#luxury apartment near me in chicago

[emotionoitme]

don’t call my name

don't call my name - skinshape

warnings: roommate trope, pervy carmy, like this man needs to get a grip, sexual tension & sexual innuendo, yearning as always, nudity and some steaminess, alcohol (its one drink), some dirty touches and lots of teasing + dirty talking lol, future smut (freaky), no use of y/n or you

wc: 8.6k

a/n: new 3-PART SERIES!! hiiii i’m sorry i’ve been awol for so long but s3 has sent me into a feral frenzy and thats what motivates me to write for carmy <3 he kind of pissed me off this season but i’m horny for him anyways so enjoy!!  (from the same horny silly mind as “about a girl”)

series masterlist

playlist (updates with each chapter)

fucking inflation.

carmen berzatto would rather die than try and find a roommate.

with chicago’s residential rent quadrupling, he found it increasingly stressful balancing monthly apartment payments with the nonstop financial demand of owning a restaurant. 

if it wasn’t fixing the walk in fridge, it was fixing the gas line that had a leak. not to mention staffing, fancy dishware, food cost, utilities. the bear was a big up and coming success in the community, but he was damned if it didn’t take a lot of money to keep a restaurant running. 

it wouldn’t have been so stressful all on its own, either, not if his new fuckhead landlord didn’t send all the tenants a yellow slip informing them of the $2500 monthly increase in rent. 

the place was nice—he recently made a decision that was long deliberated, moveing from his small, admittedly humble apartment complex to a “luxury unit”. 

he found it to be quite an adjustment. It was newer, and much nicer than what carmy was used to. the place was fully furnished and had two-levels connected by floating stairs, as well as tall windows that reached the ceiling and illuminated the space with natural light. 

it was a gorgeous place, but the sudden increase in rent did nothing more than fuel the disdain that he had accumulated for landlords over the years. 

so, came to terms with the fact that he would have to either deal with the hassle of moving out, cut into the restaurant’s budgeting, or the dreaded third option. finding a roommate. 

the stress plagued his mind all night as he tried to sleep, tossing and turning over his pillow. 

someone to share a small space with, quarrel over messes with, debate over rent share with. not to mention he had grown accustomed to small freedoms like cooking in the middle of the night or walking around naked. 

there was also the fact that he had been lonely recently, succumbing to sexual frustrations that reminded him all too well of being a teenager again. it had crept up on him slowly, the urge to hold another person again. to be touched by someone else. 

he had been so worked up, he was being plagued by wet dreams. it was like being back in middle school for the man. finding himself waking up face down in the bed, clutching a pillow he had drooled on with a throbbing erection in his boxers. finding himself rutting his hips against the mattress to try and alleviate some of the pressure that had built up in his body. a thin sheen of sweat covered him as he felt increasingly hot. maybe he would want to bring someone home in the near future, and how would that work with a roommate? what a fucking nightmare. 

he bit into the pillow and let out a soft groan as he continued to slowly rock his hips against the mattress. 

he slid his hand down, fingers tucking into his boxers and wrapping around his erection. the dream had felt so real while he was asleep, recalling soft skin beneath his fingertips, recalling himself posessively gripping this skin as a hot, wet tightness engulfed his cock. he nuzzles his face further into the pillow as he pumps his hand softly over his length.

the lack of anything romantic or sexual in his life was probably for the best. but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it. 

carmen brought his hand up to his mouth, spitting into his palm and shoving his boxers down to slick himself up. it felt as if a white heat was beginning to surge through his body, unaccustomed to the touch. 

he had been so busy, wound so tightly. he began rutting his hips to meet his hand, releasing a low moan into the pillow. it was like the dream had gotten him almost completely to the finish line, feeling overwhelmingly sensitive from the brief touches. his other hand gripped at his comforter as he felt himself coming up on an orgasm, muscles tensing, mouth falling open.

the sharp blare of his phone ringing right next to his ear caused him to jump, ripping his hand out from his boxers and sitting up. it took him a second to orient himself, heart pounding and breaths labored.

he felt his skin heat with anger as his eyes darted over to the screen to see an unknown number. 

another four seconds and he would have been blissfully falling over the edge he hadn’t fallen over in a long time. 

he hurriedly shoved the phone up to his ear. 

“what?” he snapped into the line, patience wearing incredibly thin. the receiving end was quiet for a beat, before a woman’s voice hesitantly responded. 

“hi…um, i was calling about the listing for the unit on maple… is this the right number?” 

carmy ran a hand over his face, resting his forehead in his hand. the pent up tension began to partially subside, mind now focusing on his sustained issue of finding a roommate. 

“no, yeah. uh, sorry,” he cleared his throat, “this is carmen.”

“oh. hi,” the girl’s voice responded, sounding slightly surprised. she relayed her own name, as he found himself closing his eyes and tuning into the sound of her voice. 

“i saw your ad in the tribune, and i’m kind of in a rough spot right now with my shithea- sorry, my landlord increasing the rent. i only need a place for a few months before i go back to the west coast.” 

he let himself chuckle at her correction, hand falling to the blanket above his erection. 

“yeah,” he responded, “i’m, uh, all too familiar with shithead landlords. that’s why i put the ad out in the first place. my rent is fuckin’ going up 2500 bucks.” hearing a small gasp resonate through the line at this.

“so i take it you’re not…totally enthusiastic about getting a roommate?” she questioned with a laugh.

something inside his stomach fluttered at the sound of her laugh. enough to feel a twitch from under the blanket. 

god damn, was he wound tightly. 

“no- i’m… well, yes, but-“ he exhales, “i guess it just has to be a good fit. i’m used to living alone.” 

the girl lets out a hum of agreement. 

“well, when can i meet you, carmen? test out how well you…fit?” 

he had to stifle a groan at this, a dull, aching throb coming from beneath his covers. he palmed his hand over the clothed hardness. he didn’t even know what this girl looked like and somehow she was eliciting a response from him. he made a mental note to try and get laid over the next week. even if it was just a shitty one night stand. anything to alleviate this ferocity he felt. 

“yeah, um,” he responds, slightly horse “i’m actually taking the day off tomorrow, so, then?” 

the girl giggled again. 

“wow, lucky you, taking off work on a sunday?” she teased. he takes his hand off his clothed erection and runs his hand through his unruly curls.

“yeah, i, uh, work in a restaurant. so it really is lucky…” dread filled his stomach at the thought of playing catch-up come monday. hopefully the staff would work smoothly enough to accommodate his absence. 

“i’m really the lucky one,” she responds, “the sooner i can end my lease, the better. and you’re the first actual response i’ve gotten all week.” a pause. “can i come by tomorrow morning and check the place out?” 

carmy’s eyes flickered towards his open bedroom door, acknowledging the cleaning he would have to squeeze in today. 

“yeah, the, uh…. the morning works” he responded. 

“i won’t be interrupting anything, right?” she asked. 

his eyes glanced down to the hardened outline under his sheets. 

“no,” he rested his head back against the wall, “no, i’m open. come at 9? unit 407.” 

“okay, yeah. i’ll be there. bye, carmen” she sweetly chimed. 

he let out a breath as the phone disconnected. this woman could’ve been anyone, yet something about the way she said his name sent a wave of heat through his body. he glanced back down at his hardness, then at the clock. 

“fuck” he exhaled, denoting the limited time he had before he had to be at the resturaunt. he ran a hand over his face before throwing the covers off of him and forcing himself out of bed. he readjusted the tent of his boxers and walked downstairs and into the kitchen. fuck this rent increase. he loved living alone. 

carmen downed a glass of water, allowing some of the cool liquid to spill onto his bare chest. he told himself he dreaded the next morning when he would meet the woman who called him, regardless of how his body responded to the sound of her voice. 

he definitely wasn’t lonely, curious, or excited to see what she would be like. 

fuck having a roommate.

he bent down to strip himself of his boxers, leaving them on the floor as he walked into the bathroom to start the shower. he drew back the curtain and let the water hit him without warming up. 

what about being able to come home at any hour of the night? or stashing his jeans in the oven? no longer would he be comfortable succumbing to freedoms as simple as jerking off on the couch. 

so because of that, carmen would rather die than try and find a roommate. 

or, at least that’s what he had thought initially. 

by no means did he expect his old fashioned newspaper ad to bring her. 

his first thought was that she was beautiful, and he found himself drinking in the sight of her as if he were a man lost in a desert and she was a cool blue pond. 

she was younger, he guessed early twenties, and cute. carmen had never considered himself the type of guy who had a type, but that split second after which he had opened the door made him rethink that prior assumption.

it also didn’t help that she had shown up in a tiny skirt and a long sleeved shirt that was so fucking tight he could see the perk of her nipples through the fabric. and what could he say to defend himself? at the end of the day he was just a man. 

the first genuine thing he noticed, however, was her smile, alongside a mischievous glint in her eyes, which he was immediately enamored with. it was like opening the door and being completely blindsided, resulting in an awkward first few seconds as they stood staring at each other. the girl expectantly waited for him to invite her inside. he hadn't even realized that she had already greeted him and he was just starting back at her dumbfoundedly. 

“uh. sorry,” he broke the silence, “hi. it’s nice to meet you” he stuck out his hand. 

she gave him a warm smile and reached out to shake his hand. 

“so nice to meet you, carmen.” 

her hand was soft. and he liked the way it seemed to disappear in his. she pulled it back sooner than he would’ve liked. he reciprocated her small smile. 

“carmy is fine,” he stepped to the side “come on in.”

he watched as her eyes scanned down his face, to his lips, neck, chest, before glancing back up. 

he could’ve sworn her cheeks colored a bit as she stepped inside and began to have a look around. 

the girl slowly made her way through the living room, running her hand along the soft backing of the couch, glancing over the various cook books stacked upon the coffee table. carmy watched her from behind as she sauntered into the kitchen, averting his eyes after tracing up the span of her bare leg, disappointed when his gaze met fabric. 

stop being such a fuckin’ perv, he internally scolded himself. he took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his front pockets, continuing to walk forward, eyes burning a hole into the cabinets of the kitchen. anywhere but on her. 

the girl placed her hands on the granite countertops, leaning over to examine even more cookbooks, these ones with sticky notes decorating the pages. the sweet, light smell of perfume prompted carmen to look forward, realizing he had gotten closer to the girl than he meant to. she sensed his presence and turned around, letting out a small gasp at the close proximity. her eyes darted up and locked with his. 

carmen felt the eye contact send a shockwave through his body as he unintentionally towered over her. 

her eyes fell to his lips momentarily and he felt his jaw clench as he watched her part her mouth and let out a soft breath. the girl ripped her eyes away from his lips, begrudgingly bringing them back up to meet his. 

“can you take me to the bedroom?” she asked him. carmy blinked, heart pounding in his chest, not sure if he heard her right. 

“wh- what?” he choked out. her eyebrows slightly creased, head tilting. 

“the room where i’d stay? can i see it?” 

his eyes shut tightly, then snapped back open. hand coming up to run through his hair. 

jesus, get a grip, man. obviously she wasn’t asking you to take her to the bedroom so you could fu-

“yeah-”’ he sighed, “yeah, of course.” carmy spun on his heel, leading her back through the living room and up the stairs. 

“it’s a beautiful place,” she complimented, “a lot nicer than where i’m at right now.” 

the top floor looked over the living room, branching off into a hallway with two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. 

“yeah, uh, to be honest, it’s a lot… fancier than what i’m usually used to.” carmy led her past his room into the vacant space, empty except for a king sized mattress. 

“the, uh, mattress is yours if you want it. if you already have one, i’ll get it out of here.” he turned to glance at the girl, who had wide eyes, “won it in a stupid…sweepstakes thing my cousin signed me up for.” 

he doesn’t mention that richie had signed him up to make fun of him, telling carmen that a new mattress might help him get laid since nothing else seemed to work.

her gaze met his and a big smile grew on her face. she walked to the edge of the bed, then turned to lay on it, sprawling her arms out. 

“wow,” she exhaled, “you live the life of luxury over here carmy,” a big smile still on her face as she stretches out. he ignores the way her skirt creates a perfect triangular gap between her thighs, revealing a glimpse of white lacy fabric.

okay, maybe he doesn’t ignore it. 

“so?” she asks. he rips his gaze upwards, finding her sitting up on the bed, eyes meeting his, “is it a good fit?” she had a small smirk on her face, crossing one leg over the other, slightly leaning back. 

he liked the way she gazed up at him, chin tilting up towards him to expose more of her neck. his eyes raked down the flesh of her neck, wondering what it would be like to sink his teeth into it. to make her yelp. to mark her. 

“yeah,” he softly responds, feeling his mouth dry, eyes scanning over her face, “i, uh, i think we can make it fit.”

carmy watches as her eyelids flutter slightly at this, chest expanding with a deep inhale. he could’ve sworn she pressed her thighs together, lip coming to catch between her teeth. 

“okay,” she breathed, the two of them almost in a trance as they stared at each other. he was the first to break the eye contact, clearing his throat and taking a few steps away from the bed. 

“you’re, um… free to move in whenever you’d like,” he tells her, fixing his eyes on the wall as he warms under the unmistakable feeling of her gaze. 

she’s here to find a place to live, he tells himself, not get eyefucked by some stranger. 

regardless, he feels her continue to watch him. he hears her boots click against the flooring as she stands from her position on the bed, walking over to the glass door leading to a shared balcony. outside, the door that connected to his room was just a few feet down from hers. 

he follows her as she walks out, watching her place her hands on the railing and take a deep breath. it was fresh out, the nostalgic smell of a crisp autumn morning. 

“it’s a beautiful area,” she quietly observes, noting the proximity of a park. the dense line of trees provided a bit of privacy for the balcony, but the bustle of passerbys were still visible down below. he hummed in agreement, watching as the balmy breeze tousled her hair. she had a serene look on her face, but she seemed far away. 

“you’re, uh, from the west coast?” he asked, trying to strike up a form of conversation. the glaze over her eyes remained as she followed the sight of a woman pushing a baby stroller through the park. 

“yeah,” she breathed out, “san diego. moved here for a work but my, uh….my mom isn’t doing so well. so i’m going back before christmas.” 

carmen notices the twitch of her lip, gaze still fixed on the woman pushing the stroller. 

“i’m, uh, i’m sorry to hear that,” he responds softly. her gaze breaks away as the woman disappears into the tree line. she meets his eyes and gives him a small smile

“don’t be. we have a…complicated relationship,” she let out a small laugh, nervously looking to the side. 

“yeah, i, uh… i know how that goes,” he admits, “trust me.” 

her smile warmed at this, eyes coming back to scan his face. 

“i hope it’s okay that i’d be here so short term,” she offers. he nods his head. 

“i really just need someone for the first couple months. until i decide whether i want to end my lease or, uh, cough up the extra money,” he reassures with a small smile. 

“well, in that case, i look forward to rooming with you, carmy,” she gleams, pushing herself away from the railing and turning to face the door. he opens it for her, watching as she walks back into the room and takes in the stark emptiness. 

“can i bring some stuff by today?” she asks sweetly, “decorate a little?” 

he nods, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her copy of the key, handing it to her. 

“you live here now, so go crazy,” smiling at the squeal of excitement she let out. unexpectedly, the girl rushed forward and wrapped her arms around carmen. he was a bit stunned, but reciprocated, letting his arms engulf her, a hand resting on her lower back. 

“thank you, thank you, thank you!” she beamed, leaning into him. 

“don’t mention it. really” a smile graced his face, the smell of her hair sweet. he would’ve kept hugging her for a while if it was up to him. 

she pulled away, touching his forearm as she did so. 

“i promise i won’t go too crazy. i noticed you have the place pretty….minamalist.”

he let out a small laugh at this. 

“yeah, i’m…not much of a decorator,” he confessed, “my apartments have always been pretty boring.” 

“sounds like you need a woman’s touch?” she asked, giving him an innocent smile. his brain stuttered for a minute, eyes flickering down her face to her lips. he really did need a woman’s touch. but that’s obviously not what she meant.

“yeah,” he cleared his throat “yeah, definitely.” 

she let out a small giggle, “okay. i’ll be back in a few hours.”  

-

as the door slammed behind her, the girl released an exacerbated breath, running her hands through a mess of hair. she made her way through the complex, pressing the elevator button. 

her cheeks felt hot—her whole body felt hot, actually. what the fuck did she get herself into? to make a commitment to a roommate was one thing, to make a commitment to one that was so offensively hot was just stupid. 

he had caught her completely off guard, too. she had only heard carmen as a woman’s name, so the phone call came as a bit of a shock, the meeting an even bigger one. 

she knew she would have to stay away from him, roommate are strictly off limits. 

do not make a move, do not make a move, do not make a move!

it would make everything so complicated, and all she really needed was a place to stay for a few months. but these words she repeated like a mantra did nothing to take away from the fact that she wanted him, bad. from the second he opened the door and she stared into his strikingly blue eyes. from when she raked her eyes down his body, taking in the way his pecs strained against his shirt, tattoos decorating his muscular, capable arms. she was so warm when he wrapped himself around her, hands settling on her lower back…she just wished they had gone lower, touched her more. 

he smelled so fucking good, too, when they had hugged. the smell of his deodorant made her a little dizzy, and gave her a dull ache between her legs. 

the ding of the elevator made her jump, disrupting her thoughts as she stepped through the open doors.

why did she flirt with him so much? she prayed he didn’t think she was a desperate weirdo—it had just been so long since she had been satisfied in that way. and as she sat on the bed, and he stood looking down at her hungrily as if he wanted to dominate her, she quickly decided that she would’ve let him. 

the heat of her skin did not relent, so she began gathering her hair atop her head, molding it into a bun and securing it with a hair tie. 

she had a few hours to take a cold shower, get it together, and call the movers to load up her boxes.

it would be fine, she told herself. everything would work out as long as she didn’t make a move. and carmen seemed gentlemanly enough to reciprocate, minus the few glances she saw him sneak of her. 

she promised herself to not act on the urges. and to her credit, she didn’t. for a while, at least. 

it wasn’t until tonight, about four weeks after moving in, that things started to get complicated. 

it was easy, at first, to resist the flirting and the tension—mostly because carmen was never home.

he left before she woke up and only returned back after she had gone to sleep. that was the cost of being a michelin star chef though, which she had found out not from him, but from a curious google search about his restaurant. 

she decided to confront him about this, curious why he was so humble about such a title. he responded along the lines of a nonchalant, “i didn’t think it mattered.” 

he was a tough person to gauge—always seeming so lost within his own head. the girl felt as if she couldn’t get a good read on him, which was an unusual feeling for her. 

there were moments, however, when it seemed as if she would break down a wall, illuminating herself in a stream of light from within him.

one of those moments was tonight, coming home from dinner with coworkers. she usually would just opt to go straight home after working overtime, but her boss insisted on a get-together to celebrate the end of their project. having to socialize with coworkers after hours was entirely draining, and she was more than ready to be home. 

it was cold and dark, after 10 o’ clock—not that she took notice. the streets shone with the rain of a passed storm, reflecting the light of the street lamps in a blurry haze.

the girl took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the muggy post-rain sweetness of the october air. the walk allowed her to clear her mind a bit, taking notice of the perpetual heat that burned within her. 

god, she needed to blow off some steam. her hand came to thread through her hair, mind flashing to carmen. 

it had been so long since she was with a man—almost forgetting how it felt entirely. how it felt to be kissed, to be touched…how it felt to be full. she let out a small breath at this thought. she wondered if he was well endowed, or on the smaller side? if he was shaved or natural? if he had a curvature to him? circumcised or uncir-

“jesus christ,” she exhales, “i need to get a grip,” the reminder out loud seemed to cut her thoughts short, at least for the most part, as she approaches their building.

she makes her way inside and navigates up to their floor, unlocking the door to their unit, eyebrows furrowing as she took notice of the multiple lights on. she supposes that she had forgotten to turn them off, mentally chastising herself before locking the door behind her and setting her bag and keys down. 

it felt good to be home, stripping off her blazer and making her way to the kitchen. 

she opens the cupboard to grab a glass, filling it with ice. then she pulls a cold ginger beer and lime out of the fridge to make herself a drink. the vodka came a little heavy handed, only partially on accident. 

she takes a long sip before making her way over to and up the stairs. she follows the dark hallway to her room, where she puts on some music and cracks the window to let the rainy breeze pour in. 

the girl hums along gently to the music as she stands in front of her mirror and begins to strip her clothes off. she admires her physique as the alcohol begins to quickly initiate a pleasant buzz. 

the girl leaves her bra and underwear on, admiring the delicate lace that adorned the curvature of her body. her eyes fall onto the candles on her dresser, deciding that a hot bubble bath would help melt the day away. so she takes another sip and walks to the bathroom, continuing to hum the song that reverberates through the speaker. she sways her hips to the music as she walks, even adding a little twirl to help lighten her mood. 

as she goes to grab the bathroom’s knob to twist, it begins to turn on its own, the sudden realization making her heart drop to her stomach all too late. 

the door swings open and the girl finds herself face to face with a shirtless carmen, hair wet and skin dewy with water droplets.

she stumbles back slightly and his strong hands grab the sides of her arms. out of instinct she places her free hand on his chest, the drink she holds splashes a few drops out onto her hand. she steadies herself, cheeks flushing. 

