on the security monitors in the absurdly cramped space. Movement on one of the screens caught your eye, and you swiveled your head to watch Nick from above as he opened a cheap black phone to check it. His shoulders slumped as he looked out the window and snapped the phone shut and tucked it back in his pocket,  blowing out a breath. You didn’t care that there was likely at least one death order in your hands. It didn’t bother you that that was drug money you were holding, or that it was being paid to a gun runner or pimp or bookie. But for reasons you couldn’t explain you found yourself caring about what had caused his sigh, wanted to know who he was hoping to hear from, and why he’d come to Jersey. You found yourself caring about this stranger. No, I just- But you couldn’t rightfully justify it. Fuck. You let out a sigh of your own as he turned back to his coffee and took a sip. 

 But before you could fully chew yourself out for caring where you had no business to care, movement on another monitor caught your attention, and your face quickly set into a scowl. Ralph. He walked in the front door and you felt the skin on your arms crawl with the disgust that was still leftover from the last time he’d touched you, his meaty palms rubbing over your biceps as his eyes spent more time on your chest than your face. You’d lost track of how many times you’d told him that you weren’t interested in him, running out of ways to say it that didn’t come with a swift kick between his pudgy legs. I’ll never run out of reasons, though, you slimy piece of- 

 There was no sound on the monitors, but you didn’t need there to be to know that the exchange happening in the bar was contentious, Nick standing and squaring up his shoulders, Ralph jutting his chin out and cracking his knuckles. “Oh for fuck’s sake…” You tapped the envelope stacks against the desk to put them in order and stepped around to swing the door open. 

 “You tell me who the fuck you are, pretty boy, and what you’re doin’ in my place.” 

 Nick scoffed as you exited the office. “Your place?” He wrinkled his features. “Look pal, I don’t know you but I know this ain’t your place, so you can f-” 

 You cleared your throat and pulled the office door shut hard, both men turning in your direction, hands flying to their concealed weapons. Jesus Christ, these two. “What the Hell is goin’ on out here?” Nick dropped his hands and stepped back, reclaiming his seat at the bar, but Ralph’s trigger-happy right hand stayed crossed over his waist, fingers still resting on his gun. “Ralph, c’mon,” you barked his name and shot daggers in his direction with your eyes. “Get your hand off your goddamn gun.” 

 “Who the fuck is this guy?” Ralph asked you, finally raising his hand and using it to gesture wildly at Nick. 

 Steve doesn’t tell you everything you moron. Actin’ like this is your place, you gotta be kidding me. “This is Nick, Steve’s new guy.” You watched Ralph’s beady eyes narrow, nostrils flaring on the words ‘new guy’. That’s right, asshole, watch your back someone else is climbing the ladder. “So unless you wanna explain why you’re cleanin’ him off the floor when Steve gets here, you keep your hands off your gun, and you take these envelopes and get outta here.” 

 He sneered in Nick’s direction, the younger man seemingly unintimidated by Ralph’s brutish display. “Fine by me, dollface,” he spat, roughly grabbing the envelopes from you. You released them quickly, the edge of one catching your finger and slicing your skin. 

 “Ow, watchit,” you dumb oaf. You drew your fingertip up to your lips and sucked a bead of blood from the thin line. Even though you were glaring at Ralph, you noticed Nick’s lip curl as he leaned forward in his seat. Easy, killer, it’s just a papercut. 

 Ralph dropped his tough guy act and reached for you, but this time you were quick enough, pulling away and clicking your tongue at him. “Shit, I’m sorry, babe, here lemme see it-” 

 “Don’t call me babe, Ralph I’m not your babe.” I’m nobody’s babe and I’ll never be yours.  You sighed, settling your hands on your hips and shaking your head. “It’s fine, just get outta here already, before Steve gets in, yeah?”

 He mumbled a ‘yeah’ under his breath and shuffled off, tail between his legs and pride wounded. Good riddance. It was always a scene with him, usually due to the fact that his opinion of himself was at least four pegs higher than anyone else’s opinion of him. You continued to glare after him, wishing all sorts of unpleasant things, thoughts only interrupted by Nick’s low whistle. 

 “That guy’s a piece’a work, huh?” You turned towards him, all the disdain for Ralph draining from your eyes as they landed on his face, lips twitched to the side and pulling his beard with them. “You okay?” 

 You waved your hand and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, tucking your hair behind your ears. 

 “He uh...bother you a lot, that guy?” Nick sniffed, leaning back against the bar, trying to look nonchalant as he asked. You saw him squeeze his hand into a fist, swollen knuckle sticking out. 

 Change the subject. “Listen, don’t worry about him, he talks a lotta shit but he’s no one, and I can handle myself around him.” 

 That got him to laugh, closing his eyes with a nod. “Yeah,” he opened his eyes again, and you saw that all the tension was gone. “I bet you can.” 

 The next two weeks passed just like that- Nick showing up around the same time as you, helping you open the bar and keeping interactions with Ralph as brief as possible. You’d make him a coffee and pass him three sugars and a spoon, and you’d shoot the breeze while he waited for Steve and you waited for the fishermen to trickle in for egg sandwiches. It was becoming a routine, one that kept you warmer on your walk in than berating the seagulls, just knowing that he’d be there to kill the time with. You stopped trying to ignore your interest in him altogether- there’s nothing wrong with making a friend- and started allowing yourself to care a little- we’re gonna be working together for a while, I can get to know him. He seemed to take the same attitude towards you, though he remained just enough of a puzzle, not revealing anything too personal. 

On Tuesday of the third week, though, things changed when you were filling envelopes- the orders, not the cash- and you came across one with his name. Nick Tortano. You stuffed the slip inside, not wanting to know more, heart thumping as you tried to chase thoughts of him getting his hands dirty out of your mind. You knew this was coming, he’d gotta prove himself, don’t let it- But the name on the next envelope cut those thoughts from developing, your throat getting tight as you read your own name and the corresponding slip- “Nick’s Driver. Angelo’s.” Oh. Shit.

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