#malcolm is leaning further back in each frame

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.4 | Bradley Bradshaw

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In the middle of nowhere with no power, the world you knew back home feels further away than ever.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out.

…

“Mm, che pioverá.” Teodora had sighed, early that morning, while sitting at the breakfast table with Bradley and Pasquale, her son, and her daughter-in-law surrounding her. The three of them had paused eating to look up at the beaming sun, the still trees and the cloudless sky.

Sweat was already beading at the back of Bradley’s neck as he chewed at a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Sandro had brushed her off with a simple shake of his head and an affectionate eye roll. Bradley had flashed an amused smile between the two of them and swallowed down his bite. Pasquale had hummed a thoughtful, but not necessarily agreeing sound.

The three of them already had plans for the day to drive out and take a look at the spinitrae at the university an hour away, after Bradley’s morning run, Pasquale’s phone call home and Sandro’s morning swim.

As usual around here, Teodora was right.

You’re woken by the first rumble of thunder. Face down, your arms wrapped securely around the pillow, Bradley’s blue shirt wrapped securely around your body. Only thirty minutes after the two of them had so briskly dismissed the old woman’s claims.

Already since then, the landscape has transformed. The skies are thick with dark clouds and the wind whips at the trees, knocking fruit to the ground with ease.

With Bradley supposedly gone for the day, you had figured that things around here would be a bit of a free for all. Zoe had suggested digging through the Gabris’ VHS collection in search of a movie in English while you go through pages of Ovid. Nothing to get up particularly early for.

The thunder makes you lift your head and frown a bit. It’s not like you have been really keeping up with the weather forecast, but yesterday’s clear skies hadn’t exactly alerted you to an oncoming storm. It’s barely rained at all since you got here.

Stretching your legs across cool sheets, you sigh and roll onto your back. It’s not cold, per se, but once you’ve strayed from the warmth of your sleeping position your skin starts to prickle with chill.

Your engagement ring stares back at you from its discarded spot on the dresser by the window. This place isn’t like a hotel, Malcolm wouldn’t have a clue which numbers to punch to reach you all the way out here. He wouldn’t even know which province you’re in. You might as well be on a different planet.

It kind of feels like you are.

The point of closing the window is what drives you out of bed first of all. You pad along the floor and turn to the window, all blackened skies and pouring rain for miles around.

Then, a figure by the trees catches your eye. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, that defined line running down the middle of his chest — you recognise him right away.

Bradley is soaked from the rain, wearing a pair of blue running shorts. Caught in the middle of the downpour, he jogs back along the path as rain beats down his back.

Your fingertips push back the edge of the curtain as your shoulder leans up against the window frame. The Gabris estate really is beautiful, miles of stretching, rolling fields and hills with dustings of green forests at its edge..

Those blue shorts sit low on his waist and they’re still exposing so much of his long, muscled legs. His chest is wet, and that cross necklace of his bounces against his collarbones with each footfall.

Maybe he feels the eyes on him, or maybe he catches you in his peripheral — either way, his gaze flickers up to the window and he catches sight of you. Catches you smiling at him.

Through the rain-splattered window pane, he spots his shirt wrapped around your shoulders, just a few of the buttons fastened. Your skin peeking through the gaps between the open buttons. Even with his run cut short, his mouth grows dry all of a sudden.

He lifts a soaked palm and cards it through his hair as he slows to a stop, attempting to tame his drenched curls. From outside, it’s hard to really tell what he’s thinking when he looks at you, especially under the cover of the rain.

You lift your hand from your side and wave your fingers at him.

The rest of the group might be up, they might not. Not a single one of them would know yet that Bradley’s trip to the university has been canceled, they wouldn’t be looking for him. Not in your room, especially.

He stands there for a second and lets himself fall into the fantasy. Walking up those stairs and clicking that heavy wooden door shut behind him. Working open the buttons on that shirt, coming to realize that you aren’t wearing anything under it.

You’re driving him crazy, and he savors every second of it. He can’t stand and stare for too long, he can already feel all of his attention rushing south. He swallows. Then, he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and blinks the rain from his eyes, shaking his head.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and tug at it and shit— that really doesn’t help his problem at all. His mouth ghosts at a smile as he reminds himself to move.

His attention is back on the path ahead as he resumes his jog back to the house. Thunder rumbles in the air.