“fuck, carm, i- i’m sorry, i didn’t know you were…” she trails off with a deep breath, her eyes darting down his chiseled chest, to his abdomen, to the deep cut v of his pelvis, down to the tuft of dark hair peaking out from beneath the edge of the towel. 

well, that answered one of her questions.

the girl tears her eyes away from the arousing sight, bringing them up to meet his own. she watches as his own eyes drag down her scantily clad form, hearing him deeply exhale before bringing his eyes back up to meet hers. 

his blue gaze had a dark glint as he intensely stared down at her, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed, as if he couldn’t fully rationalize the predicament they were in. 

she could smell the fresh scent of his body wash, the sharp cleanness of his deodorant. it makes her lean closer unintentionally, eyes droop slightly and lips part as she feels her body heat up. 

he was incredibly firm underneath her fingertips, sturdy and strong, and still a bit damp from his shower. she would’ve kept touching him too, but his hands fall from her arms, taking a small step back, snapping his eyes shut tightly and rubbing his forehead with his hand. 

“shit, i-uh, i’m sorry,” he forces out in a strangled voice, eyes glancing towards the ceiling as if to avoid the temptation that stood in front of him. 

“n-no, my fault, really. i-… i didn’t realize you were home yet,” she forces out, feeling the flush of embarrassment from her cheeks, crossing her arms over her chest to provide some modesty. she leans against the door frame.

“i was gonna take a hot bath. rough day,” she elaborates as a bit of an afterthought. he deeply inhales and his eyes trail back down to her before noticing the glass she was holding. 

“yeah?” he asks, “what are y’drinking?” he nudges his head forward, gesturing to the cup.

her eyes dart down to the glass, droplets of condensation cool against her fingers. 

“um… moscow mule,” she confesses softly, small smile creeping onto her lips, “wanna try?” she offers. 

he gives her a grin, reaching out for the drink. she tries to ignore how his fingers brush over her own. 

carmen brings the glass to his lips and takes a decently long sip, eyebrows furrowing as the bitterness graces his tongue, swallowing harshly. 

“shit, that’s strong,” smile on his face as he coughs lightly. she bursts out into giggles, throwing her head back. 

“it was on accident,” she fibs. 

he raises his eyebrow at this, which makes her laugh harder. he feels himself grin at the sight, not sure he’s ever seen her smile so big. it’s pretty, he thinks. really fuckin’ pretty. 

“it’s good, though,” he praises, handing it back. 

“want one?” she questions, leaning forward a bit, glass coming back up to press to her lips. carmy fixates on the sight for a moment, on her supple and sweet looking lips, before lightly clearing his throat. 

“yeah, i’d, uh… i’d love one.”

the girl flashes him another sweet smile, turning on her heel and walking out of the bathroom. 

“i’ll meet you downstairs then,” she chimes. as she leaves, carmen slides his eyes down her form, admiring her toned back and tracing down the alluring indentation of her spine. his gaze very quickly falls to her ass, clad in a cheeky cut of lace, watching as it slightly bounces in tandem with her steps. his breath catches, feeling himself harden beneath his towel, face heating as a throbbing sensation begins to come on.

he begins to follow her, finding himself so distracted by the sight that he almost follows her all the way into her bedroom, only snapping out of it when he sees her start to unclip her bra. 

he abruptly stops and turns to walk to his own room, taking a few deep, slow breaths once he gets. there. his hands come to rest on his hips, gazing down at the tented cloth of the towel before walking to his dresser to grab a large black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants. as he slides into them, he checks in the mirror to make sure the shirt hung over his hips to cover his very apparent arousal. 

he makes his way downstairs, hearing soft music play from the kitchen. a song with guitar. pretty, but sounded kind of sad. 

his roommate stands at the kitchen island, garnishing his finished drink with a few mint leaves. she wears a silky bathrobe, her hair clipped up messily. she smiles up at him as he came to the counter, ice clinking against the cold copper mug as she hands it to him. 

“you didn’t make yours in copper?” he asks after giving a soft thanks.

“i’m not an award winning chef,” she rebuts, “i wanted to make sure it was up to your standards,” a slight smile on her lips as she teases him. 

he grins, giving a small roll of his eyes before bringing the drink up for a sip. his eyes widen. 

“shit. this- this is good,” he compliments sincerely, taking another drink. 

“thank you, chef,” she beams. he gives her a smile and a nod, trying to ignore how much he enjoyed hearing the name come from her. 

“by the way,” she continues, “you act very humble, but i think it's really impressive for you to own a restaurant so young.” 

he sets his cup down on the granite. her compliment makes his ears feel warm. 

“it’s, uh…. thank you. we’re still trying to find our rhythm, y’know? but it’s coming together. slowly,” he underplays. the girl nods, taking another sip of her drink. 

“did you always know you wanted to be a chef?” she inquires, leaning over the countertop onto her forearms. carmen had trouble processing her question, too distracted by the view provided from the low-hanging fabric of her loosely tied robe. 

she notices his eyes wander and her skin heats under his gaze. she pushes her chest out slightly, having little clue why she was entertaining this crush of hers.

“sorry, what?” his reply comes a bit delayed. she gives a soft giggle.

“did you always want to be a chef? or did someone inspire you?” she notices the way his face drops ever so slightly. 

“i, uh… i’ve wanted to be a chef for a long time. and uh, i think my brother probably had a big part in inspiring me,” he pauses, and she nods. 

“that’s sweet,” a smile on her face, “only the truly inspired go on to own a restaurant.”

“yeah, he uh…he actually left his restaurant to me. used to be a sandwich shop. my dad owned it, then…left it to mikey.” his eyes drift to the skin of her neck, landing on a dainty necklace. 

“are you two close?” she asks, heat from her hands causing the ice of her drink to melt and shift, clinking against the glass. 

he pauses again, unsure of how to approach this, his glazed eyes giving him away a bit. she breaks the silence. 

“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to pry-”

“-no, no, it’s…it’s fine,” he interjects, “mikey actually…he died two years ago. he, uh… he killed himself.” his tone softened.  

carmy wasn’t sure why he was opening up so much, revealing far more than he usually did when people asked questions about mikey. when he met her eyes again, she had a sorrowful look on her face. 

“fuck, carm, that’s-… i’m so sorry for your loss,” she tells him with genuinity. 

“it, uh….” he goes to brush it off like he usually does, but he can’t bring himself to do it as he looks into her eyes. he swallows. 

“thank you.” he says sincerely, giving a small nod. his throat begins to burn, and he looks away. 

he had to break the news to plenty of people before this, so he wasn’t sure why this time felt so different. but it did. 

“he’d be really proud of you, you know,” she tells him after a moment, “you’re doing a good fuckin’ job.” 

carmen meets her eyes again when she says this, and just stares at her for a moment. his chest flutters at the praise, and his slow manual breaths do nothing to stop the heavy pounding of his heart. 

“i, uh,” he rasps, swallowing before continuing, “thank you. i appreciate it,” he says, “really.” 

the girl gives him a sweet smile and nods before coming to stand up straight. she sinches the string of her robe around her waist. 

“i think i’m gonna go take my bath now.”

“enjoy,” he tells her, small smile on his face. she moves around the edge of the counter, sweetly running her hand over his arm as she walks away. 

carmen knows this is just a friendly gesture, yet he still feels goosebumps rise on his skin following her touch. he hears her humming softly as she walks up the stairs.

-

there was nothing that a hot bath wouldn’t fix. especially coupled with some extensive self care, it would prove to be a form of therapy to the girl time and time again. she feels entirely satisfied, except for the fact that the final product that would seal the night in has gone missing. 

on the walk to her room, she glances at carmen’s wide open door. his light was off, but she could hear quiet music coming from the room. 

she approached, softly knocking on the door frame.

“hey carm, have you seen a little black container anywhere? it’s my lip mask” she leans against the opening, and takes a minute to admire the way he reclines on the bed, arms behind his head, black shirt laying on the floor.

he turns his head, taking in the image of her glowy skin, gracefully illuminated by the light of the hallway, loosely covered by the same silky, short bathrobe. 

“yeah, i uh, think i saw it in the downstairs bathroom,” he offers. 

she takes a small step into the room, turning her head to the small TV on his dresser. she watches for a minute before gasping. 

“no way,” she lets out a small laugh, “this used to be one of my favorite movies growing up.”

“for real?” he smiles. 

“hell yeah. you have good taste carmy.”

he scans his eyes over her form as she watches the screen. 

“yeah, i guess i do.”

she brings her gaze back to meet his, tilting her head. carmen felt emboldened by the double-shot drink she fixed him, keeping his eyes locked with hers. 

“wanna watch with me?” he invites. 

she smiles, pausing for a moment, bringing her finger to her lips as if she was deliberating. he finds this endearing, and enthusiastically watches as she saunters to his bed and crawls on. 

carmy sits up onto his forearms, head resting back against the headboard, shifting to make room for her to scoot in next to him. and she does, sitting upright with her knees to her chest, closer than he thought she would’ve, side of her thigh resting against his arm. she smells incredible, and carmen feels an overwhelming, almost primal magnetism towards the girl.

his eyes are fixated on the screen, but he doesn’t register the movie at all. all he can focus on is the smell of her and the warmth of her body pressed against his. 

about 30 minutes into their shared viewing, the girl releases a big yawn, shuffling down to rest her head on the stacked pillows, continuing to watch the movie but feeling her eyes grow heavier by the minute. carmen’s bed was comfy, and she could help but fall into a light slumber.

he doesn’t even notice until he softly laughs at one of the scenes, and she stays silent, soundly dozing. in that moment he’s graced with the rare opportunity to lovingly study her face. his eyes trail over her eyebrows, her cheeks, rosy from her bath, some soft freckles scattered about. he studies the slope of her nose and plush of her lips, then folds his arms behind his head and goes back to watching the movie, his own eyes feeling a bit heavy. 

carmen feels the girl shift, assuming she was waking up. instead, she slings an arm over him, face nuzzling into his chest. when he surprisedly turns to face her, he finds her eyes still shut. every bit of focus he had accumulated prior vanished, now only being able to feel the hammering in his chest, the warmth of her body against his—the way her hand splays across his bare skin. 

he just focuses on his breathing. 

not much more time had passed before she snuggles even closer, hoisting a leg up over him. he stays completely still as to not disturb her sleep, even though his arms pinned behind his head were beginning to feel like static.

the man silently marvels at how well she fit against him, slowly shutting his eyes as he feels her nuzzle her face further into him. 

carmy begins to doze off, noise from the movie droning in the background, darkness of the room enveloping the two. 

they stay that way for another hour, peace only broken at the shrill of carmen’s ringtone that pierces through the silence. 

he feels her startle, grabbing on to him a bit tighter. his arm instinctively comes to wrap around her, hand resting on her back as he reaches over to grab his phone on the nightstand. he mentally curses the unknown caller as he declines the call, noting by his phone clock how late it had gotten. 

he hears the girl let out a groan, still draped over him, readjusting her head to lay on his shoulder, breath tickling his neck. 

he kept silent and didn’t move. 

“m’sorry,” she mumbles, realizing their predicament, “you should’ve pushed me off of you,” her voice drowsy. 

“i fell asleep too,” he justifies, “got too comfortable.”

she lets out a hum of agreement.

“yeah,” scooting closer so that her face almost presses into his neck, “you are really comfortable.” 

its difficult for carmen to keep his composure, jaw tightening as she moves closer. he feels her smooth her hand over his bare chest and splay it over his sternum. he had no idea what was happening, but he knows he’s never wanted anything more than for her to keep touching him. 

“your heart is beating so fast,” she softly observes, drowsily shutting her eyes again. 

he clears his throat. 

“the phone scared me,” a fib.

he feels her smile against his neck, and they stay laying like that in silence for another few minutes. carmen slowly regains control over his breathing, repeating to himself do not get turned on, shutting his eyes tightly. 

after a moment, he feels her soft lips creep against his neck, and then she presses a small kiss into the skin. it feels as if a spark shoots down his spine, tingling throughout his body. 

the man quickly rationalizes the situation, thinking she must have done it on accident. then she does it again, this time higher up his neck and closer to his ear. it was a longer kiss, distinct, and then he feels the warmth of her breath again. 

carmen shifts, craning his neck downwards to look at her. she meets his eyes, and he sees the mischievous glint he was so endeared with from when they met. 

his arm is still around the girl, her hand still caressing his chest. she moves it down slowly, fingertips smoothing along his skin to touch his abdomen. she doesn’t say anything, just keeps touching him, feeling the firmness of his body.

her pointer finger traces lower, dragging over the deep cut of his v-line, stopping when she hits the waistband of his sweatpants. he audibly exhales at this. 

she can see the wanting in his eyes from the dim light of the hallway, 

she knows she should stop herself. but between the smell of his skin and the tingling within her core, she felt as if she physically couldn’t stop. she was coming onto the one man she told herself she couldn’t have, yet her body felt so hot. and he was so….

the girl moves closer to him, their faces mere inches apart. 

the pair are completely silent as carmen examines her face, watching as she bites her lip. without trying to stop himself, he reaches up, thumb coming to pull her lip from between her teeth. he runs the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, pushing it to the side a bit, pulling it down a bit, testing how soft and pliant she was beneath him. 

she exhales, and her fingers slide ever so slightly under the waistline of his sweats. she can feel curls of his pubic hair, giving her a hot, pulsing sensation within her core. the small bathrobe seems to suddenly feel constricting.

carmen sharply exhales through his nose as he feels her fingers creep beneath. he slides his hand over her cheek to grip her face tightly as a warning. the girl meets his eyes, noticing how dark they had become. she can’t help her gaze falling down to his plush lips, staring at them for longer than she should before looking back up to him with heavy eyelids. 

if carmen had more sense, he would pull away and turn on the light. maybe ask her to go back to her own room. but he didn’t, so instead he leans in, just far enough so his lips lightly ghosted over hers—just far enough to let her decide. he was trying to control himself. if it were up to him in that moment, he would grab her, tear off the skimpy bathrobe, and take her for himself. 

but he wanted to be more of a gentleman than that. 

she lets out a soft gasp at the proximity, able to feel the heat from his face.

he’s so close, she thinks, smells so good. 

she throws caution to the wind and decides she wants this. 

badly. 

the girl leans in and presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips. this ignites something in her, and even though she told herself to pull away after the first kiss and refrain from letting this go too far, she gets a taste of him and immediately craves more. 

carmen enthusiastically reciprocates the kiss, hand gripping her face tighter and pulling her closer. they stay gentle at first, slow. but then she whimpers into his mouth at the sensation and it spurs him on, finding himself entirely too worked up from just kissing. 

the kisses became a bit firmer, hungrier, messier, and carmy slips his tongue into her mouth. the room feels too hot all of the sudden, ferocity of the kiss growing—their teeth bump. 

he pulls away from the kiss, lips still ghosting hers. 

“we should, uh” he rasps, interrupted by the girls continued eager kisses, “we should stop.” 

she pauses and nods. 

“yeah,” biting at her lip, “yeah, you’re right.” 

carmen contradicts himself and captures her lips again, telling himself that it’s to cherish the feeling before stopping. the girl moans into the kiss, and he deepens it again. 

so much for stopping. 

her hand slips further into his sweatpants, and she wraps her fingers around his erection. he releases a low, throaty groan, and slides his hand down to grasp the side of her neck, thumb across her throat. 

she leans into his touch, beginning to gently stroke the length of him, fingers loosely grasping. 

he was thick from what she could feel, and long enough to make the motion feel cramped within the confines of his sweatpants. 

their kisses increase in ferocity and she grips him tighter. he softly bites her lip, and she lets out a hum. 

“fucking touch me already, carm,” her demand comes breathily, body growing increasingly hot. 

“yeah?” another kiss. she squeezes her fingers around him. 

“mmhm,” she breathes, growing impatient. his hand shifts to wrap around the front of her throat, fingers lightly pressing into her.

“ask nicer,” he demands, voice low. 

she feels a hitch in her breathing, surprised by the tingle his words sent through her. 

never before having to ask twice, she lets out a frustrated groan and takes her hand out of his pants. she pulls the front of her loose robe open, exposing her bare chest. 

“fuck,” he groans, eyes graciously raking down her form, able to make out the curve of her breasts in the low light of the room. 

“touch. me.” she whines, too proud to beg for him. 

his hand falls from her neck, fingertips teasing down her sternum. she lets out a breath of relief too soon—feeling him lightly ghost over her perked nipple and trace down her ribs. 

“carm,” she complains. he ignores her, coming to kiss her neck instead. her scent was intoxicating, and he feels himself physically strain to keep from giving her what she wanted, finding similar pleasure in the knowledge that she was growing increasingly desperate for him. 

his hand continues its trail downwards, pushing her bathrobe the rest of the way open. he slides his fingers down her stomach slowly, cherishing the softness of her skin, sliding to grasp her hip, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her pelvis. the minute he saw her he swore to himself he would take his time with her, and that he did. 

she lets out a huff and grabs his hand, trying to pull him towards where she wants him. he only tightens his grip on her hipbone. 

“hey,” he scolds sternly into her neck, biting her softly, “be fuckin’ good.”

she gasps at his bite, arching her back for more. 

“then give me what i want,” she pleads, hand gripping onto his arm. she feels him gently smile into her skin. 

“yeah?” he keeps kissing her neck, “what do you want, pretty girl?”

she feels a tingling at the name, fingers dragging up his arm, gripping onto the muscle of his bicep. 

“i want you to fuc-” the same shrill ringtone blares into the silence, simultaneously vibrating the nightstand. the two jump, the girl pulling her hand away from carmy as if he were hot. his fingers grip her hard enough to bruise, before pulling away and coming to rub over his forehead, jaw tightly clenched.  

as the girl recovers herself with her bathrobe, he angrily grabs his phone and answers. 

“what?” he barks into the line. she sits up and smooths her fingers through her hair, dangling her legs over the bed. 

maybe it was a sign that they were interrupted, she thinks, suddenly bashful about the entire situation, heat of her skin relentlessly burning. 

“fuck,” he curses into the phone, “how bad is it?” eyes glancing over to the girl sitting on his bed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“alright. yeah, i’ll be there in 20,” he begrudgingly says before hanging up the phone. she looks at him questioningly. 

“there was, uh, a fuckin’ leak in one of the pipes. part of the kitchen is flooding.”

“yeah,” she nods, effectively hiding her disappointment, “you should definitely go take care of that,” standing up and turning to walk out. 

he calls her name and she stops, turning back expectantly. 

“we’ll, uh,” he meets her eyes, “we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” 

she puts a small smile on her lips and nods, before turning again and walking to her own room. her heart was still relentlessly beating against her ribcage—skin still hot, still wound so tightly. 

it was a stupid idea to entertain, and she’s glad it didn’t happen. 

at least she repeats that to herself over and over again hoping it’ll start to feel true. 

carmen lets out a labored exhale, gaze falling down to the throbbing tent in his pants, feeling more wound up now than he ever had. 

he regrets not touching her as soon as he had the opportunity, instead trying to tease her. he just really enjoyed how she got so flustered, impatient—certain that the girl had never experienced having to beg for anything before. 

he wanted more. he knew he shouldn’t, but he really did. 

she was so soft beneath him, and pretty, and desperate. he didn’t expect her to have such an attitude, though, finding himself completely roused from the bite of her interaction. 

carmen turns on the lamp, flooding the room with light and squinting his eyes. he stands up to get dressed, ready to go attend to the early morning disaster in the kitchen. 

as he passes her by room he swears he can hear her softly moaning. 

-

next part

[phoenixyfriend]

I think one of the things that makes it possibly not... super clear why I'm so anxious about finding a job that pays enough. So uh. Here's the thing.

"In December 2022, 51% of people who earn more than $100,000 reported living paycheck to paycheck. [...] After taxes and adjusted for cost of living, $100,000 amounts to just $35,791 in New York, New York." - Time Magazine

Now... a lot of these people probably have dependents. Some are probably paying off student debt. Some may have medical debt. There are lot of reasons for a person to be living paycheck to paycheck.

But to pay off a most basic apartment in an outer borough, utilities, insurance, transportation, all taxes, and food, a touch of medical or dental, basic hygiene needs, the occasional treat? I need a 70k salary.

I could sell my car, in theory; the transit infrastructure is good enough, if I find a place near a subway station, even if I cannot do anything without it where I am now. I could get a roommate in a 2b instead of going solo in a 1b. I could live in the spare room of my parents' friends, even though I know from a friend that it's suboptimal. There are ways to make this work, obviously. There are people who make this work, millions of people in NYC who have been doing this for generations, and I am willing to compromise the way so many people do, sure, but...

Well, I'm bad at people. Getting a romantic partner isn't in the cards, really, and finding a roommate online is theoretically possible but fills me with anxiety to think about. It sucks that the rent is such that I have to. That health insurance is such that I have to. That I can't reasonably think about grad school until I've stockpiled some savings up again, just in case there's an emergency, because of the aforementioned health insurance situation.

People do it, sure, but there is not a single county in the entire United State where the minimum wage is enough for a single adult to live alone in an apartment. That's not really okay. Why should so many of us have to give up the most basic and affordable of luxuries because the economy favors those who came from wealth?

NYC might have a higher minimum wage than most, but a $15/hr minimum wage still doesn't mean much when the living wage is $25/hr for a single adult with no dependents.

(Did you know, the advice used to be that your rent should be no more than 20% of your income?)

IDK where I'm going with this. It's not a situation with an easy answer, and I'm not in a place to change anything directly. All I can do is keep looking for a job that pays me enough to survive, find someone I don't think is going to be a horrible roommate... or look into doing Chicago instead of NYC, I guess.

I just know that I can't stay in the suburbs forever. This place is killing me.

[rinkrookiepod]

Rating Every NHL Arena - Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, CA

Team: LA Kings Location: Los Angeles, California Opened: October 17, 1999 Capacity: 18,230

The first time I'd been to the Crypto.com Arena was for Elton John's Farewell Yellow Brick Road Tour in January of 2019. Back then it was the Staples Center (and still will always be the Staples Center to me and everyone else who lives in Los Angeles) and I wasn't paying too much attention to the place. I was just happy to see Elton John.

The next time I'd made it out to the arena (by this time, I think it was being called Crypto.com Arena) was for my first hockey game and I saw the LA Kings vs the Chicago Blackhawks on March 24, 2022. I wasn't quite into hockey like I am now so I was there for vibes and because it was free. The company I work for has season tickets that they give to clients or the employees, and since my roommate and I work together and she's from Chicago and grew up supporting the Hawks, we went. The Hawks beat the Kings 4-3.

By the third time I made it out to Crypto.com Arena, it was for a hockey game that I was actually extremely excited for. The Pittsburgh Penguins vs the LA Kings aka finally getting to see Sidney Crosby.

I've now been to the Crypto.com Arena 4 times and here's what I've gathered:

Ticket prices range from $35-$1000+. The $1k+ tickets are glass seats with VIP parking and a bunch of other things that are included.

Here's what I've paid so far for what games, what seats, and with fees and such:

Kings v Penguins (11/9/23): $55.13 for Section 315, Row 6, Seat 9 Kings v Avalanche (12/3/23): $43.00 for Section 305, Row 3, Seat 1 Kings v Kraken (12/20/23): $165.25 for Section 113, Row 2, Seat 7 Kings v Blue Jackets (2/20/24): $31.85 for Section 304, Row 7, Seat 3 Kings v Kraken (4/3/24): $140.75 for Section 113, Row 2, Seat 7

Downtown LA is a nightmare- no matter the time or day. I've left my apartment with plenty of time and still ended up arriving after doors opened. I'm about 16 miles from the arena and it can take anywhere from 30 mins (no traffic) to an hour and a half (around rush hour). The area is a pain to navigate, as most downtown areas are with one-way streets and lanes that disappear and reappear as you go.

Parking is easy enough to find though once you get close to the arena and there are a few garages almost right across from the arena, but it'll cost ya around $40 or more. I know there are some surface lots around that might be cheaper but they're almost always cash only so keep that in mind. I'd recommend parking at LA Live or near the Regal at LA Live.

The area around the arena is nice though, with plenty of restaurants, sports bars, coffee shops and anything else you could think of. An ice skating rink even popped up over the holidays.

I'm a big fan of the staff at this arena. They're all very chill and easy to find and can help you with anything you might need, like directions or trying to find something, like lost and found. There is a no bag policy here though, not even clear ones. A wallet is about all you're going to be able to bring in. And their sign policy is very strict (11x17) so make sure you measure before bringing your sign asking for a puck.

This is a newer building, at least compared to the Honda Center, so there are escalators to get you from section to section. It felt like a luxury after only having stairs as an option over in Anaheim.

There are tons of food options inside the arena, with familiar places like a Blaze Pizza or a Wetzels Pretzels- even sushi. They also have those Amazon Markets where you can scan your card, walk in and grab what you want, and then leave. Prices are steep, as I've now to come to realize are standard in these arenas. $20+ for a Coke and a hot dog or a pretzel.

The main team store here felt quite small. It wasn't ever crowded when I'd made my way in there the few times that I have. A good selection of merch though and tons of jerseys. There was a smaller store in the upper level that had a small selection of things, which was nice if you missed the store on the main floor as it felt like it was kind of tucked away.

The bathrooms here were nice. The upper level bathrooms had stalls where there wasn't a gap between the door and the separator. Both Arielle and I were impressed with this on our trip.

As for seating and views, I've sat in the 100s and the 300s. I definitely enjoyed both and I think they have their time and place. I was in the 300s for the Pens game and again when I went back to November to see the Colorado Avalanche. I had a good view in both 305 (Avs) and 315 (Pens) and would sit in either again. The upper bowl is always going to give you that full view of the ice and you'll have a better capability to see full plays develop and not have to rely on the jumbotron.

I had what is almost considered a glass seat for the Seattle Kraken vs LA Kings game I went to in December. Section 113 is right across from the goal and since there's a curve, there's more leg room and the boards are spaced out just a bit further. Since it's not quite a glass seat, they don't charge as much for this ticket. I really enjoyed sitting here and since it was close to a face-off circle, I got to see a handful of face-offs right in front of me. I did find myself watching the jumbotron though when the action was happening down at the other side of the ice.

I will say, a big negative of going to this arena are the fans. I've had more bad interactions with Kings fans than good ones.

With all of that said, I do think I prefer making the trek down to Anaheim (44 miles) to see Ducks games rather than staying close to home and going to Kings games (16 miles), despite the Kings having a nicer arena- the parking and tickets are cheaper and the fans aren't quite as bad in Anaheim.

Rating: 8.5/10

By Ashley Newby, 2/5/24

[herhours]

once, i was dating a man that i seriously considered marrying.

so before i met this man, i was working through emotional pain. i was actually dating a man for i guess... maybe 4 months at that time? if i'm doing the math correctly. hm. would have to think about that later but, i feel like this has to have been all the same year, because i know i didnt date that man for a whole year. so it probably would have been 4 months at the time.

i met that guy in like march, i met the man i considered marrying in may. im pretty sure thats right. and so it would have been that year. let me go and check pics.

ha, thank god for the tech now - first guy feb/march that year, met the other man in june. HA! hilarious.

anyway.

the feb/march guy, the relationship was super volatile and was never meant to be a real one but we connected and had a messy life thing because of it... we were not exclusive and made a deal that if anyone found someone they were thinking of dating we would end things. i ended up meeting this other man and he had been dating someone else but lying about it, so i was fine with our bargain but he wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

but whatever, that's not the point of this story.

the point of this story is i met this man who i seriously considered marrying.

he was nice, pleasant, placid, we could establish a routine, we went, we were a lovely interactive couple...

he lived in LA and we met when he was visiting chicago. it was long distance, and the dinners, and the conversation, and the calmness was nice and i was ok and happy with it.

but.

he was older than me. and ive never been comfortable dating men older than me. and he told me he loved me before it was ever feasible i could have loved him. and when i made a joke about getting married, he said, "ok :)" and because of the age difference and the getting along lifestyle, i understood i was being recruited to a life trajectory that would benefit me if i were willing to go along with this path.

i don't think i thought so at the time but it's coming to me now and maybe this was the thing that made me, among many other things, lean against it...

and im sure there were other hesitations and other things that i did that caused HIM to respond to me in ways that would never have happened if not for my response, i think but...

we had driven up the coast to sf and when we got there, we got checked into the hotel, we went out for dinner, then we went out for drinks that night. (sf is dirty and gross and ugly and totally not something that you should just visit as if that's a fun thing to do.)

so. the thing that happened was... regardless of all the other up and down mismatch not sure things that happened was, we were at this bar in san francisco.

would never be able to remember what we were talking about, but we're sitting at two stools, im on the right, he's on the left.

he is swiss. he has long blond hair, and he's nearing 50, and he kind of reminds you of the two blonde eastern euro characters from family guy. but he lives this nice luxurious lifestyle in la where he owns both his apartment and his studio in mar vista, and he's a workaholic, and hes tall, and he wears his wavy, streaked blonde hair in a low ponytail with ray bans, with his levis and his blank tees and his vans, and he's found me, this woman 20 years his junior, and we are seeing what this is, and....

we are at this bar in san francisco. dirty ugly bar that's half club half san francisco bullshit. he says something, whatever it is, i reach up to brush a strand of blonde hair out of his face

and he flinches

and (he's nearing 50, i'm 20 years younger than him) i reached up to brush his hair out of his face and he flinched like i was going to hit him, and i asked, "you think i'm going to hit you?"

we went back and had sex at the hotel that night and i definitely felt coerced (he did not coerce me in any way) but i felt obligated, not because he flinched like i might have hit him, and not because he planned this whole drive up the coast, and not because there was this massive age gap between us, and not because he did anything to make me feel like i had to but...

maybe it was all of those things.

i cant figure out the narrative zoomed out in what the specific feeling that makes this meaningful is.

all i know is i reached to brush a strand of hair out of his face and he flinched as if i might hit him.

[platform4611]

https://www.instagram.com/platform4611apts/

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 10

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: smut and fluff... the tiniest pinprick of angst (like minuscule). Language, of course.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN: Lots of references to our other fave prosecutor. Can you spot them?

WC: 2837

S/O to @prurientpuddlejumper​ for the Kneef gifs! 

--

Back at your apartment, Bryan had you against the wall. He nuzzled your neck, causing you to shiver. Two large warm hands rose up the sides of your thighs before slipping under the hem of your skirt. He hooked his fingers under the straps of your panties and tugged. The flimsy lace underwear you wore tore easily. He nudged your legs apart with his foot.

The sound of a belt unbuckling and clanging to the floor followed by a zipper sent a thrill up your spine. 

Bryan’s breath was warm on your ear as he pressed himself along your ass. You instinctively pushed back, desperate for more. Bryan nipped your ear as he stroked your soaked pussy with his cock. 

“Like the song, we’re reunited and it’s going to be so fucking good.” Bryan purred. “Now place those arms on the wall and bend over more a little, sweetheart.”

--- Flash Forward to Four Years--

At the speed in which Bryan paced in front of you, you were certain the handsome litigator was going to wear a hole in the carpet. “Well?” He asked exasperated. He tugged on the collar of his navy polo, feeling warm and constricted.

“Two more minutes Bryan. These things take time.” You gritted. You rapped your freshly manicured nails along the counter. “I can’t tell who is more nervous. You or I.” 

Bryan stopped his pacing to glare at you. “This is life altering news.”

“Gee, whizz, you don’t say.” You replied with a roll of your eyes. “You are not making this any easier.” You stood straight and marched off.  

“Where are you going?” Bryan called out after you. He followed you, basically nipping at your heels.  

“To get something to drink.” You replied. “I need something to settle my stomach. I think I saw ginger ale in your fridge.” 

Bryan sighed. “I need something stronger.”

You returned with two low ball glasses. “Whisky on the rocks for you. Ginger ale for me.” 

Bryan took the drink and with his free hand, pulled you in. “I love you. No matter the results.” 

You cupped his bearded cheek. “I love you too.” You were about to stand on your toes to press a kiss when a buzzer sounded. You gasped and thrust your drink into his hands. 

Bryan watched your form disappear back into the room. There was silence and Bryan swore inwardly. “Okay, time for plan B.” He muttered before downing his drink in one shot and then downing yours. You walked back out into the room. Your face was unreadable initially and just as he was about to say something, you broke into a big smile. 

“I passed! I passed the bar exam! I’m a lawyer!” You shouted before running full-speed into Bryan’s arms. The glasses dropped to the floor, shattering into a million pieces as Bryan scooped you into his arms.

“I knew you would. I am so fucking proud of you.” Bryan replied before capturing your lips with his. Any tension you had, melted away and you allowed yourself to sink into his embrace.

“Let’s celebrate!” You exclaimed.

Bryan’s eyes twinkled. “I have just the place in mind. Go pack your bag while I have this cleaned up.”

You cocked your head and raised your brow. “And where exactly will we be going?”

“You’ll see.” Bryan replied huskily. As you turned, Bryan swatted your ass.  You looked back at him and the look on his face was absolute sinful. Your heartbeat began to race in anticipation. 

--

Thirty minutes later, Bryan had finished securing yours and his bags to the rear rack of his motorcycle. You tightened your helmet before hopping on and held Bryan tightly. Bryan kicked his motorcycle into gear and off you went, leaving his luxury apartment in the Gold Coast behind.  

--

 “You have a yacht? Since when?” You asked as you and Bryan walked down the slip taking in the sight of the boats at the marina.

“Not my yacht.” Bryan winked. “Someone who owes me a favor. Come on.”

 “Welcome aboard.” A man in a captain’s uniform greeted. “I’m Captain Williams – it’ll be my honor to take you along Lake Michigan. It’s a beautiful day for sailing; could not ask for better weather.” 

Once on board, another member of the staff came to greet you two with two flutes of champagne. You both followed and were given a tour. When you imagined a three-bedroom, two-bathroom living space with a spacious kitchen and butler’s pantry, life on the water did not come to mind. The boat was outfitted in a subtle palette of champagne, ivory, platinum, stainless steel and chocolate brown. 

Each room boasted an oversized, sumptuous bed clothed in supima cotton percale linen and a cashmere throw. In addition, the seating was Italian leather. There were two fridges, a below-deck engine room, a two-mode table that phased into a dining and cocktail table, Corian benches and an icemaker. The 40-foot yacht combined the timeless appearance of a bygone-era cruiser with stylish design and high-tech engineering. The opulent master ensuite featured beautiful Spanish hexagon tiles with a light running through it to create a sensual oasis. There was glass wall separating each bedroom and to your surprise, the glass could be easily blacked out with a frost effect at the touch of a button creating privacy. 

Finally, you and Bryan were alone again. You hopped onto one of the lush beds and almost sank into it. As Bryan chose some music to stream, you gasped at the skylight above the bed. The Illinois sky above was crystal clear, nary a cloud in the sky. The yacht’s engine roared quietly beneath you as it departed from the marina.

 “This is too much,” you murmured, turning to Bryan who joined you in the bed.

 “You deserve everything.” Bryan praised, as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “You worked so hard. And as a reward, now I am going to fuck your brains out.” 

“And what if I hadn’t passed? What was plan B?”

 “Plan B was going to be to take you here anyway and fuck your brains out.”

You let out a giggle before moving closer to him. You ran your hand over his toned arm. “You’ll be my sponsor, right? At the swearing in ceremony?” 

Bryan’s hands ran up your leg. He stopped at the top of your thigh and began to rub small circles. “Of course. Now, if I can only convince you to move back to Chicago and leave that firm of yours.” 

“Reciprocity takes five years, Bryan.” You replied, reaching across to tap his temple. Bryan took your hand into his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You can come to New York, you know. Reciprocity here would be cake for you.” You continued, your voice dropping to a near whisper at the end. 

Bryan froze. “And leave Chicago?” 

You let out an irritated sigh. “I just hate that we’re apart. I want more for us, for this relationship.” 

“You’re a born and bred Chicagoan. Surely you understand. Everything I have worked for is in Chicago.” Bryan replied, letting out his own equally irritated sigh. 

“Let’s just drop it. I don’t want to fight. Please, today’s a good day.” You flopped onto your back, staring at the clear sky above. You felt your eyes brim and you brought your hands to your face. 

“Hey…” Bryan replied softly, removing your hands. “Maybe I can talk Laurie and Firth into opening a New York City office.”   

Your lips twitched into a smile. “Yeah? You’d do that for me?” 

Bryan pulled you close. “Of course. I love you.” 

You wrapped your arms around him and kiss him hard. Bryan took the opportunity to roll you on top of him. Excitement swirls down and pool between your thighs. Bryan wasted no time to grip the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. 

“Someone wants to get laid.” You smirk, crossing your arms, purposely pressing up your sheer, lace covered tits. 

“You have no idea.”

“We should do something about that then… what did you say, you were going to fuck my brains out?” You asked leaning down. Your lips were by his ear as you reached around to unclasp your bra. “Because I am pretty sure this bomb pussy is going to milk out all that cum, out of that big… hard… cock.” You reached down between his legs and stroked his cock, which grew harder against your palm. A groan strained from Bryan’s throat. 

When you sit up again, your eyes settled on Bryan’s. His clear green eyes were now dark and stormy. 

You squealed as he rolled you back onto the bed. Bryan undid the button of your shorts and tugged them off. A smirk graced his face at the sight of the dark wet spot on your underwear. “These have got to go.” Bryan murmured, yanking them off as well. Once off, he balled your ruined panties into his fist and took a deep inhalation of your sweet scent. A rumble emanated from his chest. 

You let out a gasp as Bryan’s mouth settled on your pussy. He licked a tantalizingly slow, broad stroke before settling on your clit. He flicked the tip of his tongue across your clit causing you to arch your back in response. Bryan then used his fingers to spread open your lips, and stroked them, playing with your wetness. You gripped the streets as Bryan buried his face in between your legs, sucking and licking. 

You grinded against him, desperate. “More, please.” You whimpered.

 Bryan removed his mouth and you whined at the loss. “So fucking greedy. Fingers or mouth?” A digit slowly penetrated you and your walls clenched tightly. A moan escaped your lips as Bryan slowly thrusted his finger in and out of you, before moving to insert another finger. His tongue flicked against your swollen pearl before he paused once more. “Answer the question, Y/N.” 

“Both.” You sobbed. “Please don’t stop.” 

“Never.”

Bryan dove back into your folds, devouring you as if you were his last meal. You chant his name and other obscenities loudly. You were certain everyone on the boat could hear you. Part of you didn’t even care. The man in between your legs is a god amongst mortals when it comes to eating pussy and all the praise deserves to be heard. You bucked against his mouth, until you are full on fucking his face and fingers. Your walla began to flutter, signaling you were coming close to release. Bryan crooked his finger, stroking the sensitive spot inside you and the coil in your belly snapped. You came hard, wailing Bryan’s name as your orgasm ripped through you. Bryan rode out your orgasm and as you came down to reality, Bryan continued with gentle licks and kisses; your body jerked in overstimulation.

Bryan pressed kisses along your thighs before moving back up your body. He paused momentarily to pay attention to your breasts, licking along your breastbone before swirling his tongue over a nipple. You cupped your breasts together and Bryan continued to lavish you with his tongue. Bryan moved to your mouth and he kissed you deeply, before pulling back. 