You’re free to resume your staring. You wonder if he’s even wearing underwear under those tiny shorts— doesn’t look like it.

The thought makes your cheeks hot. His perpetually warm hands soothing your chilled thighs, brushing so coolly under the cotton of his shirt, reclaiming it as he unfastens the buttons, and your mouth on his chest, the salt from his skin— his shoes on the stairs snap you out of it.

The villa is old and the stairs creak at every opportunity. He’s skipping steps, his long strides make that easy and you hear him pause at the top. His room is to the right. Yours is just a bit to the left. You swallow, holding your breath to listen out.

His footsteps fall to the right. One, two, three steps and you hear his door open and close. A dejected sigh pushes past your lips as you lean back into the wall.

He’s wet, and probably sweaty from his run. He always showers before everyone else, too. Your towel is hanging on the hook behind the door. You cross the room briskly and grab it on the way out, crossing into the hallway as he steps back out of his room, also holding his towel.

You’re two steps closer to the bathroom than he is. His eyes flicker down to your bare legs, then at his shirt hanging partially open across your chest. Finally, he meets your gaze and smiles a bit.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” You copy back, turning on your heel and crossing the hall to the bathroom. He watches your hand settle on the door knob. He catches the purposeful way you glance back at him over your shoulder, and catches on.

He thought about going into your room. He really did. With everything you have learned in the past few days, he has been trying to give you space — he figured the last thing you would want would be him getting handsy.

With the way you’re looking at him now, he’s not so sure.

He checks the hallway. Still empty. With Sandro out swimming, Pasquale yapping away in the kitchen, and Dorie painting out in the sun room, it’s like you’re alone.

He starts towards you, slowly.

“I like your shirt.”

You glance downward. This was bold. It wasn’t exactly well thought-out, rushing into the hallway barely dressed. He’s still barely dressed. His hair and his skin are still wet from the rain. He still looks warm.

“Thanks.” You answer him softly, as he comes to stand before you. He reaches out and finds your skin with his fingertips, gently stroking a pattern against your thigh.

“You about to shower?” Bradley asks you, close enough that his stomach is just about brushing yours. Your mouth is dry, and you forgot to close the window when you got out of bed. You shiver. Finally, when you remember you’ve been asked a question, you nod at him.

He hums, “Weird. Me too.”

Your eyes widen, somewhere between shock and excitement. Then, there’s a sudden cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. It’s like a physical force pushing you back. Your mother, maybe, trying to push you in the right direction from across the Atlantic.

He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, or more pressingly, what’s gotten into you. He had given you his shirt as a kind gesture, and here you are, using it against him in such a cruel, cruel way.

As his mind crosses over into the territory of saying fuck it and suggesting that he take you right here in the hallway, your gaze meets his firmly and your fingers twist the doorknob.

He swallows, feeling the nylon of his shorts grow tighter at the semblance of an invitation. The bathroom door creeps open, and you glance towards it.

He shouldn’t. Your head is all over the place. Keeping his hands to himself is the right move.

“Ladies first, I’ll wait.” He tells you, shooting you a quick wink.

That’s a no. It’s a kind way of saying no, but it’s a no nonetheless. He doesn’t want to. A quick glance downward proves to you that he's half hard in those running shorts.

“No need.” You whisper, hoping to god that was the right thing to say. The two of you can’t possibly keep whispering out in the hallway, half dressed like this. He doesn’t answer, he just blinks at you.

You swallow a breath and hold it, stepping past him and into the bathroom. The door remains loudly open behind you, like it’s a car-alarm going off right in Bradley’s ear, actually.

He inhales and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. The alarm stops.

“Stop. Look at me,” Somehow now, he feels the need to be quieter than before, and not just because this old bathroom echoes. You fidget, bare feet on cold tile as you stand before him. His brows knit together a bit. “Are you sure about this?”

You purse your lips for a moment and look down at yourself. Honesty is the best policy. You just have to figure out why you’re here yourself.

“It’s just showering.” You say it confidently, like you aren’t even trying to convince yourself. It surprises him. “Doesn’t have to be… sexual. It’s just two people in the shower. Together.”

“Right. Naked.” He reminds you.

“Right.” You copy back, hoping you sound more certain than you feel.