“Can you taste yourself on my tongue?” 

You whimpered, nodding. “What’s that you called it? Bomb pussy?” Bryan murmured against your lips. 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

Bryan chuckled darkly, his lips against your ear. “Now it’s my turn to wreck that bomb pussy with this cock.” 

You closed your eyes briefly – for what even seemed like a half second but when you opened your eyes again, Bryan was fully nude. Pre-cum beaded on the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, as you’re desperate to get filled and fucked to your heart’s desire. 

Bryan laid down on the bed and fisted his cock, so it was pointing straight to the ceiling. You climbed over him and take his cock from his hand, guiding him into you. You slowly slide down and sink onto him, until you’re fully connected. Bryan’s eyes roll back momentarily. “Oh fuck Y/N, you feel so good!” 

One hand gripped the slope of your hip tightly as your bodies move together rhythmically. Bryan usedd his free hand to smack your ass. You braced your hands on his chest with your nails pressing into his skin, leaving crescent marks into his skin as you ride his cock.

“That’s it, ride that cock.” Bryan encouraged, smacking your ass again, this time harder. The sting spurred you on and you began to speed your movements. Bryan leans up and pushes you back, breaking the connection for a second, before sliding his cock right back in. Your legs are pushed up, so your knees are by your ears and your arms are over your head. Bryan pins your wrists with one hand as he takes you to pound town. The sounds of grunts and moans along with skin on skin, fill the room and you can feel his balls slap against your pussy. 

Your foreheads are pressed together as he takes you deeply, sliding into you over and over in deep, long strokes. As he feels his own release approach, Bryan turns his face to the flesh of your shoulder, and bites before running his tongue over the bruised skin. 

This surprises you and you come completely undone, again wailing his name. Feeling your walls flutter around his cock, seeing your wrecked face - it was all too much for Bryan and with a strangled cry, he stiffened and emptied his seed into you.

Your bodies are covered in sweat and Bryan kissed you softly before rolling off. He pulls you in close, and you curl into his strong arms. It’s not long before you are both asleep – partly from the orgasmic oxytocin wearing off and partly from the rock of the boat. 

--

Later that evening, you wake up to an empty bedside – but there is a note from Bryan asking you to meet him on the deck for dinner. You shower and change into the dress you wore at The Hamptons when you all those years prior – it was a cream colored short-sleeve wrap dress that had a ruffle hem and an adjustable tie at waist. You left your hair in a loose wet braid and decided to go barefoot.

The night sky over Lake Michigan was dark, with nary a cloud in the sky. Away from the orange glow from the artificial light from increasing development and glare from unshielded streetlights, you found yourself beneath the twinkling stars and other celestial objects. You were surprised to find how many stars you were able see even just miles away from the city and northern suburbs.   

A pair of hands touched your shoulders and you jumped slightly until the familiar waft of Bryan’s cologne filled your nostrils. 

“Have you seen anything so beautiful?” You asked as you turned around. And when you did, you found Bryan on one knee. In his hand was a sparkling ring, which you presumed was at least 2 carats, flanked by smaller diamonds. 

“When I first met you, you literally collided into me. And from then, I couldn’t get you out of my head. At first, I thought we were going to be nothing more than a fling, an itch to get out of my system. I told you I didn’t do the boyfriend thing and you were more than okay with that. And for awhile it was that, but you weaseled your way into my world and black and white became different shade of gray. And then it became blues and reds.” Bryan’s eyes shimmer as he professes his love. After a beat, he continues.

“And I know we have had our issues in the past, and I can’t promise you that we won’t have rough patches again. In my heart, you are the only one for me. I cannot imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?” 

Your hands covered your mouth as tears streamed down your face. A gentle breeze blew through and you nodded before you dropped your hands. “Yes, of course Bryan, yes!” Bryan smiled as he stood and your hand shook as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You wrapped your arms around his neck as two kissed. 

“What about everything I said – about New York? Not being able to come to Chicago right away?” You asked breathlessly, as you broke the kiss. 

Bryan wiped a tear from your cheek. “Oh Y/N, I already had it all taken care of. Laurie and Firth already agreed to it. I’ll be heading the NY office when it opens in the Fall. We signed a deal with a building space in Midtown.” 

You gasped once more before playfully hitting him on the chest. “So you were just fucking around with me below deck?” 

“In more ways than one.” Bryan winked. 

“You’re such an ass.” You replied. “Wait - does that mean you’ll actually tell me what memo 618 is now?” 

Bryan responded by cupping your ass and kissing you once more.

FIN.

--

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[sugasweetsubs]

the world is cold and life’s not fair, baby [Yoongi x Reader] pt.3-2

3 | THAT’S THE TRUTH

Demon!Yoongi x Reader - Angst

Rated M (for violence, blood, strong language, mentions of death*)

*more warnings will apply in future chapters

Words: 8k

Pt.3.1 of 4 (previous | next)

Consciousness returns to Y/N like rain to a summer storm: slowly, then all at once. The first thing she notices is that she is in a bed. A large comforter of solid black covers her from feet to shoulders. The room is not cold, but still she feels chilled to her very bones, and the heavy weight of the blanket provides a welcome warmth.

Looking around, her eyes are immediately drawn to her left, where the entire wall is composed of a solid pane of glass. The last light of day has cast the room in a red-gold glow, and she wonders just how long she has been lying here in this bed that isn’t her own. Her head aches, and for a disorienting moment she struggles to remember why. Her thoughts are sluggish and her memories are jumbled. She remembers flashes of being grabbed from the street, being tied to a chair somewhere dark, a man with a mask--but the moments in between and after are lost to her.

It takes longer than she would like to admit to gather the strength to lift herself to a sitting position on the bed. She finds that she keeps sinking too far into the plush mattress and it’s a struggle to detangle herself from the comforter, but she eventually manages to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She realizes too late that the movement is too much, too soon for the fragile state of her head. The sensation of falling as her vision blurs is overwhelming and it is all she can do to breathe through it.

She focuses first on the floor, trying to find something to ground her vision. Her eyes eventually land on her shoes. They sit in front of a bedside table, lined up neatly and in much better condition that she remembers. The shoes become her anchor. She traces the lines of them over and over again with her eyes, until the world steadies and her head clears enough to attempt a more vertical position.

She wobbles a bit upon standing, but her legs hold and allow her to shuffle her way around to explore the room. There isn’t much to see. The room is plain, but tasteful in its arrangement; closer to a magazine spread or hotel room than any apartment she’s ever been in. Maybe it is a hotel, she thinks. The furniture, basic but sturdy and in line with modern tastes, looks like it would fit in at any five star hotel she’d ever been to. Not that there had been many. The door closest to the bed, which is massive and dominates most of the room, leads to a beautiful bathroom. The shower is a masterwork of glass and steel that looks like it costs more than Y/N makes in a year, but as tempting as it is to linger and admire the clean beauty of it all, she doesn’t take more than a cursory glance before moving on.

On her way to the only other door in the room, she hesitates. She has no idea what could be waiting for her on the other side. As hazy as her memories are, she is gripped with the feeling that she wasn’t safe the last time she was conscious. Had that changed? This barebones room seemed too luxurious to inspire the kind of fear that she can still sense at the edges of her senses, but maybe she just couldn’t remember what had happened here.

That last thought is what motivates her to turn back around and scan the room. There were no personal objects, no decorations that could be easily removed from the room or turned into a weapon if needed. Unless--

Y/N walks to the bedside table where a sleek black lamp sits. The lamp itself would be too awkward to use in any attempts at defending herself, but maybe…

She smiles when she sees that it’s possible to unscrew the metal rod connecting the base of the lamp to the shade and bulb. She makes quick work of it, and soon she is holding a foot-long metal stick. In the process of swinging it through the air to test its weight, she wants to laugh at herself. Some part of her hopes that her jumbled memories are the fading remnants of a nightmare, and soon she’ll remember that she’s staying at a hotel with her parents on some business trip. At any moment her mom could walk in and tease her relentlessly about dismantling hotel furniture.

But even the thought of her mom’s face sends a pang of hurt through her heart, and she knows the truth has to be far more sinister. It’s an oddly motivating thought in a messed up sort of way, and it serves to harden her resolve to get to the bottom of this so that she really will have a chance to take a trip with her parents once more. And when she finds her brother, she’ll drag him along too--never again would he get away with excuses to avoid family bonding, not after this ordeal. 

The thought of her brother tugs at some foggy memory in her head and for a moment she is dragged back to another time. She is somewhere dark, and damp. Her head hurts and some man she doesn’t know is speaking. It’s just a flash, but she gasps at the words in her mind. That’s right, something happened. She was taken somewhere and beaten in an attempt to get at what she knows about Yoongi.

Not only that, but she had been told that her brother was already dead.

But, no. She shakes her head to help rid herself of the memory. Wishing it back into the hazy past. She doesn’t care what some kidnapping asshole had to say about it. She knows, knows with every part of her, that her brother is still alive.

That thought finally gives her the courage to walk through the last door--metal rod at the ready.

Carefully, she enters into a short hallway. It leads into a larger main room that is split between a kitchen and a living area. Making sure to keep her back to the wall, Y/N inches her way through the rest of the apartment. It isn’t until she has checked every corner and shadow, to confirm that she is the only one in the apartment, that she allows herself to take a full breath.

Much like the bedroom she had woken up in, the rest of the apartment lacks any sort of personal touches--leading her to believe this really is a hotel suite (calling it a simple room is too much of an understatement) or a sorely lacking residence. Her hopes are on it being part of a hotel, because hotels mean people, and people would mean help. She hopes.

It’s with that hope that she heads for the exit door. But those hopes are dashed just as quickly when the handle refuses to turn in her hand. It’s more than locked--both the door and handle refuse to move even a millimeter, and the locks are immovable like they are only for display. When minutes of increasingly frantic attempts have absolutely zero impact, she finally admits defeat and steps back. She releases a pent up sigh.Thinking that this can’t possibly be the only exit, she returns her attention to the rest of the space. There has to be something.

_________________

“Agh, there’s nothing!” The sound of her own voice carrying through the largely empty space sends a chill down Y/N’s back. After what felt like hours of searching and increasingly violent attempts at window breaking, door prying, and a hundred other tries--she has come to the conclusion that this must be a dream. No physical place could possibly be so impervious.

The only positive to come out of the whole ordeal is that she is now all too familiar with the layout of the apartment. Its signature floor-to-ceiling glass windows provide an absolutely stunning view of the skyline outside. And when she says skyline, she means skyline.

Her vantage point from the living room window, the largest in the apartment, puts her at near eye-level with even the tallest of towers, only a handful stretch higher. The effect is dizzying. On a regular day, she might spend hours admiring the sparkling beauty of a night-lit city. But now, it only evokes a bone-deep sense of unease. It’s as she’s staring out over the piercing towers and shining glass buildings that she has the startling realization that she’s not in Chicago anymore.

She may not have lived there long yet, but Y/N is very familiar with the skyline of her new home. And this is very much not it.

“Where the hell am I?” she whispers into the quiet of the room.

Her suddenly racing thoughts are interrupted by a sound from the front door. A pit forms low in her gut as she watches the deadbolt unlock as if it had never been stuck at all. She runs to the kitchen area, where her metal rod still sits on the counter. Grasping it tight, she only has time to duck behind the center island counter before the previously impossible-to-open door glides open with a quiet shik.

Holding her now labored breathing under vicious control, Y/N tries to trace the movements of whoever just entered by sound, not willing to risk peeking out of her cover. It’s hard to glean much past the roaring of her own blood in her ears, but she tracks the new arrival as they make their way around the main room. When the footsteps start to drift closer and then come to a stop just on the other side of where she is crouched, her breathing all but stops.

“You can come out, Y/N. It’s me.” The voice is an all too familiar one. She doesn’t know whether to leap up in joy or try to sneak in a good whack with the metal rod.

She must take too long to respond, because a few moments later she is looking up at an upside down and serious faced Yoongi. He is leaning over the counter, his head coming to hang over the other side to stare down at her.

They stare wordlessly until Yoongi’s eyes drift to the makeshift weapon in her hands. His brows lift in the slightest betrayal of amusement. “I see you’ve been up long enough to start making weapons of the furniture.”

The teasing words in Yoongi’s usual dry tone sets Y/N into motion. She sputters and scrambles to get to her feet. Yoongi straightens to meet her stare.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” She demands. But before he can even open his mouth to respond, she adds, “better yet, what am I doing here? And where are we?”

Silence lingers between them after her outburst, Yoongi obviously waiting for more. When she leaves it at that, he answers. “I was able to get in because I own this apartment. We are here because I thought it would be the safest place to bring you after freeing you from the warehouse you had been tied up in. And, as for your last question,” he walks over to stand before the wall of glass where Y/N had stood just moments before, “we are in Seoul.”

“Seoul.” Y/N can’t imagine what the look on her face must be. “Seoul, as in, other-side-of-the-world Seoul?”

Yoongi nods as if it was a very reasonable thing to wake up unexpectedly in an entirely different country. “Yes. I couldn’t be sure which of my American offices were compromised. Things should be quieter here,” he hesitates, seeming to consider something before he adds, “for now.”

“Yoongi,” Y/N’s step towards the window where he stands is shaky, but her voice remains steady as she asks, “how long has it been since I was kidnapped?”

He turns to her, his eyes searching--for what, she can’t tell. His expression is unreadable as he says, “if you start counting from the time you left my office, roughly twenty-seven hours.”

“That’s impossible,” Y/N insists, even as she struggles to process the loss of so much time, “my memory is still full of holes, but I could swear that I was at that...place for hours, and I’ve already been wandering around this place for probably two or three hours. No to mention the time I spent asleep and the flight time--” she pauses her mental calculations when she spots the odd look on Yoongi’s face. “What, why are you making that face?”

A ghost of a smile appears on Yoongi’s lips, “are you sure you want to hear about how I managed to get you across the world in an impossible amount of time? Last time we spoke, you didn’t seem too keen on hearing more about demons.”

Y/N considers that statement, its implications, and decides some things are better left a mystery.

“Fine then, nevermind.” She returns her metal rod to its spot on the counter and folds her arms across her chest. “I do want to know what’s going on, though. And I don’t mean whatever happened in your office the other day. Why the hell was I snatched off the middle of the street?”

“I’ve been trying to answer that very same question. Though, I can’t help but wonder if it might have something to do with the fact that you’ve been sticking your nose in the business of murderers and you’ve been consorting with a demon on top of it.”

She snorts. “Oh, sure, be sarcastic with me. Not like I’ve been through a traumatic experience or anything.” But the heat of her words is absent in her tone, her mind already elsewhere. She turns and paces to the large couch in the middle of the living area. Taking a careful seat on the edge, she stares out at the skyline. Thousands of lights seem to float in the night sky. Long lines of traffic wrap around the buildings like lights around a holiday tree. Unfamiliar though it is, she can’t deny the beauty of the scene.

A long moment passes like that, and even the silence seems to hold its breath. Then, finally, “we need to talk.”

“Not now.”

Y/N whirls on him. “What do you mean ‘not now;’ I didn’t sit here hurt, alone, and afraid for hours just for you to finally waltz in and brush me aside.” She stands and takes a step towards him in a surge of courage. Finger in his face, she says, “we are talking. Now.”

Yoongi doesn’t react, just stares at her, his face unreadable. After a long, tense moment that leaves Y/N’s palms more than a little sweaty, Yoongi moves without warning. In one fluid movement too fast for her to track, he stands and takes her by the arm. His grip is loose but insistent as he pulls her along behind him. He opens the door to what Y/N now knows is a bathroom and she stumbles into the room alongside him until she is standing in front of the floor length mirror. Yoongi flips a switch from somewhere behind her and before she has a chance to fully process what just happened, she catches sight of her reflection under the harsh white lights of the bathroom.

She can’t help the small gasp that escapes her at the sight.

She hadn’t realized it before, but she is still wearing the clothes she wore to the meeting with Yoongi that seems to have happened a lifetime ago. The difference is now her sweater and jeans are both torn in too many places to count. Dirt and blood in equal amounts seem to coat every inch.

With some indescribable mixture of relief and horror, she realizes that not all of the blood is hers. Her largest wound is an admittedly nasty, jagged gash on her forehead that left a trail of dark, dried-on blood all the way down to her neck where it had been absorbed by her sweater. The rest of her injuries consist of minor scrapes and swollen bruises--nothing that would account for the other dried pools of blood.

In a cruel twist, it seems that her realization of her injuries has reminded her body that it had been through hell. Where before she felt only stiffness and the achy soreness of too much sleep, she now feels the burning and pulsing pains of every inch of her battered frame. She has no idea how she didn’t realize her injuries sooner, but they are more than making up for lost time now.

It’s in the moment when she is in the middle of ghosting her fingers over a particularly ugly bruise on her jaw that she catches Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror. His jaw is set, eyes dark and tense, face seeming to catch shadows that shouldn’t exist in the brightly lit room.

“Not now,” he repeats, his voice slightly strained. “Clean yourself up, take care of your wounds, eat something, rest. There will be time for explanations tomorrow.” He walks out of the room then, leaving no room for argument.

It’s just as well. After seeing the disaster of her reflection, Y/N has no arguments left.

Some time in the minutes it took Y/N to grab a towel from the attached closet and find the hot water handle in the shower, Yoongi had dropped off a set of clothes that were mysteriously her exact size--if that’s a demon perk, Y/N isn’t going to argue when it gives her the chance to toss her dirty and bloodied clothes into the trash never to be seen again. Another surprise is that there, alongside the maybe magic clothes, is her bag. The one she had been carrying when she was kidnapped and assumed was lost forever. A quick inspection reveals a torn strap and it’s absolutely filthy. And her phone, which had been inside, is a lost cause. But there’s still something comforting in having something of hers here in this place where even the sky is unfamiliar.

_________________

Out of the shower, Y/N feels a little bit like a person again. Unfortunately, the water had opened up a few of her wounds, including the one on her forehead, and they are steadily bleeding by the time she makes it back to the kitchen. Yoongi, however, seems to have planned ahead. In front of him sits an incredibly well-stocked medical kit and steaming takeout containers that cause Y/N’s stomach to release an angry rumble. She grabs at her stomach, startled at how hungry she had become without realizing.

Yoongi breathes a soft laugh as he pushes a container closer to the seat next to him. “Go ahead. I should be able to take care of that head wound while you eat.”

There is an unexpected intimacy to sitting freshly showered and shoveling takeout food down your throat while someone treats you for a head wound--but Y/N forgets to be embarrassed as soon as the first bite of food passes her lips.

“Oh my god,” she mumbles, near tears as she tries to pace herself. In this state, Yoongi could have handed her a single cheese cracker and she would have been eternally grateful, but this is so, so much better.

By the time Y/N reaches the point where she feels like she might burst, Yoongi has quite expertly doctored her forehead. She had attempted to ask him some of her most burning questions while she ate and he worked, but he shut her down each time with a pointed look. She would have kept pushing the point--would have stayed up all night if she needed too--but the events of the past few days seem to hit her all at once in that post-meal lull. Finally, when she is half slumped over the counter, fighting heavy eyelids, Yoongi forces her to relocate to the same bed she had woken from before. Oddly, the sheets seem to have been cleaned, though she doesn’t remember seeing Yoongi do so. Luckily she doesn’t have to concern herself over it for long. The second her head hits the pillow she feels the heavy draw of sleep win her over, and for the first time in a long while she slips into a deep and calm sleep.

_________________

The next morning, Y/N wakes up to a full breakfast spread across the kitchen counter. All of it is conveniently still steaming. She hadn’t woken to any alarm that would have alerted Yoongi as to when to set things up, but there he sits, coffee in hand and scrolling through something on his laptop, only looking up when she takes the seat beside him.

They sit in peaceful silence for a long while, only the soft gray light of morning between them. The view of the city is muffled by a haze of morning fog, but it is no less beautiful for it.

Finally, when the dishes are cleared and they have relocated to the living room, Y/N speaks.

“Okay, so, from the beginning: what happened that day?” She had spent most of her time eating trying to organize her thoughts, to get at the heart of what she needed and wanted to know. From the beginning seemed like a good place to start.

“How much do you want to know about what I am and the side of the world I come from?” Yoongi’s voice is as remote as his expression. Any warmth that had broken through the night before was now tightly restrained behind that careful composure of his.

“As much as you think you can tell me without frying my fragile human psyche.”

She had meant it as a joke of sorts, and Yoongi does snort, mumbling something like, “when have you ever been fragile,” but then his eyes catch sight of the thick bandages still covering her forehead and his expression sobers. He seems to consider her statement again carefully before nodding to himself just barely. Y/N swallows hard.

“After you left my office that last time, and while you were unconscious I dug hard into my resources. I was able to uncover some key details of both your brother’s disappearance and the plot against me.

“When you and I first began this search, I had assumed that the people behind this were human. Maybe a disgruntled rival or an ambitious new presence with their sights set high. But after our exploration of the rundown house, I realized that it wasn’t so simple.”

Y/N knows her confusion must be plain on her face, but she stays quiet to let him continue.

“It’s difficult to explain without going into a lot of demon history, but in short: they had weapons that would have done serious damage to demon--even one like me. Daffodil oil, blessed metals--the works. It was then that I realized that there was more going on.”

“Which is why you seemed so much more cooperative after that.” Y/N muses quietly, several things were starting to make more sense. But many more things were not. “Wait, what do you mean ‘one like you’ are you some sort of special demon?” She struggled to say the words with a straight face, still not really having come to terms with his revelation to her.

“Ah,” he says, some understanding reaching his expression, “we never got to that part, did we.” Y/N shifts in her seat at the reminder of that hectic day.

“Yes, I suppose you could say I’m a ‘special’ kind of demon. I am designated as one of the Seven Sins--Wrath, to be more specific.”

Y/N’s brain decided to do a sort of reboot at that information. Feeling a bit like she was buffering she tried to condense her many questions into one. “Seven Sins...like in the bible?” Ah, yes. Very eloquent and definitely captures all of her curiosity. She feels like rolling her eyes at herself.

But Yoongi takes the question seriously. “The christian bible gets some things right, but no, it’s not exactly the same. Essentially, the seven sins--greed, pride, lust, gluttony, envy, sloth, wrath--would exist in human nature even without the presence of demons. Us seven who represent the sins act more as...keepers of a sort. More humans sinning means more business for demons, so the seven of us are charged with encouraging our given sin. We are usually forbidden from most drastic acts, but we move around the world and carefully influence those around us to suit our needs.”

Y/N took a moment to mull over this. It didn’t sound like a great thing, to spread wrath, but as Yoongi said, wrath would exist whether he influenced it or not… Interesting. “Hence the fight club?” She asks at last.

“Hence the fight club.” He confirms. “Fighting opens up all sorts of interesting avenues to influence humans, but it also gives me a connection to the city, making it easier to widen my reach.” 

He almost sounds...proud, Y/N thinks, surprised.

“But that’s a bit beside the point. Being one of the seven means I am more powerful than almost any other demon in existence, and it drastically narrows the list of people capable of plotting against me in any way that matters.”

“So you have an idea of who it could be?”

“No, not exactly,” he grumbles. “The narrowed list still includes too many people to immediately single one out. I did, however, come across a company whose name has popped up several times in connection with our search.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He brings up an image and hands it to Y/N. “Patien Corporation. They seem mostly legitimate, dealing mostly with book publication.”

“Mostly?” Y/N asks while examining the logo. A small outline of an owl crowned in small purple flowers. It isn’t a familiar logo, and after a moment of looking she returns the phone to Yoongi with a shake of her head.

“Yes, mostly. It seems that there has been some unusual movement in and out of several of their Chicago warehouses. Too many people coming in and out to be mere workers, unscheduled shipments, a shift in their operating hours--those sorts of things.”

“So you think this corporation could be connected to our troubles?”

“I think it’s very likely given all of the signs.” He leans back and props one elbow on the back of his seat, releasing an uncharacteristically tired sounding sigh. “But if they are involved, I have thus far been unable to figure out exactly how. I’m having someone do a deep dive into their personnel, but it’s a long shot as to whether it will turn up anything.”

“So what do we do now?” Y/N asks, eager to get back to work. Things have gone on for long enough. She was growing weary of the chase, and her kidnapping had only cemented that feeling.

“For now, we wait. The people who kidnapped you have been taken care of. That will likely stir something up with whoever hired them. We follow the trail from there and see where it leads.” He laid it out like it was a simple case of cause and effect. But something he says strikes Y/N with worry, the feeling like ice water in her veins.

“When you say ‘taken care of’ you mean…”

The muscles around his eyes tighten, but he holds her gaze steadily, “I mean I killed them, Y/N.”

Her stomach lurches at the direct admission. She knows he has already killed. Probably killed a lot. But it was one thing to know that in her head, and an entirely different thing to see him admit to it so easily and with such composure. 

“You killed again?” Her voice as she asks is small, but not weak. Yoongi’s jaw works as he bristles at the accusation in her tone.

“They took you Y/N, and they would have killed you if it meant they could hurt me.” The words are sharp through angry teeth.

“And would it have? Would me dying have hurt you? Or would I have just become another face you couldn’t remember in a few weeks?” Like my brother, are the words she doesn’t say.

Yoongi’s silence shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It tears through the already threadbare fabric of her heart. She feels herself take a step deeper into that growing fog in her mind. The quiet of it is all too tempting an escape in the face of the bombs that had been dropped on her today. 

Feeling like an outsider watching herself move, Y/N sees more than feels herself turn and walk with careful, precise steps towards the bedroom from which she had emerged earlier. “Neverm--” She begins to say over her shoulder, but she is interrupted by a quiet...

“Yes.” The word barely reaches her, but, when it does, it stops her in her tracks. She stands there not turning, not breathing--waiting for more. “It shouldn’t--it really shouldn’t matter--and if I had a choice, it wouldn’t. But...yes. It would hurt me very much if you died, Y/N.”

Air comes back to her in a shuddering breath, but still she doesn’t--can’t--turn around. “Why?” She doesn’t know why it matters. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He is quiet for a long time, the demon at her back. But she waits.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. He seems to realize that she needs more than that this time, because he continues. “It shouldn’t be possible. A being like me isn’t designed to have the capacity to care for the life of a singular human. It’s literally against the code we are created within. But despite the impossibility of it--” he breaks off with a frustrated noise, and Y/N knows without looking that he is pulling a hand through his hair. “I’ve changed somehow. Me, a demon of hell who has walked in this world unchanged for centuries upon centuries,” his voice, which had been building in volume suddenly falls to a near whisper once more, “has changed because of a single human.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to react to the words--just turns carefully, her back stiff, and meets Yoongi’s eyes. The deep brown of them is as remote as ever, but Y/N has been around him long enough now to read between the lines. She sees his anger in the tightness of the skin around his eyes, his frustration in the set of his jaw, and--surprisingly--his confusion in the lines of his brows. That is when she decides he must be telling the truth. Because Yoongi takes his composure deadly serious--he simply does not admit things like confusion, not even in the subtle tells of his face. Until now.

“What does that mean, that I’ve ‘changed you’?” Y/N does her best to keep her face neutral, her tone carefully reserved. 

He doesn’t respond right away, instead he continues to stare into her eyes. Y/N has the distinct feeling that she is being measured up--but against what standard, she isn’t sure. 

“I don’t know the extent or full nature of the change,” he says finally. “I only know that I find myself--” Here he hesitates and breaks their eye contact, somehow seeming very far away despite the mere feet that separate them. “I find myself caring more.” He notes Y/N’s confusion and quickly elaborates. “Brutality now gives me pause--even in the midst of my rage at you having been taken, I paused long enough to think that you would be upset with my killing them; I find myself wondering more about the lives of the humans around me; I concern myself with your wellbeing--things like this,” he shudders just barely as he recites the list. “The speed of my healing has diminished, and when I look at you…” his eyes are suddenly back on her and Y/N catches the slightest of winces. “When I look at you, you shine so brightly that I can hardly bear to look. It drains me.”

Y/N can’t help her snort, the reaction forced out of her by the absurdity of that last statement, the absurdity of it all. “It almost sounds like you’re developing a conscience. And,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself, “if you want to tell me that you hate looking at my face, just say so. No need to beat around the bush.” The words come out sounding more fragile than she intends them to.

Suddenly Yoongi stands from his spot on the couch and--in a move so unexpected that Y/N can only watch it happen--gently takes one of her hands, pulling her arm away from her body and holding it between them. His hold is careful, but the chill of his skin raises the hairs on her arm. “I don’t mean to comment on your physical appearance,” he says quietly, his voice almost gentle, “I mean that you actually emit a sort of light.” He turns her arm over, inspecting it. There is a curious look on his face--pain mixed with wonder and some other emotion that Y/N can’t guess. “It was subtle at first, but the more time we spend together the brighter it becomes. Now, it has reached the point where looking at you has become like staring into the sun, and I fear that I am going to blind myself.”

“You’re serious,” she says after a moment of being stunned into incredulous silence. “Are you sure your eyes were good to begin with, because I think I would have noticed if I was lit up like a flippin’ lightbulb.” She can almost feel her sanity slipping; all of the bombshells lately have been too much.

“As far as I’ve been able to tell, I am the only one who can see it.” He stares at the point where his fingers meet around the circle of her wrist for a moment longer before he releases her and turns back to the couch. She drops her arm awkwardly, not knowing what to do with it now. Her skin feels odd in the place where his hand had been--tingling like a hundred tiny electrical currents were running just beneath the surface.

“Perhaps I should get my eyes checked,” he muses in a detached kind of voice that causes a sliver of unease to unfurl in Y/N’s chest.

She steps forward, arm raised--to do what, she doesn’t know--but she drops it when Yoongi turns around. His face is back in its usual cold mask. “I’ve been tracking legends of humans who ‘shine with a holy light so pure it burns creatures of evil,’ but the stories are all ancient and anecdotal at best.” The sudden return to that cold calculating tone from the quiet vulnerability of the past few minutes threatens to give Y/N whiplash. She hasn’t even started to process the idea that she might glow like some sort of demon-repelling night light, let alone start to wonder at the origins of such a light. Yoongi, on the other hand, appears to have been mulling this over for some time. “The only true lead I’ve come across is still so far-fetched that even I find it difficult to believe.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, still not quite sure she actually woke up earlier. Maybe this is just another strange continuation of her dreams. But she is curious nonetheless.

“In a religious text that was popular several millennia ago, there was a short passage about the blessed children of humans and angels.” Y/N’s eyes widen at the mention of angels, then they narrow in thought. She had never stopped to think about the implications of Yoongi’s existence. If demons exist, what other myths and legends walk the earth? Vampires? Werewolves? Fairies? Angels? It all sounded too ridiculous to be true, but, short of a major mental breakdown, she has no other explanation for Yoongi other than him being what he says he is. If he can exist, it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine these other things as real.

Yoongi, oblivious to the major shift happening in Y/N’s understanding of the world, speaks over her thoughts. “The text tells of a family line who had been blessed. Apparently, the matriarch had been the child of a human and an angel. For generations, her family was said to have certain abilities. They varied in expression and strength, but the one constant was a sort of blinding golden glow--visible only to those possessed by evil,” a pointed look at her.

“So, what, you think I’m the descendant of some angel-human hybrid?” She scoffs. “Hate to break it to you, Yoongs, but I’m 100% plain ol’ human.”

“I have heard of the exceptionally rare relations between angels and humans, but I’ve never heard of offspring from such pairings. However,” another thoughtful look at her, “I’m not naive enough to dismiss it totally.”

“But my parents are both human. There’s no way they would keep something as huge as angel blood in our family a secret!” Of that, Y/N is sure. Her parents are many things, but never had they hidden the big stuff from their children. That, and her mother and father love to tell stories about their families--there’s absolutely no way something as big as mythical ancestors got skimmed over.

“It’s possible the parent wouldn’t even know,” Yoongi insists. “According to the text, the gifts become diluted in a sense with each generation. And rarely did they become active at all unless the descendant in question was exposed to an evil being.”

Y/N can’t stand still any longer. She walks to the large glass wall at her side and begins to pace. “You realize you’re calling yourself evil in this hypothetical scenario.”

“Yes,” the response is immediate, “because I am. Maybe not in the sense that humans always mean it, but I am created with the intention of being indifferent to the ‘value’ of life. To live in strict accordance to the will of our betters is the mandate of all demons. And I, specifically, am compelled to spread discord and the thirst for vengeance in mortals. We exist without the training wheels of a moral code--in the eyes of angels and many humans that is a kind of evil.”

Y/N frowns at that statement. She wants to disagree, but she has witnessed first hand the brutality he could deal out without a hint of remorse, his impatience with and raging against even the smallest of slights against him. The human in her wants to find redemption in the small acts of gentleness he has shown to her, but she can’t erase the truth of Yoongi. She changes the subject rather than come to terms with that thought. “So, angels are real?”

Yoongi follows her pacing with calculating eyes, but allows her the question. “Yes, though maybe not the kind of angels you are imagining.”

That gets her to pause. She places her hands on her hips. “Explain.”

“Angels, unlike their biblical counterparts, are not the heavenly servants of some omnipotent God. Much in the same way that demons are not the ravenous minions of a Satan.” He actually laughs at the look on Y/N’s face. Though, the action is only visible in the slight shaking of his shoulders, the almost imperceptible turn of his mouth, the shining look in his eyes. “Though, the stories do get something right. Angels and Demons do stand on opposing sides of an invisible line of fate.” Now his face twists into a scowl. “The angels see themselves as keepers of some cosmic balance. And they view demons as lowly agents of chaos, meant to be kept on tight leashes.”

Y/N tries to process this. And fails. But one question does come to mind. “Have you ever met one? An angel?”

In that moment, Y/N gets a sense of just how other Yoongi is. Even in his human form. The handsome qualities of his face suddenly come into too sharp of focus, and the look in his eyes is so foreign that she doesn’t have a name for it. The closest she can come is fury. Absolute, overwhelming fury burns dark in his eyes--mixed with a hundred other things that speak of a history so long, it would surely be beyond Y/N’s comprehension.

“Yes.” The word is oddly calm, considering the vivid emotions on his face. “As one of the seven, I have met more than one angel. An honor being one that most demons are not afforded.” Though, his tone suggests it is anything but. “The angels have an equivalent to the seven sins, one that most humans forget about, they are called the virtues.” He continues on, answering Y/N’s unspoken question of why. “Their number is also seven, and there exists a virtue counterpart to every sin. They see it as their personal calling to police the lives of the demonic seven.” His expression grows impossibly darker. “More than a few sins have fallen at their hands.” Now his expression shifts, a smile on his face that makes Y/N’s skin crawl in warning. “Though, I can’t say we haven’t returned the favor.”

“Wait,” Y/N interrupts, choosing to ignore the bloody implications of that particular statement, “how is it possible for there to always be seven sins and virtues if some have been killed?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer for a sweat-inducing moment where Y/N fears she has lost him to the darkness. But his face eventually clears and he answers. “The title of sin and virtue is merely that, a title. It is like the human terms of ‘commander’ and ‘general,’ simply terms to denote rank. Should one die, there would soon be another to take its place.” He pauses, seeming to consider something. “The position is one that is coveted, and it isn’t uncommon--for demons at least--for assassination attempts to come from those under our command. But, the title isn’t one that is simply handed to the next strongest demon. One has to have certain...qualities.”

“So, you’re not immortal?” Y/N is beyond trying to rationalize the information coming at her, she is simply collecting it for a later time when she might have the mental capacity to handle information that, surely, no more than a handful of humans have ever been privy to in all of history. Though, she is starting to seriously doubt that a time like that will ever come in this lifetime.

“Not in the sense that it is literally impossible for me to stop existing, but, there is no demon or angel who will die of sickness or old age. Our kind must always meet a violent end, or there would be no end at all. However,” he continues, seeing the questions already building in her eyes, “there is no human or simple angel or devil alive who could kill a sin or virtue. Our power is such that we can only meet our ends at the hands of another of our kind.”

Y/N tries to let that sink in. “So the people who are after you…”

“It is difficult to say for sure. It could be that this is a case of someone mistaking me for a common demon. But, yes, the other possibility remains.” He gestures to where his laptop sits on the counter. “I am currently following up on leads, but I have--”

He is interrupted by the trill of a cellphone ringing. Swiping his finger across the screen, he brings the device to his ear and has a short conversation that Y/N lacks the context to make sense of. She instead notes the odd juxtaposition created by seeing Yoongi handle such a modern device after talk of such ancient things.

When the call ends, Y/N immediately knows something has changed. “What is it?”

“Speaking of leads, that was one now.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “I have to go.”

Her interest is immediate. “Where are we headed?”

Yoongi doesn’t look at her as he packs up his laptop, sliding it into a sleek black bag. “We are headed nowhere. I am heading out.”

“Uh, have we not established that we’re in this together? I’m not letting you shut me out after coming so far.”

“Y/N, think for just a minute.” He grinds out the words. “You were kidnapped, tortured, and beaten a little over 24 hours ago. And, as invincible as you might think yourself, you’re up against beings that are faster, stronger, and just plain more powerful than you are. If you’re to continue to have any part in this search at all--to have any chance at coming out of it alive--you need to rest. I can’t search for your brother and my would-be assassins while also worrying about keeping you on your feet. Stay, rest, I’ll return with more information we can use.”

She isn’t happy about it, but she can’t argue with his logic. She remembers the hopelessness she felt tied up to that chair, and she can’t say she is eager to put herself back in danger.

Yoongi sees the shift in her demeanor as her mind is changed, so he continues. “I don’t know when exactly I’ll return, but it should be no more than a day.”

 At that, Y/N feels an irrational flood of panic. The reminder of her kidnapping had made her realize just how much she didn’t want to be alone right now. “You’re really going to leave me here?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, this entire building is secure. You will be safe. One of my bank cards should be somewhere in the bedroom. Feel free to use it for food or whatever you like.” He slings the bag onto his shoulder and moves for the door. “If anything of concern happens, you have my number. I can be back here in seconds,” he promises. And there is no more time to protest, because he simply walks out the door with those as his parting words.

Y/N spends a long time staring at the door after it sniks shut behind him. So long that her muscles are stiff by the time she finally moves. She tries not to stare at her reflection in the glass as she sits carefully on the arm of a chair. She focuses instead on the view.

The sun has just started peaking over the buildings in the distance, and for the first time since arriving, Y/N gets a real look at the city she now sits in. The buildings are tall--many being skyscrapers that, true to their name, seem to outreach the sun in the sky. It is beautiful. But it isn’t Chicago, it isn’t home.

And just like that, it’s all too much. Left sitting there alone--in clothes that aren’t hers, in an apartment that overlooks a foreign skyline--something inside of her breaks like a dam. The resulting flood spills over her cheeks, down her neck, onto the borrowed clothes.

Her thoughts are spinning so fast in her mind that she can’t land on any one thing she is upset about. She only knows that she has finally reached her limit for the amount of pain and drama and confusion and supernatural bombshells she can bear.

So she sits there, letting it all pour out of her in the form of hiccupping sobs, as a new day dawns.

_________________

*A/N* !!! It's up! This chapter frustrated me, because I knew exactly what it needed to be, but getting there was a rough ride. This chapter is a bit heavy on explanations, so I tried to make it as clear as possible, but let me know if things get confusing at times! (plot feedback is always welcome) We're so close to the end I can't believe it. This story is the one that never leaves my head and I'm so excited and nervous to bring it to a close. I obviously have terrible luck with keeping the deadlines for myself (though I'm shocked I managed to do anything productive in 2020 so I'm not /that/ mad), but I truly think the last parts will be out by mid/late February or early March. I look forward to sharing the end with you all even if it's bittersweet. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story for literal years! I'm so thankful every time I post something that anyone is interested in my stories let alone this many people, so truly, thank you. Hope you enjoy the read!