“And you’re cool with that?” He checks. The way he raises his eyebrows tells you that he expects you not to be. In the same breath, you catch the way his eyes flicker to the shower head behind the two of you.

You, him. Naked. You have toed that line before. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t bad at all actually, it was incredible.

“Yeah.” Your sudden why-wouldn’t-it-be attitude has Bradley prickling with suspicion about your motives this morning, and the morality in being in here with you when he’s certain that your head isn’t quite clear about what happened with your fiancé.

But, he reaches to his right, and bolts the lock across the door. His eyes study your face, and his fingers linger for a moment against the brass. Upholding your unspoken role in this, you twist away from him and turn on the water.

So, we’re doing this. Bradley holds onto that breath, not quite ready to let the thought pass or the exhale follow, as he drops his towel to rest against the sink basin.

You’re bent at the waist, calculating the measure of hot and cold water between the two taps, and Bradley is met with an unobstructed view of your legs. In the vein of following your impulses this morning, he considers sinking to his knees and letting his mouth greet them — but he doesn’t. He half considers tucking his hands behind his back just to remove the temptation at all.

He thinks back to that movie he saw last November, with Anthony Michael Hall and the other kids. In particular, the shower scene where too inept teenage boys stand awkwardly in the back of a shower cubicle, not knowing what to do with their hands, while a beautiful woman showers in front of them.

And then you turn to look at him again.

“You first.”

“Me…? — right,” Clothes. You’re talking about clothes. With his running shoes, he probably has more articles of clothing on than you do. Depends if you’re wearing underwear, he guesses. He isn’t. He kicks off the shoes and goes for his socks next, warm condensation starts to permeate the space between the two of you. Strange, this room feels awfully cramped already, he doesn’t know where the steam finds the space to join. “You just going to stand and watch?”

With his socks gone, he only has one article of clothing left. He hooks a thumb into the waistband of those blue nylon shorts and pushes just an inch, revealing a soft tan line and a sharp V following the shape of his hip.

Stiffly, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. His pulse quickens, watching you watch him.

“Can I?” Bradley asks finally, rushing it out at once. He gestures to the one button left fastened, sitting above your navel.

If this was anyone else, Bradley would probably already be in the shower by now. This pace is unfamiliar, and foreign for him. He’s not quite sure where to tread.

You give him a little nod.

He takes one step forwards and pinches the button between his index and thumb, popping it open as his other hand fits securely against the small of your back and pushes you into him. There’s a second of observation as your bare stomach comes flush against his, where his eyes won’t leave your face for fear of missing some kind of a sign.

Being undressed by him as steam clouds the room, him doing absolutely nothing to hide the darkened look in his eyes. You weren’t fooling anyone by pretending that this could have been something innocent. You might as well accept it for what it is.

As his fingers dip under the material covering each of your shoulders and guide it back, off of your arms, you stretch up and kiss his mouth softly. Experimentally. He shuts his eyes and waits. Your second kiss is firmer, and your fingers reach for the nape of his neck.

He follows suit, relieved finally that he has some kind of sign about how you’re feeling about this. His hand hugs the nape of your neck, his nose bumping your cheek, his tongue swiping across your lip.

‘I like you, you know?’ Your words from yesterday afternoon have been playing in his mind all night. He’s an idiot for not saying more, he just hadn’t wanted to push his luck.

“Come on, we can’t be in here all morning.” He remembers, against your mouth.

“Right.” You sigh, eyes closed as you lean in for another kiss.

With your back to him, you drop your underwear to the ground with his shirt as he steps out of his shorts. You step into the tub first, falling under the safety of the warm spray. He steps in behind you, his fingers finding your waist.

You’re naked. Completely naked, and so is he. With your back to him, he can’t really see you, and you’ve no way of seeing him. The thought of turning around makes your chest feel tight.

He hasn’t ever had to feel so calculated about this before. Is he an appropriate distance away? — well, nothing about this is appropriate, but is he making it worse? — Are you waiting for him to make a move or do you want him to keep his hands to himself?

“I thought you were going to the university today.” You say to the wall of tile in front of you.

“Yeah. Weather took a turn, the road through town floods when it rains like this, apparently.” Bradley answers you.

The only parts of him that are touching you are his fingers. Experimentally, you lean your head back and as expected, it falls to rest against his shoulder. It just looks like you’re rinsing your hair.