[littleredlie]

Intervention (S1P4)

Series Masterlist | Master Masterlist

Chicago Med x doctor!OC Morgan Fitzgerald is a doctor at Chicago Medical and she returns back after a two week break. However, we learn that she didn’t spend her entire break off and instead focused on her sister’s murder.  Based off S1E11 of Chicago Med

2.3k+ Words (Short chapter)

Featuring: Morgan Fitzgerald, Hayden Everett (mentioned), Will Halstead, Maggie Lockwood, Connor Rhodes, Kevin Atwater, Adam Ruzek, Jay Halstead (mentioned), Sarah Reese Warning:  mentions of rape and murder, idk what else ??? A/N: Yikes, I started writing this chapter and ended up writing the next chapter so I had to write the end of this one and the beginning of part 5. This part was hard to write because the episode didn’t have much action to put Morgan in and so I made it a kind of Morgan-centric episode. It’s very shot, I had no idea what I was doing. Part 5 is better and I’ve already started part six. Sorry in advance. And we will never talk about this chapter again.

Part Three

“Hey Morgan, welcome back.”

“Hey Mags, how’re you?” Morgan tosses her stethoscope around her neck and picks up a few papers sitting on the desk.

“Nope, nada. I wanna hear how your vacation went. You’re gone for two weeks and not a single person hears from you. You do not deserve to hear about any work drama until you spill.”

“I think you are being overdramatic. And not that you need to know, but Connor heard from me,” Morgan shrugs, not daring to look at the nurse. Maggie had an eyebrow raised and was giving her a look; it was similar to the one she did during Jay and the doctor’s interaction.

“You two really have history don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other for almost 15 years. He knew my sister first, but he and I were just closer.” At the mention of her sister, Maggie sends her friend a soft but the latter still isn’t looking. “And we made this ridiculous promise while we were drunk about how we were always gonna be there for each other, and yet, neither of us have broken that promise.” Morgan is quiet for a second as she thinks about the time she and Connor had as friends, but then she moves on. Like she always does when it comes to her personal life. She never lingers on it long enough for people to try and figure her out. “My vacation though was very quiet. Hayden and I drove up to a resort  up north and rented a cabin. We skied, went to spas, ate luxurious food. She had to leave for an assignment early so I just relaxed and did a little research too.”

“So you went all the way to a resort just to work, eventually.”

“The work’s never done Maggie,” with that Morgan leaves with a smile, heading to   the first patient of her day. Maggie just watches her receding back.

Before Morgan can make it into her assigned examination room, someone walks up to her, placing a gentle hand on her lower back.

“Hey Fitz,” Connor says, a small smile on his face.

“Fitz? No one’s called me that since med school,” she chuckles fully stopping to look at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to welcome you back. You look good.”

“Yeah, I guess time off was vital. But I have to know,” she pauses, the anticipation building and Connor waiting. “Does everyone know about Olivia? I’d suspect everyone would come to you for some clarification.”

Connor pauses, contemplating whether or not to spew out a white lie. It was true a few people came and prodded for the truth. And he briefly heard whispered conversations among colleagues before they would stop when he got near, but he knew what the topic was. Connor also knew how private Morgan was. She always had been, and after Olivia’s death she just became more closed off. But she also didn’t like being lied to. “Yeah, people know. I’ve tried to handle it, but it has its own life.”

“I guess it’s okay. I just…. I don’t know.” She shrugs and Connor rests his hands on her upper arms.

“Will you be okay?” His voice is sincere and Morgan wants to hug him, but maybe not right now.

“I will be,” at that Connor is about to pull away but Morgan stops him. “Hey, I wanted to apologize for being a bitch before I left. You know how my family gets me.”

“I understand. I do. And I’ll always give you the space you need.”

“Yeah, I know. But I probably shouldn’t push away my best friend. I need you, especially now.”

Connor pulls Morgan into a quick hug and is going to say something but a commotion arises from the ambulance bay.

“Dr. Rhodes, can you get this, please?” The two doctors pull apart and turn to the pleading charge nurse. “We’re slammed.” 

“I’m on it!” He answers back and throws a ‘talk later’ look to Morgan over his shoulder.

She nods back to him and finally turns her direction to her primary goal. With notes open about the patient on the tablet and a smile on her face, Dr. Fitzgerald returns to work.

          ❦

Three hours later, Morgan is on a roll. Treating patients as quickly and efficiently as she could. She had seen her usual coworkers, except Will. She may or may not have been avoiding him. And it was about to get easier, because after her lunch break she was heading up the OBGYN. She loved emergency medicine, but always felt that there weren’t enough available people in the emergency room that specialized in the field. Just like Connor was pursuing cardiothoracic surgery and Natalie was focused on emergency pediatrics, Morgan focused on obstetric and gynecology emergencies. It interested her just as much as emergency medicine did and after losing a pregnant patient when she first got her match, the choice came easy to her.

“Dr. Fitzgerald.” Maggie calls, pulling the doctor in her direction.

“Yes ma’am. What can I do for you?” Morgan leans her body on the desk as the ensuing chaos of the emergency room flutters around them.

“I just need a signature here for your last patient’s discharge papers.” 

“No problem.” Morgan pulls out a pen from her pocket and signs the paperwork. During this, Will siddles up to her. Maggie notices first and wants to usher him away, since she (along with everyone) noticed that Morgan was ignoring him, but the redhead ignored the nurse’s glares and he turned to Morgan, who still hadn't noticed that he was there.

“Morgan.”

Morgan’s plump lips fold into a thin line as a breath catches in her throat, she was avoiding this. Slowly placing the pen back into her jacket, she finally lays her eyes on him. “Dr. Halstead.”

“It’s good to see you back.” He starts, trying to catch her eyes which were fluttering around the hospital floor, evading. “I was hoping we co–” a ringtone interrupts his words and Morgan notices it’s coming from her. She breathes out a sigh of relief when she pulls it out. It may have been petty, but she wanted to stay angry at him a little longer. 

“Sorry, I have to take this.” Without a response, she answers the phone without looking at who it is, and walks away. “Hey, are you here?” She asked.

“Yeah, we’re in the parking garage, top floor.” His answer beckons her to start walking to the hospital employee parking lot.

“We?” Morgan questioned. 

“Yeah, Adam’s here.”

“Kevin!” She screeches, annoyance bubbling inside her. There was a reason she didn’t ask for Adam’s help.

“He’s my partner Morg, I couldn’t blow him off.” Kevin answers back and she pushes out an agitated sigh.

“Ugh, whatever. I’ll be up there in a few.” Morgan hands up and stuffs her cellphone back into her lab coat pocket.

The weather isn’t bad when Morgan hikes herself up to the top of the parking garage.  She can see the two policemen leisurely enjoying a cup of coffee.  She’d met Kevin years ago through his younger brother Jordan. The younger kid ended up in the hospital and Morgan was the one to treat him. They got to talking, found out they had some things in common, and it was one of the closest connections she made when she first moved out here and after Olivia’s death. Dating wasn’t an option between them, the way the two cared for each other was something close to two siblings and again, the fact that she dated Jay wasn’t helping. She didn’t want to dip her toe into the police dating pool again.

Morgan knew Adam through Kevin and Jay. And she made the mistake of introducing Adam to her roommate. Those two were quite the pair. Hayden used him as an inside source when it came to her articles and he used her to do things that he as a police officer legally couldn’t do (Morgan wasn’t necessarily supposed to know that though). Together, they made an agreement to warm each other’s bed when it was needed. Morgan of course thought it was stupid as Adam was a mess when it came to his love life, Hayden reassured that it was no strings attached and they were practically best friends when they weren’t sleeping together. 

Other than that, Morgan and Adam didn’t have a bad relationship, she didn’t want to ask him this favor because she knew he’d tell Hayden. And Morgan doesn’t want her roommate on her back.

“Hey boys,” Morgan called out to them, her body leaning through the open passenger window. She gives a strained smile to Adam and he gives her one back, knowing why she didn’t ask him to do the favor. Without saying anything, Kevin passes the folder she asked for.

It was surprisingly thinner than what she expected it to be. This killer has been on the loose for a while and she’d hoped that the police would listen to her anonymous tips that tried to tie together all his crimes. But the evidence showed that they didn’t.

“This is all they have Kev?” Morgan flips through the pages, disappointment written on her face. 

“Yeah.  I tried digging up some more, but that’s all that was available.”

“God, cops are so fucking useless.” She huffs out, completely missing the offended faces on the two detectives. “I have more in my own files than this. I tried taking it in, but I keep getting shut down.”

“Morgan, you can’t do this by yourself.” Adam finally speaks up, placing a hand on her wrist. She pulls her eyes away from the paperwork to him. 

“But it seems like no one else wants to do the work. Olivia’s case has gone cold and I feel like the longer that it goes unsolved, the harder it will be to get justice.” Olivia’s throat aches as a sob threatens to creep out. There are tears brimming in her eyes and she turns her body away from the two men.

“I understand that, doc. But, you already have to worry about your patients and yourself.” Adam starts, glancing at Kevin, trying to get his partner to say something. The black man is unsure what to say, he’d recently learned about Morgan’s sister when she first asked him to acquire the files. 

“Why don’t we take a look into it?” Kevin says and Adam wants to hit him upside the head. Adam had promised Hayden that he would help Morgan move on, which meant getting Olivia’s investigation out of her mind. If he and Kevin pursued this case, Morgan would never let it rest.

“Would you really do that?” Morgan almost throws herself into the car, hope filling in her chest. “You’d do actual investigating?” Kevin hesitates when he meets eye contact with Adam,  but the look on Morgan’s face destroys him.

“Yeah, I’ll try to do some work in between my regular caseload.” There’s a soft smile on Kevin’s face while Adam sighs out then turns his head to look at the giddy doctor.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me Kevin. You too, Adam.” Before the second man could say anything, Morgan’s phone goes off indicating the arrival for one of her pregnant patients. “Looks like I have to go. Why don’t you come over tonight and I’ll give you everything that I have.” She smiles at both of them. “And Adam, please don’t tell Hayden or Jay.”

“Jay?” Adam questions. He understood why she didn’t want him to tell Hayden, but Jay?

“Yeah, Jay. The two of us are in a really good spot right now and I don’t want to jeopardize that anymore that it already has been.” Adam nods, understanding. “I’ll see you guys later.” With that, Morgan makes her way back into the hospital.

          ❦

Between patients Morgan finds herself peeking into the folder that Kevin gave her. One name stands: Isaac Elway. Apparently, his sister was a victim to the same killer that ended Olivia’s life. Details of the horrific crime, along with her sisters, were displayed in the paperwork. Morgan’s read the information about Olivia’s case numerous times before, but it still breaks her heart and it constantly keeps her up at night.

When she has no more patients, she pulls out a card with number on it. It’s Elway’s. She dials the number, her fingernail being demolished by the teeth in her mouth. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, she’d been searching for answers for years. This was the first time she had heard of Elway and she had to know what he knew. Why was phone number in the file? Was he that important.

The phone rings and anxiety rises in Morgan’s throat. Eventually she had to get answers, that’s why she had Kevin looking into more details. No one answers the other line, just the automated voicemail message and a beep. Morgan quickly debates in her head whether or not to leave a message,  but ultimately she does.

“Hi, Mr. Elway this Dr. Morgan Fitzgerald at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.  I am calling in regards to Sabrina Elway’s case file and it’s relation to another case. This isn’t a topic would like to discuss over the phone so I’d appreciate it if you would give me a call back. Thank you.” She hangs up the call and shoves the phone back into the pocket of her scrubs. 

“Dr. Fitzgerald, I need an OB consult on a patient?” Dr. Reese pokes her head through the door, oblivious to the emotions ripping the attending.

“Yeah, give me a moment.  I’ll be there.” The intern nods her head and retreats back towards the nurse’s central desk.

Morgan watches Sarah leave and then her eyes graze over the presence of her fellow doctors and the patients inhabiting the emergency room. She needed to accept that she will get her answers soon and that she could not speed the process of the world. She couldn’t afford getting distracted or she’d put herself and her patients in danger. She leaves the doctor’s lounge and heads back to her job, finally relinquishing control of her sister’s case.

Part Five

[astraeagreengrass]

Hope Springs Eternal

Bucky Barnes has one last thing he needs to do before he goes to war

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.583

Warnings: angst, mentions of war and war-related themes, light smut - not explict, but please don’t read if you’re under 18!

A/N: This is my extremely late submission for @thinkoutsidethebex’s 600 Follower Writing Challenge - thank you Bex for having me! Special thanks to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this. This story is part of When The World Was At War We Kept Dancing, but can totally be read as a stand-alone. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

It was an ordinary wedding.

Early Sunday afternoon, in a tiny church in Prospect Park. The ceremony was brief, less than thirty minutes long, presided by a minister that confused your last names.

"Barlow sounds nothin' like Barnes,” you heard Steve grumble from Bucky's left, cut off by Becca's loud shush. You didn't have it in your heart to rebuke the priest: your wedding was his fourth of the day, and he still had a dozen or so more to go ahead of the sunset. Besides, he'd been kind enough to move the nuptials forward when Bucky's furlough dates changed, so you could grant him that mishap.

The groom wore his army greens. Olive jacket and pants, shirt and necktie in shades to match. The gold buttons shone bright and brand new, like American glory. The long months at Camp McCoy had changed Bucky - his hair was shorter, his shoulders broader, his palms rougher. You'd waved goodbye to a man in November and welcomed another in June: a Sergeant, with a suit and cap to match his responsibilities.

You felt the calluses as you slid the ring on the left finger of his right hand - the same hand he now used to reload bullets and pull triggers. According to Steve, Bucky must’ve been extremely good at it, otherwise they’d never have promoted a young, conscripted soldier like him to Sergeant so quickly.

You wanted to be happy about it. To not feel an atom of fear as the minister declared you husband and wife. To not tremble behind your veil or choke in the words you had to repeat. There was no time for personal vows - too many women in white were waiting to walk down that aisle, wondering if they'd only ever be granted two weeks with their spouses before a war they never asked for ended their marriages that never had a proper chance to start.

Uncertainty was a typewritten letter on military-stamped stationery, a snow-barren Wisconsin field, a ship departing to England on the fifteenth morning of July. It left a bitter taste in your mouth when you and Bucky kissed for the first time before God, your families and your country. From that moment on, you were his and he was yours, the minister said.

You just couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was more theirs than he was yours.

My love,

In seventeen hours, I’ll be home. One last bus trip and one last train ride until I see your face again. This letter will probably arrive at your doorstep after I do - and by then I hope you’re not there anymore. I hope it gets lost in the mail because you’ve changed your name and moved to the home you’ll share with your husband. And I hope you know that lucky bastard will be sure to tell the postman you’re Mrs. Barnes now. Y/N Barnes. It sounds pretty good if you ask me.

“Promise me you’ll write as soon as you get there?” you asked.

The train’s whistle drowned out Bucky’s answer, and you grimaced, muffling out the deafening noise with your gloved hands.

When it was over, Bucky gently removed your palms from your ears and laced them with his. He gently pressed his thumb to the knuckle of your finger, feeling the ring underneath the fabric. It was a simple band with no stone, far from luxurious but still more expensive than he could afford. He was almost embarrassed as he proposed, mumbling about the ring “not being enough” for you, but you shushed him with a kiss, whispering that you’d marry him with a twisted piece of wire.

“I’ll write to you everyday until I get home,” he promised. “You’ll beg the postman to stop delivering my letters.”

“Never,” you swore.

Three minutes to nine and you were one of the last couples lingering at the platform. Bucky's train would leave at the top of the hour to Chicago, and from there he'd go to Camp McCoy in Wisconsin until the army granted him a short furlough before the eventual departure to Europe. You were trying awfully hard not to think about that last part.

“I’ll miss you, Jimmy,” you said, holding back tears.

A shadow of a smile bloomed on the corner of his lips. Your handsome soldier - strong and unwavering, even as the unknown lurked on the corner of his life.

“I’ll miss you a lot more, doll,” he declared, pulling you in for a hug.

“Impossible,” you replied, voice muffled by his jacket.

Bucky grinned.

“Wanna bet a dance on that?”

The train whistled one more time and the railway man started screaming for the last passengers to board. Your answer was lost to the smoke billowing from the locomotive.

“Take care of my girl for me, will ya? If anyone gives her trouble, tell ‘em her man’s away at training camp. He’ll be back before she knows it.”

You rolled your eyes.

“She’ll be fine. Just hurry home.”

One last peck and Bucky was gone, the last passenger in before the train door shut with a bang that echoed in your heart. You waved at your fiancé from the edge of the platform until his figure was long gone, the engagement ring he gave you weighting your hand down with all the promises this war was daring him to keep.

My journey home seems longer than wintertime in Wisconsin. Did I ever tell you that there was still some ice on the ground in early April? I thought nothing would ever bloom in that place, but then some daisies sprouted on a patch of grass near the barracks a couple of weeks ago. They reminded me of Mrs. Roberts and the daisies she used to keep at the front windowsill of the boarding house. Are they still there? Do you think you’d like to have some daisies at our house? Or maybe roses?

The conscription letter burned a hole in Bucky's pocket.

He swore he could smell it, even. There was something foul prickling his nose and he thought it was the letter aflame, scorching the paper, his pants, his life. It's what he wished he'd done to it, anyway: set the rough parchment on fire like he would a cheap cigarette, then step on the stub for good measure, but it was useless.

The letter was Bucky and Bucky was the letter. It'd given him a number made of ashes, and now he was no longer man - he was ember, stoking the flames of the fire that laid waste to his world and time.

All the way to the boarding house you called home, Bucky thought of Steve. He'd hate that Bucky was drafted - to the 107th, no less - and he wasn't. It would only make him restless, even more determined to join a war that Bucky wanted no part of. And he hated the part of him that was envious of Steve's bravery right now, because the other part was busy making plans to run away with you to Mexico.

Bucky was supposed to marry you, not sail across the Atlantic. You'd been dating for over two years and he'd saved enough money for an apartment. His Ma kept complaining about grandchildren and Becca resorted to dropping not so subtle hints over Sunday lunch, like if you'd rather have emeralds or sapphires on your engagement ring. His savings weren't enough for neither, but Bucky still hoped you'd take him as your husband.

Hope was a funny thing for a young man like Bucky Barnes to have in 1942. Hope that you'd marry him. Hope that Steve wouldn't find a way to join the Army. Hope that he wouldn't lay to rest in a shallow grave with hundreds of other men in Europe.

Mrs. Roberts, the landlady of your boarding house, was tending to her daisies when he approached. She was a grouchy old woman whose husband died in the Great War - the greatest one so far, at least - who ignored Bucky most days, unless he did something she considered incredibly scandalous, like bring you home after 10 P.M. Today, however, she cast him a glance from behind the bushes.

“Well then,” she started. “They called ya name, didn’t they?”

Bucky was confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” Mrs. Roberts said, plucking a flower from the stem with a pair of gardening scissors. “It was the same look my husband had when he came out that very door to get the mail one morning and found out he’d been conscripted.”

She waved to the front door of the boarding house with the hand that still held the scissors.

“How are you planning to tell her?”

Bucky cleared his throat.

“I’m not sure yet.”

The woman shook her head.

“There’s no easy way to do it - and I mean all of it. Wars are nasty things, son. No one really wins them.”

In a fraction of a second, Bucky thought he could see a young Mrs. Roberts, before the grief and the heartache, yet as quickly as it came, it disappeared.

“I’ll marry Y/N before I go,” he declared with all the certainty he could muster, but his promise sounded empty.

Mrs. Roberts smiled, and before then Bucky never knew that a smile could be sadder than tears.

“Just don’t forget to come home to her.”

Whatever you want, we’ll have it. One of the boys in my regiment said you should toss rice on the newlywed couple as soon as they leave the church, did you know about that? According to him, it’s good fortune. Or maybe he was just teasing me (‘cause he said something about a garter belt, as well. Now, I am no Becca Barnes, wedding expert, but I’m sure that can’t exist).

You and your husband walked out of the church hand in hand, under a soft smattering of rice thrown by your few guests.

He kissed you under the arched entryway, pulling you in against his chest with more vigor and less modesty than he had on the inside. The buttons of his green jacket pressed your breastbone through the fabric of your dress.

Steve was the first to congratulate you, hugging you and Bucky at the same time. You were surprised to see that, behind him, Ms. Roberts was discreetly wiping her tears. Bucky’s mother Winnifred was delighted, cheerfully announcing to the guests of the next wedding: “Look at my children!”