His fingers stray from your hip and unfurl across your bare stomach, as he drops his head to press a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. That’s safe enough.

Heart racing, you lift your arms and pull your hair back, saturating it under the stream of water. As you stretch up to do so, your back curves away from him and your ass grazes his thigh.

He swallows thickly. Looking down, he knows you feel the way his half-hard package is pressing into the back of your hip. He turns his face toward your neck, kissing softly.

In a last ditch effort to regulate your breathing before he offers you a nebulizer, you screw your eyes shut. In the dark, you feel his heartbeat against your back, his warm fingers smoothing along your middle, his lips on your throat, and his erection behind you.

“God.”

His mouth stills against your neck. The tickle of his mustache alerts you to the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You alright?” He’s referring to the way you had audibly whimpered inches from his ear, in this extremely tight enclosed space, of course.

“Mhm.” You squeak.

He nuzzles the tip of his nose against the crook of your jaw. “You’re shaking.”

You swallow. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not.” He reminds you.

Screwing your eyes shut once again, you “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, he tucks two fingers around the hair at the nape of your neck and guides it away from your shoulders. With your eyes closed, you feel his breath on your neck first. It’s cooler than the steam from the shower and it hits exactly the right spot between your collar and jaw to make you shiver.

He takes hold of your bicep and turns you steadily towards him, biting at his lip as he finds you just opening your eyes. He knows that if you look too long, you’ll panic. He presses swiftly forwards, his bare chest flush against yours as his open mouth closes around your pulse point.

Mm. The sound slips from your mouth before he is even done with the first kiss, while his fingers are still stretching around your hip and while his tongue is just softly greeting your warm skin.

For a man who, less than three days ago, was adamantly telling you in the streets of Florence that sleeping together would be a bad idea, Bradley sure does seem to be okay with all of this.

He’s okay with it. Too comfortable with it, really. He’s still holding back. If he wasn’t, he would flatten his palm against your ass and pull you against him, and let you feel exactly how comfortable with it he really is.

Instead, he focuses his attention on his mouth. Flowing opposite to the droplets of water, he sucks softly at the tender skin, trailing towards your jaw.

Each time his lips close around a new inch of skin, there’s an urging ebb that prods at you like electricity, buzzing within you and leaving you powerless. His frame towers before you; you know he would catch you if your knees actually did give out but you’d rather die than live through the embarrassment.

Like he shares the same sentiment of keeping you on your feet, Bradley’s hands flex around your waist, curling tighter around your soft skin. He pulls back, sweeping a hand through his wet curls as he studies your face.

He’s getting better at this, reading you.

His eyes break away from yours, and his gaze slips downwards. He’s dead quiet, drinking you in, studying your naked body.

The water droplets seem to have it all figured out. Spilling over your shoulders, flowing along the valley between your breasts. His gaze lingers there for more than just a few droplets.

Each one of your shaking breaths disrupts the pattern in a new way, rise and fall, spill and flow. Water beads across the soft flesh, flowing right past the warmed, softened, flushed skin of your nipples.

Maybe that water doesn’t have it all figured out after all — Bradley thinks there’s no way he could pass that by so freely.

Then, he watches where the droplets spill to once they pass your breasts by. They surge across your soft stomach, spilling across your abdomen, dripping into the navel and tracing the dulcet curve of your hips.

He hasn’t ever had you like this. Unobstructed, unwavering — all-encompassing. There could be a flood outside and he wouldn’t care. He knows he should be grateful for this, alone, and he is, it’s enough, you’re more than enough, but there’s a greed growing in him that wants more.

He wants to inhale the fresh, soapy smell of your skin. Taste the remnants of yourself on your skin, before it’s scrubbed clean. Feel you melt into him. His gaze flickers back up to yours like a drumbeat.

It makes you stiffen, the sudden look in his eyes. All red-blooded, lust-driven, filthy thoughts pooling into the soft browns of his irises.

Before he loses the nerve, or before you do, he tips your chin back swiftly and kisses you hard enough that the two of you fall into the cold tiles behind you.

Sturdy, centuries old structure behind your back and even sturdier, warm weight against your front, you’re pinned at an angle and your feet feel like they’re slipping but you’re smart enough to know that falling isn’t an option.

A deep and desperate sound falls from his lips as he pulls back, his forehead knocking into yours. Your mouth hangs open, your eyes wide, like you know just what Bradley’s thinking when he looks at it.

He squeezes at your body, leaning forwards and letting his mouth cover yours. You’re just about growing comfortable with it, with his nose bumping your cheek and his broad shoulders, his weight pinning you to the wall. Then, his hand skims along the centre of your back and without warning, squeezes firmly around the flesh of your ass.

It’s not that it feels bad. In fact, there’s something that makes you want to keen into the rough touch that you don’t quite understand. But all of a sudden, it clicks that you’re pinned between him and the wall, and his weight is a heavy anchor, his hands are everywhere and his mouth is hot.

He feels your fingernails press weakly into his bicep.

“Stop.” you tell him quietly. Really, you aren’t even sure if he would hear you. Maybe Malcolm hadn’t heard you, if you had asked him to stop.

He pulls back swiftly and looks down at you, both hands planting safely on your hips. He’s watching you carefully, but he doesn’t have to search hard go find what he’s looking for.

“Yeah?” He says softly, nodding.

It’s an instant thing, the way you shrink back into the wall behind you and duck your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he swallows and gives a shake of his head. He got carried away, that’s all. “You’re right. We should hurry up.”

And just like that, it’s not about sex. The fear in your eyes fades to recognition, and Bradley leans forwards and presses his lips to your forehead.

The two of you finish your shower in strictly platonic nature. One by one, you duck out of the bathroom and leave behind any evidence of your morning together, to get ready for the day.

Trees bow under the weight of the fat raindrops as the rumble of thunder grows closer. The villa groans and creaks, shutters rattling and slamming. The power gets knocked out a little after two, leaving very little for anyone in the house to do.

Bodies are strewn lazily around the living room everywhere you look. Luke’s taking up the majority of the couch, his raven-coloured hair tucked back under a Jets cap and a book balanced against his sternum, a concentrated frown plastered across his face.

Bradley got the good spot, tucked halfway into the reading desk in the far right corner of the room. His face is illuminated by a cluster of flickering candles, sitting amongst his piles of papers. Alessandro sits beside him, the two of them have been talking away for hours now. Their conversation is muted for the benefit of others, but you can hear the occasional Italian cuss word from your spot on the floor.

“Do you think they used to jerk it to these pictures?” Zoe whispers. You glance up at her, then across at Abigail.

She grins, lifting up the book and turning it onto its side, displaying a printed artwork like a centerfold. “See? Like an ancient playboy? — Miss June, and Miss July.”

Bradley looks up as the three of you giggle for the third time in ten minutes. It doesn’t take him long, when looking at the way Zoe is pointing out the spread legs of a woman riding a man, to notice the comparison she’s making to modern pornography.

He’s used to it by now, his students pointing at tits in the books and giggling to themselves. If she was doing her work, she would be reading about exactly what made the mulier equitans so popular in Roman art.

You’re laying on your front, looking up from the pages of your notes, with a soft grin toying at your lips. None of them know how you started your morning.

Today, Bradley is studying a passage from Ovid’s Art of Love, depicting various forms of copulation and the cultural attitude to them at that time. Sexual variety fascinated the masses back then. Paintings in homes, carved into architecture, spinitrae tokens in Pompeii.

Astrology and its links to sexual preferences. An intriguing read, really.

“Man, this is a wicked storm.” Robin glances over her shoulder at the mass of bodies lazing around the living room, then back out of the window at the sheets of rain pouring onto the fields beyond.

“This is wicked boring.” Luke says from his spot on the couch. As one of Bradley’s best teaching assistants, this work comes much more easily to him than it would to most. He could finish it in thirty minutes if he wanted to.

“Hey, Bradley—“

“No.” Bradley says swiftly.

Luke’s mouth stretches into a little-brotherly kind of annoying grin as he tucks an arm behind his head. “Come on. We’re bored.”

“Sounds wicked tough, dude.” Bradley answers, looking back down to the book, mocking his student so coolly. Luke has always found an older brother in Bradley, so the taunting just makes his grin stretch wild.

From your spot on the ground, you find yourself smiling at the pages at Bradley’s joke.

“Can you teach me how to do that card trick where it’s upside down in the deck?” Luke persists. You didn’t know that Bradley knew any card tricks.