There was no reception or party. The greetings at the front lawn of the church were brief, and soon another bride was walking down the aisle and Bucky was holding the door of a taxi open for you.

"You look beautiful, Mrs. Barnes," he whispered in your ear as Brooklyn rushed by.

The apartment was a small two-bedroom on the third floor of a building that probably housed more people than it should, yet, in your eyes, it was perfect - even with the handed down pots and pans, and the two or three boxes of clothing you hadn't had the time to unpack the previous week. It was simple, modest and perhaps a little messy, but it was yours.

Bucky surprised you by lifting you in his arms and carrying you through the threshold. Your giggles echoed off the walls, dissolving in a sigh when he laid you gently on the bed. The sheets smelled like him from having slept on them the night ahead, comforting you. It wasn't the first time you and Bucky had sex, but it was the first time you'd do in your own home, your own bed, as husband and wife. This realization brought a shiver down your spine.

He took your shoes off, placing them on the floor with care before running his hands carefully up your ankles and calves, through the light fabric of your stockings. When he got to your knees, Bucky pushed the white fabric of your dress skirt away just far enough that he could graze your thighs, until his fingers brushed your garter belt.

He grinned, blue mischief tinkling is his gaze.

"I knew it!"

You wanted to hide your face in embarrassment, and curse Becca for having such a terrible idea in the first place, yet Bucky was quicker, pulling the garter down with the left stocking and then quickly reaching for the right one. He turned the strip of lace in his hand, a sly smirk in his pink lips.

You rose to your knees, pulling him to you by the green tie. You ripped the jacket from his shoulders with such force that some of the gold buttons flickered to the ground in twinkling melody. The bed creaked and Bucky laughed at your eagerness:

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes," you breathed into his collaborne, pressing kisses in whatever bit of skin you could find.

“Do you love me?”

“Lots more.”

His deft fingers found the zipper of your dress, and he pulled apart just enough to undress you. Your lingerie was made of the same fabric as the garter belt, and Bucky's eyes widened.

"How did I get so lucky?" he breathed.

The muscles of his back hypnotized you as he took off his shirt, dragging you to his lap, legs tangling together in the mattress. Your nails left indents on his biceps and a twisted thought occurred to you that maybe they could stay there forever.

That way even Death herself would know Bucky was yours, and wouldn't dare take him from you.

“Touch me,” you gasped. “Touch me, James, please.”

Your lovemaking was lascivious and fast. You and Bucky had been apart for too long and there was too much frustration, absence and lust clouding your judgements. Tiny droplets of sweat descended from the underside of your chin down your throat and the valley of your breasts, which were pressed firmly against Bucky’s chest. You wanted to keep your eyes open, to record in your memory the way his hands gripped your waist and his hips girated against yours, but the absolute ecstasy of having him again was nearly maddening.

Bucky came mere just seconds after you did, groaning curses in your temple. Your tired bodies collapsed in the bed, yet your feet were still somehow entwined, making it look more of a tumble and less of a graceful catch of breath. The late afternoon sun reflected on your husband's wedding ring and you wondered how long it would take for him to have a tan line.

Bucky pulled you to him and you rested your forehead on his shoulder.

"I love you," he said.

You didn’t reply, instead just breathed in the salt on his skin. After the pictures, the greetings and the sex, fear showed it’s ugly face again. You weren’t religious, but you found yourself hiding in the crook of Bucky’s neck, praying to the same God that united the two of you in matrimony.

Please don’t take my husband away from me.

I want more than two weeks.

I want a life.

Bucky called your name, raising your chin with the tip of his forefinger.

“I love you,” he repeated. Then smiled: “Mrs. Barnes.”

Something in the sound of it made you believe that everything would be alright.

“I love you too, Mr. Barnes,” you laughed. “I really do.”

I guess I'll see for myself when I arrive. It won't be long now, darling. Wait for me, I’m almost home.

Always yours,

Bucky

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 7

“You know, Joline, you remind me of someone,” Ansgar chuckled, lifting his fingers to wave languidly at the passing jogger. He laughed harder when said jogger did a double take and turned his head quickly away. “Someone I knew in America.”

“Really?” Joline replied. “I remind you of an American woman?”

He nodded. “You are very American in your demeanor, but in only the good ways.”

“In the good ways, huh?”

“Yes,” Ansgar bowed his head slightly. “In the good ways.”

“As opposed to like… the bad ways?”

Ansgar inhaled, his eyes widening. “Oh, there are many, many bad ways, believe me.”

“Like what?”

Ansgar snorted. “Like…,” he blinked, pulling down his lower lip in a slight cringe, “a bizarre obsession with American football and baseball, a love for tiger-piss beer, a craving for over processed foods, hyper-consumerism and and an overt label consciousness,” he frowned, still considering. “Not to mention a need to be considered independent paired with a constant demand to be pampered, kowtowed to, and fawned upon, and a tendency to be offended by the slightest thing and then post a crusade on Facebook about it. That sort of thing.”

She sucked air through her teeth. “Yeah, bad ways. I get it. So, who was she? This American in the good ways who I remind you of.”

“Her name is Kay. Kay Browntree. She’s in the construction business, a flooring contractor. Has her own business, very ambitious. But she has her boots on the ground for all of her work. Very hands-on. Grout under the fingernails and all that. I liked that about her.”

“A girlfriend?”

Ansgar sighed. “A potentiality that never came to fruition, I’m afraid. I was in Chicago on a project, she was one of my subcontractors. Unfortunately, I had to move on to another project across the country.”

“Why do I remind you of her?”

Ansgar lifted his eyes in thought. He crossed his legs as he twisted to face her, one arm draped languidly in his lap, the other remained perched atop the back of the bench. “Many reasons, I suppose. Kay makes me laugh – a rare thing indeed. She’s carefree. She gives zero shits about who I am, about my bank account or about appearances or personal hierarchies or societal proprieties. She speaks her mind, damn the consequences. She’s honest, transparent, hard-working, and driven. There’s nothing false about her. What I see is what I get. Much like you.”

In short, nothing like Faye. Nothing at all like Faye.

“Oh,” she intoned. “Tell me more.”

He laughed again, but his face softened. He reached toward her and brushed a lock of her dark hair away from her eye, drawing the soft strands gently between finger and thumb. “I see… I see a soft sophistication to you– a knowledge of art, a taste for luxury, an appreciation of the beauty in machinery and an admiration of the finer things. I see an innate grace in the way you move – in the way you shook out your hair when you took off your helmet, for example.” He shrugged. “She’s a lot like you in those ways as well.”

Her eyes widened, just that little bit, Ansgar noted, a microexpression of self-conscious surprise, a shiver at his touch. She shifted further on the bench, crossing one leg beneath the other, her booted foot dangling off the edge of the bench. She leaned against the back, her elbow hooked around the wood slat, her hand dangling just near her breast.

Ansgar couldn’t help but look.

And she caught him looking. She peered down at her own chest, and knowingly lifted her eyes back to him, her hand open in an indicative gesture. “Oh, I get it. Really, it’s just that she’s got great tits like mine.”

Ansgar choked, his eyes gone wide, his mouth formed into a hollow ‘o’. He recovered quickly, flipping a sardonic yet appreciative quirk of an eyebrow. “Noooo,” he crooned. “Yours are far better.”

It was her turn to choke. She sat bold upright, staring incredulously at him. “Excusemewhat?”

He formed his features into a comical ‘oops’ face, his eyebrows shot high, his lips puckered, his hand covering his mouth in a gesture of mock delicate prudishness. “Oh, did I say that out loud? Well. Hmmmmm.” His lips curled in a wicked half-grin. “That must mean that I find you sexy as well.”

“We’re doing brilliantly at keeping our partnership purely professional.” She dipped her head back to follow a bird in flight. “Nice alliteration.” “Thanks. It pops out sometimes.” She shifted on the bench, bending the knee under her to bring up to her chest. She tugged her foot as close to her bum, hugging her arms around it. Her other foot swung underneath the bench, her toes scraping an even tempo against the gravel. “Dad’s influence.” Ansgar saw her zealousness turn inward. The curse of loss taught him the same trick. He nearly opened his mouth to say something when she beat him to it. “He was American, you know,” she dropped in conversationally, without truly pausing to ask. “Got my guts, gumption, glory and grin from him.” A faux smile appeared, behind closed lips and a pensive look. “And my alliteration.” “But your surname… Lindberg, is Swedish, yes?” “My mother’s surname. My parents were… unconventional, never married, never lived in the same country. Scandalous!” She jazzhanded past that tidbit expecting outrage and judgement. When none came, she lifted her eyes to her companion. “Do you really want to hear all this? Or will you be reading the backs of your eyelids in sixty seconds?” Despite himself, Ansgar was intrigued by her. “Feel free to tell me as much or as little as you would like.” Jo’s eyes followed as a family of four chattered by, disrupting the atmosphere with all their ruckus. The baby cried, the toddler whined, the mother yelled and the father talked over all of them. “I’ll abbreviate. Dad worked for Zim International, that shipping company–” “I’m familiar with them. I held several contracts with them importing bamboo from Asia." "Oh, figures… all you executive types know each other.” He chuckled at the generalization, not at all offended by the stereotype. “I grew up here, near Gamla stan… until seventeen. I moved to America to go to uni, Norfolk it was, in Virginia. I stayed on there, graduated, worked, travelled…”

“And,” he flipped his hand, palm up in her direction, looking for another handout of information, “what made you move back here?”

Joline looked at him for a long moment, considering for as long as it took to make a decision on how much she should tell, how much was appropriate. She inhaled slowly, reciting the mantra on her arm over and over in her head.

Live life when you have it. Live life when you have it. Live life when you have it.

And so, she did. “I love my family; I needed them. I missed so much, my mother, my brother… He got married and had kids while I was away. I’d never met my sister-in-law. I didn’t meet my nephews until much later. My mother got sick. I missed so much. And then my marriage fell apart while I was living in Florida.”

“You’re married?”

“Was. Right out of uni. We were young and stupid and playing grown-ups, but we weren’t compatible. It was a mistake, one I’m glad to have made only so I don’t repeat it,” she sighed, playing at a rueful smile. “When there was no affection left in it, we went our separate ways. He went off to DC, and the offer for the Globe workshop fell in my lap. The Globe led me back here, put me in the running for the Opera House, and here I am.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he couldn’t find any other words to say. His thumb tucked in against his palm to follow that familiar track to the gold band on his ring finger. He didn’t spin it this time, only tapped it, reminding himself it was still there.

She smiled sadly, but there were no hard feelings of resentment or sadness in her features. “No need to apologize.  Sometimes two people aren’t meant to be together. That’s not always tragic or the end of the world.” She stretched out her legs again, unraveling from the coil she’d put herself into. “I loved him once and I remember that. A part of me, my younger self, the overgrown teenager self, still loves Steven… always will. But she’s not all of me and I’m not quite her anymore. I don’t know if it happened suddenly or over time, but one day I just knew. I needed my family… and they needed me.”

Ansgar nodded. “Family, yes…,” he he paused for a moment in thought, his lips pursed. His eyes focused on nothing in particular… a boat in the distance… as the impact of Joline’s story washed over him.

He thought of his own losses. His own journey, the ways in which he’d shed skin after skin, identity over identity over the past few years. The way in which he’d, as Faye had put it, gone soft. Soft in Faye’s estimation, however, was still as prickly as The Iron Throne to the rest of the world. He thought of Magnus, of Rebecka, and of their child. Their children, now, plural. Thought of the way they had welcomed him back into their home, into their arms, into their world – no questions asked, no consternation about him being for all intents and purposes dead for a year and a half.

And to know Joline had lived that, or something like it as well gave him the sense of a kindred pull to her spirit. A knowledge. An understanding, and the weight of it, the warmth of it settled upon him like a blanket.

“Family is everything, isn’t it?” he finished his thought at last. “I mean, when you come down to it, no matter what sort of shit you get into, no matter how much you hurt them, no matter what pain you endure, no matter how long you’re… you’re gone, no matter how much you change, no matter how hard you try to disappear, it’s your family that… that….”

The sound of a screaming child from just to his right yanked him from his reverie. He shook his head, blinking hard, and gave a breathy chuckle, smiling ruefully up at Joline. He sighed. “Well,” he shrugged, “let’s just say it’s a good job you had your family to come home to.”

He pressed his hands to the bench and shifted forward to stand, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Ansgar.”

“What!?” he snapped, but his eyes softened in almost immediate apology. Live life when you have it, right?  “Look, Joline,” he sighed. I’m just going to come right out and say it. I think you’ve sussed by this point that I am rather… intrigued by you. Even more now that we’ve had this talk.”

“Yeah, I think I get that.” She smiled. “And I kind of want to jump your bones, too, so what’s the problem?”

“Complications,” he said, “albeit minor ones.” His lips curved in a melancholy smile. He stayed perched on the end of the bench, his knees spread wide, and he bent forward, elbows rest on his thighs. He clasped his hands together between, his thumbs working one against the other. “Things we should lay out on the table before we continue.”

“With our partnership? You’re not having second thoughts or…?”

“No! Of course not,” Ansgar sat upright. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“But,” she stood then and rest her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about, then? I mean… how can we even think of anything personal when we’re working together?”

“I’m very good at compartmentalizing,” Ansgar declared. “We simply need limits… understandings. I’ve done it before.”

She frowned, cocking her hip. “Done what before?”

“Worked closely with someone,” he took a long breath, his jaw jut forward. “Someone with whom I’d engaged in another sort of relationship.” He stood, then, and stepped nearer, peering down at her, his eyes hooded and intent. “I would like to know if you can do the same.”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head and matching his gaze with her own. “I can, I think,” she said slowly. “But, first, I need to know who.”

“Who? What do you mean, who?”

“Who was the someone you worked with? Who were you working with and fucking at the same time?”

He blinked, and his breath caught in his chest at the blunt force of her question. He kept his mask in place, however, his muscles barely moving, his eyes not wavering at all as he said slowly, evenly, “Faye Valentine-Martinsson. My former VP of Security. My wife.”

She lifted her chin, ever so slightly, and her right eye twitched. “Your… wife,” she intoned. She shook her head, her breath hissing from her flared nostrils. “Damn. That ring on your finger you keep playing with…. I should have known.”

“Joline…” Ansgar grasped her arm. “You don’t understand….”

She slapped his hand off, stepping quickly back. “You know, I thought for a minute that maybe you weren’t like that… how silly of me, how stupid! How…ah, fuck all of this… all of it!”  She turned and ran, bolting down the gravel path, her boots kicking up small white rocks in her wake.

“Joline! Wait!” He pelted after her, quickly and easily catching up to her to run beside her. “Joline! Joline!”

…Joline… Joline! Please don’t take him just because you can.

“Leave me the hell alone!”

She increased her speed, but again, he matched, overtaking her. He passed her, cut her off, and quickly turned around, He caught her as she caromed into him, clutching her hard by both of her arms. “Stop,” he commanded. “For fuck’s sake, stop!”

“Let me go, Martinsson!” She writhed, grunting and growling against him, her leathers creaking against his.

“Hey!” He held her fast with an arm around her back. “Come on now! Listen!”

“You can’t…do this,” she seethed. “I won’t… I won’t be that… that woman!”

“What… oof! Ohhhh, fuck!” He groaned, bending over but keeping his grip on her. She’d turned in his arms and threw her elbow sharply backwards into his ribs. “Christ! What… what woman?”

“The other woman!” She gnarled, her teeth grit. “Won’t be your fucking mistress!” She kicked backwards, landing the heavy wooden heel of her boot squarely in the middle of his shin.

“Jesus fuck!” He howled and split his legs wide to avoid more blows. Likewise, he craned his neck to avoid her fists that flew at his face. “You… won’t be! You’re not…. ouch, damn you! Stop hitting me!”

“Fine! Then I’ll do this!” She lifted her foot and slammed it down hard upon his toes. “Fuck! Off!”

“Aargh! Stop that! That fucking hurts!” Ansgar released her, but swiftly whirled her back to face him. He grasped her by the head, one massive hand on either side, and he stilled her. First with a small shake, and then with his gaze, penetrating and sharp. Then with his voice, firm and commanding. “Joline! She left me! I. Am. Not. Married. Anymore!”

… and then, with a growl, he pulled roughly on her, drawing her firmly to him where he silenced her, at last, with his lips.

Joline grunted, her eyes slammed shut, not unexpectedly, but for the control she lost in the situation. All her fight instincts took flight, leaving her defenseless to Ansgar’s kiss. She opened to him, having lost her protestations, denials, angry outbursts of sexual frustration, and let his lips do the caressing, manipulating the last of her vigor.

His tongue swept across her parted lips, a brush against her lower lip, to test her, to make sure she wouldn’t bite as hard as she kicked. Instead she moaned as he tipped her head back to deepen the kiss. Boldly, encouraged by the heady auditory approval, Ansgar plundered her mouth with as much possessive greed as she had entered his office… and his life.

Joline hiked up on her booted toes to erase the last bit of distance between them, wanting for be consumed by the torrential heat blazing off of him. The tangle of tongues sent the sweetest torture of sensation straight to her core, her body heavy with need. One of his hands dug into her hair to hold her captive against his mouth, the other pressed into the small of her back, tipping her hips against his. Dull fingernails scraped along his scalp when she took hold of his curls.

Lust played an undeniable force around them like gravity held them to the Earth’s surface. Slaves to it, but masters of it within their sphere of two. Their friendly jogger, his sights on Ansgar, now making his fifth lap past them, cut his losses and kept going to beat off his own arousal at the picture the two made, a smash of leather, denim and desire.

Ansgar was the one to end the meld of lips and teeth and tongues, regrettably. He knew that if they went on as they were he’d tear her clothes from her body and take her right on the spot, the wandering curious gazes be damned.

Joline herself felt ready to jump into her arms, coil her long legs around him and search out the closest surface to fuck against. He tasted of coffee, sex, danger and she already felt the addictive streams pouring through her body, her pores itching for his fingers and mouth as a balm.

His breath panted against her lips, swollen and pink from the pressure of their passionate kiss and the burn of his goatee. But—Fuck! She was a vision! His influence on her for all to see, he was almost… enchanted by it. He dragged his thumb across her lip, “You’re delicious. I simply cannot wait to taste what other flavors you’re hiding.”

Joline kept her eyes closed, concentrating on the bursts of heated breath spreading over her abused lips and the vibrations from his lips to hers. “God-fucking-damn it, Martinsson!” Only her voice had dropped to a seductive purr instead of the angry tones from moments ago.

He dropped his mouth to her ear, his tongue rasped at the fleshy lobe just once before her murmured, “Search out other art on your skin.”

The five ink decorated skin spots hidden beneath her clothes tingled, sending out a honing signal for him to lock in on. Joline pried her eyes open as he lifted his face to peer into hers. The brassed off woman had been somewhat tamed by temptation, he could see it in the flush of arousal and the relaxed scowl. “If this is what ‘intrigued’gets me, I’m fucked if I ever pique your interest,” she quipped in a delayed response to his comment that led to the heated argument and equally as heated kiss.

The pride and arrogance displayed on him in the forming of a Cheshire grin. “You’re fucked either way, as soon as I get you alone,” he replied confidently.

“I was half hoping you’d be shit at the kissing bit,” she groused. Her hands and the rest of her trembled in her heightened arousal, her libido blaring red to near overload.

He smirked, his fingers playing in her hair once more, wondering at her natural color, “Should I apologize or thank you for the backhanded compliment?”

She sighed dejectedly, “Which drawer have you shoved me into then?” Her words adopted a combative tone but she was still pressed salaciously against him.

The slight didn’t faze him as it would anyone else. He recovered within the blink of an eye, “Joline, I didn’t mean you and you know that’s not what I meant by compartmentalizing.”

She pressed her shaking hands to his chest applying the slightest of pressure to extricate herself from his intoxicating embrace. It didn’t help, she wobbled like a newborn faun, her legs unsure after his seductive kiss. “I just need to know where I fit in your cupboard of playthings. One night stand? Fuckbuddy? Lover? Experiment? Trying me on to see if I fit? Mistress?” She hissed the last word.