“No.” He answers bluntly, but in the kind of way that shows he’s clearly still getting some kind of enjoyment out of this rapport with Luke.

“Bradley, did you ever tell anyone else that you took piano lessons for like twelve years?” Luke asks, shooting a pointed look at the baby grand in the corner of the room.

Bradley looks up at him, and your mouth twitches. A red flush starts at his ears and spreads across his temples, onto his cheeks and down his neck. You’ve never seen a grown man blush like that.

“Don’t go there, buddy.” Bradley warns him, knowing equally embarrassing facts about Luke and starting to categorize them in his mind.

“Did you really, Bradley?” Abigail asks.

He glances at her, then makes a point of trying to focus on his work once again. Big, boyish Bradley, delicately tapping away at the keys of a piano is difficult to imagine.

“He sings too.” Luke declares.

“Luke.” Bradley warns, not looking up this time, flushed pink.

You’ve never seen Bradley be quite this shy about anything. He frowns at the pages of his book, oh, so serious.

“C’mon. One song and I’ll leave you alone. We’re bored.” For once, you’re on Luke’s side. Not that you would voice that.

The wind whips the side of the house and the shutters rattle in support of Luke’s campaign. Bradley starts to scribble down nonsense annotations in the effort of getting at least something done.

“Go find a puzzle or something.” He mutters.

“Aw, come on, Bradley, please?” Zoe joins in.

“Just one song.” Robin adds.

Bradley looks up, and finds you. Caught smiling at him from the carpet, clearly amused by the entire situation. You stare back at him, unwavering and expectant.

With a dejected exhale, he looks down at his watch. “One. And then none of you are allowed to speak to me until at least 4pm.”

You know that he would make an exception to that rule for you. There’s no planned alone time for the two of you this afternoon, since he was supposed to be out. Maybe he’s as disappointed about that as you are.

“Play something we know this time.” Luke interjects as Bradley crosses the room to the piano. Last time, Bradley sang a track from the 50s and Luke didn’t have a clue what the hell it was.

Bradley untucks the bench from the piano, and sits down. His back is straight as he removes the cover and settles his fingers onto the keys. “Uh-huh, like what?”

“What, you’re thirty-three and you don’t listen to the radio anymore?” Luke scoffs.

Bradley closes his eyes for a second and tries to think of a song that he knows how to play from this decade. He doesn’t play too much these days.

The room is quiet, even the rain seems to have quieted in anticipation for his performance.

He shoots one more pointed look toward Luke, and then presses his fingers into the keys. You settle your chin against your palm as he taps out the opening chords of I guess that’s why they call it the blues.

Just like everything he does, he makes it seem effortless, fluidly playing the melody. And then he starts to sing.

You watch him across the darkened room. The candlelight flickers on his face as lightning strikes outside. Don’t wish it away, don’t look at it like it’s forever.

His fingers press gently into the keys, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Alessandro sits back in his chair and smiles softly, knowing how much easier Bradley would have been convinced to perform all those years ago.

His voice is deeper than you would have expected, but soft as he finishes the first verse. God, he’s handsome.

It couldn’t possibly have taken longer than four and a half minutes for him to get through the song, but it feels like you watch him play all afternoon. Broad-shouldered, serious, still flushed-pink even once he has stopped singing. He turns sheepishly to face the room.

“Encore!” Luke whoops before anyone else gets a chance to say a word. Bradley groans, pushing himself up from the chair swiftly and rolling his eyes.

“Bite me.”

Zoe whips around to face you, clearly not as captivated by the performance as you had been. “Bradley’s kinda hot when he sings.”

Your mouth flattens, purely because it occurs to you suddenly that it wouldn’t be appropriate to smile. If she thinks he’s hot when he’s singing, she would be captivated by what you had gotten to see in the shower this morning.

The afternoon workload grows tiresome quickly, and Bradley watches his students filter out of the living room one by one. You disappear with Zoe and Abigail trailing in tow a little after three.

Alessandro’s wife serves a family style dinner, since the house is full and it’s still too rainy for anyone to have other plans. Bradley sits at the far end with Sandro and Dorie, all of them talking in politely hushed tones. You are at the opposite end, finding yourself missing those private dinners the two of you had gotten to share in the city.