Defensively, Ansgar grabbed her arms again, nailing her with his piercing gaze, rooting her to the spot. “I told you. My wife left me,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You can’t be a mistress when there’s no spouse to cheat.”

She couldn’t explain her petulance. They’d only just met, she had no room to make demands on him. But she felt so strongly about being labeled… “I’m not a homewrecker. I don’t go after other women’s men. That’s not me. I’m not that woman! I won’t be!”

Exasperation colored his sigh of impatience as he dropped his chin to his chest. Women infuriated him at times, tested his limits and busted his balls. Getting laid shouldn’t be this difficult, especially when he reduced the woman to a quivering mess clearly affected by his kiss alone, as he’d done with Joline. “Christ, Joline, you’re not!”

“You’re wearing her ring… still. The one that you promised to love, honor, in sickness and all that rot, yes? It’s still on your finger where she placed it. So are you married or not?” She then crossed her arms under her breasts as if to shield herself from the truth or defend herself from crushing disappointment when he dismissed this thing as not worth the aggravation.

Ansgar’s eyes shifted back and forth between hers, assessing her stake in this. “Why is this so important to you?”

The traffic in the distance had faded, the boats on the water muted, the fragrant breeze that smelled of licorice stuck, even the humans in the ceased to exist. All of that stripped away to leave two souls trying to find common ground to explore their attraction for one another.

“Because when you take me to bed, Ansgar, I want you fucking me. I don’t want you fucking the memory of your wife or ex-wife or whoever she is. I don’t want agendas or schedules or any other person involved.” She stepped into his space again, tucked her forefinger into the belt buckle and tugged him against her until their bodies clashed together, breast to chest, stomach to abdomen, center to groin.

She purred, “Pleasure… adult animal magnetism… orgasms for hours.” Joline nuzzled her hips against his, not quite a graze but something akin to it, a promise of so much more. “Dirty, filthy, raw sex – between two people and we’re the only two people in that room. I want sweat. I want sticky heat. I want shortness of breath. I want my body clamped around your cock.” She bit his lower lip, raking her teeth over the sensitive flesh. “I want the neighbors needing a smoke when we’re sated and too blitzed to fuck again. You can have me when I can have you. You can fuck me when that ring isn’t on your finger.”

[platform4611]

https://twitter.com/Platform4611

[grizzly-bear-bane]

New Cigar Box, sneak peek

+

Arthur used to think that ‘growing up’ would be exciting, a whole new world of unlimited access right in his eighteen year old hands with this plastic ID and the wide eyed picture of himself trying his hardest not to smile. A new start, a change, a big change that meant them both moving forward, not backwards. A ticket to a bank account, for one. Legal cigarettes for another, which was a necessity for handling his stress. But most importantly, turning eighteen was an all access pass to an adult shelter he’d be able to walk right into with Eames without the threat of being hauled off by a social worker, which also meant no more Davids, no more nights spent outdoors or crashing on the floor of an apartment filled to the brim with junkies and the trappers that supplied their habits... Arthur's habit. 

Habits, now. 

He grimaces, taking a drink before he pours out a splash on the stone, earning glares as he toasts to Eames. 

At least this time he couldn't say it was his fault that everything had gone south. They had had to abandon the car in favor of hiding in Yusuf's apartment once Eames’ demons from Chicago finally caught up to him. Three months of living a life of pure luxury in that old station wagon with its no battery, no wheels, and no gas, but it had been theirs, one promise of Eames’ fulfilled. And it had been permanent, parked in the industrial garage like a mobile home. A home. 

Gone. 

“Maybe a month or two in a shelter and we can circle back to the car once Travis can get the parts we need to actually get that piece of junk on the road. Then,” Eames had said, “we’ll be out of here for good.”

Only, Travis never got those parts and Eames never got to follow Arthur to the shelter. Arthur had gotten them a bed, went to sleep, woke up and Eames was still gone. No goodbyes, not a hug, nothing. Just the threat of an eight year prison sentence and the promise of deportation back to England for a stupid armed robbery.

“Don't worry about that, baby, you know your Eames always finds a way to get back to you. I'm not going anywhere.” 

But even Eames didn't sound confident, not even after the trial was over.

“Two years. We can manage that... right?”

Arthur knew Eames’ tone had nothing to do with being afraid of prison. Eames wasn't afraid of anything. 

Except Arthur himself, or rather the kinds of trouble Arthur could get into now that he was on his own again. 

“Just keep your head down, boy, stay in the shelter as long as you can, and for god's sake, stay out of the streets.

And damn if he hadn't tried. He'd stayed put in the shelter, he’d kept pace with his medication, even jumped at the chance for free testing at the clinic on the second floor! He'd hustle once a week to keep their money growing in the account, he'd kept his head down just as Eames had told him to, tried his best to be civil with his new cot neighbors, and had done his best to stay the hell away from Yusuf, Nash, and anybody else with drugs. 

But as always, ‘trying’ was just a fucking delay for the inevitable. 

Even hiding out in a shelter couldn’t protect him from the one thing that had ruined him long before drugs did: men. The male counselor with his ‘clumsy’ hands, the creep in the cot closest to the bathroom, a brand new stalker… 

And him.

Arthur’s been wandering the streets on a binge since spotting him, the one monster that’s been haunting his every step since puberty. 

David hadn't seen Arthur but Arthur had seen him as that man loaded groceries into his minivan, a brand new batch of kids bouncing around him and his wife in excitement. Save for one boy. One scrawny little nothing sulking quietly as one of the bigger kids shoved past him. 

It was enough to send Arthur into a tailspin. Even when he'd been on his own in this city, way before meeting Eames, he still hadn't ever been this scared, this sick, this damaged as he was with that monster standing just on the other side of the parking lot of where Arthur had been bouncing in a trucker’s lap for Eames’ commissary funds.

Arthur's not even sure how long he's been staring at the payphone on the sidewalk. He's been riding on a high all afternoon but it's fading. He's lonely and growing more and more sick as his anxiety starts to build up again, but he's far too terrified to call… anybody, really, certain that Yusuf and Ariadne must have tossed out his bag by now, thinking him dead in a ditch or the river after weeks of no sign of him.

After his trouble in the shelter, Eames had told him to go back to Ariadne’s place with his things where he could at least be safe from strangers even if it meant putting an end to his quest for sobriety, but Arthur had wanted to stick it out, stay clean, and prove to Eames that he could handle himself. After seeing David though, he couldn't handle the shelter any longer. Just being near a man sober sent him right into a panic attack. 

It was like coming home, as easy as peeling a slice of cheese off its plastic, he'd quickly found some of Nash’s fellow junkies, though thankfully not Nash himself, and had silenced that panic. Hard. 

Heroin, he found, didn’t clear out his pockets nearly as fast as coke did. How anybody could pass up cheaper, stronger drugs when high, Arthur didn’t know, but once that quick trip to the clouds was over? Replaced with puking and more puking and other fun things coming out of other fun places? He was more than happy to leave heroin forever and spend more money on a drug he could trust, one that was familiar, rather than risk any more bad trips. Unlike heroin, coke didn’t make him feel so bad so quickly. Coke didn't judge. It only held him close and kept him safe, alert, but he’d never been high on the streets by himself before. 

Anxiety was one thing, but uncontrollable paranoia had had him clinging to that high just to pluck up the courage to show up at Yusuf's apartment, relieved beyond words when the squatter outside his door told him that Ariadne had left and gave him as good of an address to go find her that the dozing girl could muster. 

It took him the rest of the evening and the last of his coke to find the apartment complex but he'd managed, still looking like a battered wreck after that fuck up with the truck driver. 

But it didn't matter. Just like how his aunt would rush to his mother no matter how scared or how bloody her mouth was or how it stained the front of her dress, Ariadne had opened the door and hugged Arthur tight. Her long lost, chosen little brother.

It was nothing like Yusuf’s place. Small, simple, but clean and dry and safe. Even the streetlights looked that much brighter coming in through her open windows as Arthur sat at her kitchen table and let her dab days-old blood away from his busted lip. She gives him a pack a frozen broccoli to hold to his swollen cheek.

“I'm not going to preach to you, or judge or… anything… right now. I'm not even going to try to stop you. You've been through enough already.”

For some reason hearing that made him panic. He shook his head quickly. “No, no, I'm not, well, I only relapsed a few days ago.”

“Days? Arthur, you've been missing for weeks now. Eames’ been worried sick. So was I. Anything could have happened to you… and it looks like… anything did happen… Arthur--”

“I got sick and puked on a trucker in his cab so he beat the shit out of me. It's nothing--I’m going to get clean this time. I'm totally done, I promise.”

That promise had hung in the air between them, waiting for Ariadne to accept those words, but she waved them off, as disbelieving as Arthur had felt just repeating that promise himself. Even he knew he was nowhere near ready to handle a withdrawal.

It was soul crushing in its truth, but rather than leave him in that pain alone, Ariadne had gotten up to give him a hug. She’d held him for a small eternity before she’d wiped her eyes and looked at him earnestly. 

“You don't have to make me any promises. I care about you, Arthur, and that’s not conditional. That being said, I'm really, really hoping that you don't go off in search of drugs while you're here, but...if you need them, then...okay. Yusuf and I are still friends even if…Just say the word and I'll get it for you. Whatever you need until you are ready to quit. Okay? Just...please stay. Everybody's so worried about you, Arthur. But you're here now, and you’re safe, and alive, and that's all that matters. We will figure out the rest later.” She'd paused, frowning even as she lowered her voice and asked, “Do you need...something...right now?”

He’d just nodded at the table, fidgeting so much he’d tangled his hands in his shirt, unable to say or do anything else without falling apart hearing her words. 

“Arthur?”

He’d tried to say a simple thank you, but all he could process was David and his constant reminders that Arthur was worthless. “I don't deserve this. Especially not from you. I don't deserve any of this. I shouldn't have come here. You have your life in a good, good place here. I'm so sorry.”

“No, no, no. Why not?”

“Because…” He’d opened his mouth, ready to read off a mental list but with her rubbing his hands, even while holding them tightly to stop him from leaving, he couldn't seem to find one. He sat back in silence, staring at his hands in his lap.

+

[crimsonxserpent]

( Katie McGrath, 34, cisfemale, she/her ) Was that DIANA SINCLAIR ? I heard a rumor they work for the O’SHEA family, but who knows for sure ? they can be a bit VINDICTIVE  &  HEDONISTIC, but I also heard they can be CARING & PRAGMATIC. you’ll usually find them at SKYFALL in their spare time, when they’re not being a GENERAL. you may want to keep an eye on that one !

hi it is i, claire again (she/her, GMT+2) i present to you the second of my bbies, the myth, the legend, a bitch by the name Diana Sinclair (shh that’s not her real name). anyway she’s an old kid of mine that I’ve had for 5 years so i have a lot of thoughts on her, and if you want me to throw her at you leave a  ❤ (i love her so much but i promise i’ll contain myself) 

pinterest page STATS: ➤  NAME: Diana Odette Sinclair ➤  REAL NAME: Anastasiya Spasskaya ➤  AGE: 34 ➤  DOB: 3rd of January ➤  BORN: Sankt Petersburg, Russia Paris, France ➤  HEIGHT: 5′5′’ ➤  SIBLINGS: a twin brother (Evgeny Spassky)  ➤  MBTI: ENTJ ➤  ORIENTATION: bisexual ➤  OCCUPATION: art thief/forger, general for the O’Shea ➤  EDUCATION: bachelor’s degree in fine arts, finance  ➤  TATTOOS: yes, a rose with thorns medially from her hip  ➤  SCARS: yes, various ➤  AESTHETICS: chanel and dior and agent provocateur, goes nowhere without her jimmy choos, blood-red lipstick and nails to match, diamonds are a girl’s best friend, classic aston martin DB5, a gun strapped to her thigh, and knives in various places, sly words and a sharp smile, ‘mon cheri and darling’ thrown in when she’s talking, black sobranie and an old silver lighter ➤  VICES: tobacco, alcohol, sex ➤  PETS: yes, an akhal-teke mare named Duchess and a border collie named Nyx

HISTORY: 

➤  They were called the golden twins, as children so alike each other you could barely tell them apart, and always together, two of them against the world. Born two minutes prior to her brother, Anastasiya Spasskaya was the eldest child, and perhaps it was fated from the moment of her birth, that her life would never be normal. Spoiled to the excess, as the daughter of a Russian mobster masquerading as an oligarch in oil trade, the world Anastasiya was raised in alongside her twin was as far from ‘real’ as one could get. It was all opulence, luxury and extravagance, and yet in its core it was as limiting as a prison cell. Born in this world of violence, from the moment they were conceived, the twins had a target painted squarely on their backs. Two innocents born into the life of savagery, Anastasiya and Evgeny never knew the world outside the violence and opulence that surrounded them, and this was perhaps exactly what eventually made them more savage than the world they were born into.  ➤  Fearful that their enemies might find their children and use them as leverage, the moment a threat was uttered against the twins’ life when they were still infants, Alina and Alexander Spassky bought a deed to an estate near Sochi and rarely allowed them to leave it. A gated mansion only Alexander held keys to, the 97 acre estate held everything imaginable required for human happiness. A place large enough for the twins to get lost in, by accident or by resolve, and daunting enough for them to never want to leave it, it was the only place they ever called home. ➤  Besides, the two were given everything they needed, and more – caretakers, toys, private tutors, chefs, horses and abundance of clothes, everything except motherly love. Cold and distant, Alina was as rotten on the inside as she was fair on the outside – a former Bolshoi ballerina, she never harbored much maternal instinct. But what their mother lacked in fondness, their father made up for every chance he got, spoiling his little angels to no end, especially Anastasiya in whose fire he saw his true heir. Their parents were rarely home however, spending weeks – sometimes months – away in Moscow and Sankt-Petersburg. Devoid of love and in absence of their parents, the twins learned to always rely on each other, and the love they shared was the only love they ever knew.  ➤  Anastasiya was seven when she first witnessed a man being killed. Though such appalling scene might have scarred anyone, by the time Anastasiya was ten, she was completely desensitized to the violence and treachery of her father’s mob that it became simply another aspect of everyday life. Her father had killed, had tortured, had maimed and yet this fact never quite phased her, she would just whisper about it to Evgeny as if it excited her to see their usual routine interrupted by something, even if that something was painted red with blood. They were honed and perfect the way one would prepare a weapon, to one day become the heirs, and it felt like the world was theirs to conquer. ➤  Little did they know than in a matter of a years this illusion would be shattered into a million pieces, and that their inevitable fall from grace was fast approaching. And what a fall it was. It was their mother - their seemingly disinterested mother - who took away the one parent they cared for, committing the betrayal none of them saw coming, and one she would pay for just like Anastasiya promised. It was then that Anastasiya realised she was capable of committing monstrous crimes just to keep her brother safe, to keep them both safe. But would it be enough?  ➤  The answer came soon enough in a form of her brother’s blood, drenching her hands as she knelt beside his lifeless body. While Anastasiya managed to overthrow the apparatus her mother instated after her husband’s untimely death, partly with her own two hands and partly through a loyal apparatus of her own - dangers still lurked in the shadows, too many to keep track of for a 19 year old girl, too many to stop when they decided to kill her brother.  ➤  She left Moscow then - and she hasn’t looked back ever since. There was nothing left there that she cared for, their legacy was nothing without her father and brother. She followed the instructions her father had left her in case the empire fell apart and the two of them had to escape, and she followed them all the way to Paris, a beautiful white house in Trocadéro. A man awaited her there – somehow he knew she was coming long before even she did – a man, she would learn, whose name was a thing of shadows, deep depraved corners of the criminal world. She’d expected him to be a force to be reckoned with in his own right, but she’d never expected him to be so young and handsome and charming. He was barely 26, pulling the strings from the shadows, his presence a perilous, alluring thing - how could she resist, she was enthralled.  ➤  He taught her how you could trade names and secrets instead of weapons and oil, how art was where the money was at, how one could kill for the pleasure of it. She became his protege, his assassin, and finally his wife. It was a turbulent relationship, one could not call it love per se, but a mutual obsession. She was young and fascinated, and he was brilliant and unpredictable. And so was his death.  ➤  She never saw it coming - although in retrospective, she should have. He was unstable, a price one had to pay for the genius he possessed. He’d decided he’d won the game, conquered what he wanted, that a gun to his head was one final, ultimate check mate to his opponents. He never cared about how shattered it would leave her, how empty she would feel without him, how she was losing yet another man she loved. And as she held his body and blood painted the snow red, she decided she had to go - where? She had no idea. What was there left for her to do, but do the one thing she was good at - murder and theft.  ➤  And so she picked Chicago - a city large enough to offer her anonymity, and depraved enough to take her for what she was - a murderess. She had connections there, people both her father and her husband had been involved in - the O’Sheas. They offered her a cornerstone, something to hold on to, something to be loyal to, a purpose - and she would forever be grateful for that. Whatever life she’d once lead was behind her now, lost in the wind of time - there was nothing else to do but look ahead. 

PERSONALITY: 

+  caring, loyal, pragmatic, charming, intelligent -   vindictive, hedonistic, quick-tempered, dramatic, violent

HEADCANONS: 

➤  She drives an Aston Martin DB5 and is absolutely obsessed with it, she loves that car. It was a gift from her father back in the day and she’s kept it in pristine condition all these years. Her fierce attachment comes from the fact it’s one of those rare things that keeps her connected to her father.  ➤  The akhal-teke mare, Duchess, was an anniversary gift from her husband - she got her a few months before he killed himself, and she loves that horse dearly, making sure to visit her whenever she has time.  ➤   She has a fondness for sniper rifles - it’s a clean job and requires peace of mind and precision, something she’d learned back in Paris. It’s sort of a legacy from another time, and her preferred way of killing someone when it’s possible. Her signature shot is a bullet through the carotid artery.  ➤   She was once a girl of faith, but it’s a topic she has mixed feelings on these days - how can she believe in something when her hands are stained red with blood? Still, she likes the peace and quiet of churches, regardless which faith they belong to, and they offer her shelter and solace when she needs it.  ➤  She’s not as bad as she might appear. Though she can be cruel and heartless and her words seem sharp and aloof - she’s a deeply human creature. There’s a sense of morality about her that she abides by, it’s a way to make peace with everything she’s done in her life. She’s capable of love and fiercely loyal to those she cares about.  ➤  She actually always wanted to be a mom, to do a better job than her mother did, but she realizes it’s not a possibility considering her line of work and the life she lives. One of the more heartbreaking moments in her life was realizing her husband wanted nothing to do with children, and it was absolutely out of question.  ➤   She has an addictive personality and seems to gravitate to all things bad for her, it explains a lot about her marriage and generally life.  ➤   She actually fell in love with another assassin that worked for her husband back in Paris, probably because he was more like her than her husband was, more human and real. But unbeknownst to her, her husband had him killed and covered up so to this day she blames herself for his death, thinking she should’ve been there to have his back because they were partners in the field. Little does she know there’s nothing she could’ve done if her husband wanted him gone.  ➤  She likes dealing art in the black market when she’s not out there killing people. It’s an appreciation her father had instilled in her when she was a child, and later on something her husband showed her could be a job. She’s been involved in both art theft and forgery of paintings since painting is something she’s been skilled at since she was a kid.  ➤  She keeps her true identity a secret, partly because she doesn’t want anyone coming after her, but mostly because it’s a painful chapter of her life that she prefers to forget. She considers her pain and humanity a great weakness and is very careful about who she lets in on it.  ➤   She’s fiercely protective of people in her gang, even if she doesn’t get along with them - doesn’t matter, they’re a family and you have to have have family’s back. But if she’s on really good terms with you, you’ll see a softer side to her, there’s a lot of maternal instinct in there and she tends to care a lot (if and when she allows herself that)  ➤   She speaks Russian, French and English fluently but for the sake of appearing genuine she dons a faint French accent and throws in a ‘mon cheri’ here and there for good measure. She speaks English just fine though, bitch’s just acting and being extraTM.  ➤   Also very flirty and can be domineering, I mean what did you expect hahaha

Also connections! i’m going to post a wanted connections page soon but feel free to contact me anyway, like she needs it all from proteges, to friends, to enemies, to fwb just ALL of it, she’s a wild woman