After dinner, Bradley knows that his room upstairs is likely to be occupied after seeing Robin’s hand wandering across Luke’s board shorts at dinner. He disappears into the study to finish up with his work, and you call it an early night.

Well, you try to. After rereading the same three pages of Sarah Keene’s Air of Enchantment six times, you give up and head back for the stairs. The house is quiet and empty feeling. Without power, you guess there isn’t a lot to do around here.

You trail your fingers along the wallpaper, rounding the entryway into the now empty living room. The bench of the piano is still untucked from where Bradley had sat earlier. You let yourself be drawn towards it, taking a seat and brushing your fingers along the keys. Dust under your fingertips, candlesticks burning around the room — you figure that Sandro or his wife must be around somewhere if there are still candles lit.

There’s no sneaking around in a house like this. The handle clicks, and the wood creaks loudly from a room away. Bradley’s weight passes across noisy floorboards, growing closer.

He was hoping to see you, trying to convince himself to stay away from your room. His lips twitch. His eyes flicker over the grey track shorts and the Nicks jersey you’re wearing, casual and comfy, with your hair down. He likes it.

“Hey.” He says softly.

“Hey.” You answer, watching him. Maybe someday you’ll talk him out of wearing those t-shirts that are too sizes too big for him, but today’s not that day. It hangs on his broad frame as he walks towards you.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, squeezing your shoulder with a warm palm.

“Here.” You realize suddenly, shifting over as far as you can on the bench to make room for him. He glances down, knowing he won’t fit, and decides to perch half off of the bench anyways.

At your side, Bradley considers bringing up this morning. It’s been itching at him all day to know what about his behavior in the shower had been too much. He’s been wishing he was a mind reader, really. He would love to figure out exactly what he can do to make you relax.

“I didn’t know you played piano.” You tell him, watching your fingers ghost over the keys.

“I don’t, so much anymore.” He answers.

“I liked hearing you play.” You say.

He turns his head, smoothing his fingers along the length of your spine. Maybe he won’t hit Luke for revealing his secret after all.

Luke wants to do what Bradley does, and Bradley is only nine years older than he is — they had grown close quickly when Luke has first started TA’ing for him. Luke knows plenty about Bradley, and Bradley knows plenty about Luke. He hopes the two of you never get to making small talk, really.

“Will you play it again?”

He blinks, broken from his train of thought, and finding you looking at him now. Bradley looks between the piano and your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

”The same thing?” Bradley asks, displaying that awful habit he’s got of leaning one of those thick shoulders into you, crowding your space and grounding you with his presence. His thumb brushes tenderly over the tip of your nose, then across the bow of your top lip as he tips his head to one side. “You don’t want to hear anything else?”

You purse your lips in thought, then shake your head. The way your lips twist and hint at a smile just drives him crazy. Like he really has to work for the full thing. You shrug your shoulders at him. “Can’t a girl want a private rendition?”

He taps his thumb against your chin, his fingers stretching along the underside of your jaw. He doesn’t make you work for the smile that he gives you. Really, he would have to fight to keep it off of his face. “Fine.”

The tip of his tongue dips from between his lips to wet them, then he sighs softly and straightens into proper posture and turns his attention towards the keys. Your arm loops under his, your head settles to rest against his shoulder. He likes that feeling.

Wind whips rain against the shutters. The older ones creak and bang in complaint, unprepared for such miserable weather. Bradley’s fingers tap fluidly at the keys. Your fingertips trail the vein in his forearm up to the cuff of his rolled shirt sleeve.

He sings quieter than before. After all, this performance is just for you now. His voice is softer, if it wasn’t so effortlessly melodic, it would be like he’s reading to you. He doesn’t have to, there’s no sheet music in front of him and he knows which keys he’s reaching for, but his gaze remains solely on the piano. He can feel you looking at him.

From where your head is resting against his shoulder, you’re peering up at him with your obstructed view of his face. Your touch tickles against his forearm, your fingertips grazing the strap of his wristwatch with each trip.

As the first verse ends and the pace of the song builds into the chorus, Bradley winkles his nose slightly in concentration. Your lips twitch. The shutters bang against the old house. He turns his head and catches your gaze; you pull back so that he can really see you.

And I guess that’s why they call it the blues;

time on my hands could be time spent with you.

Laughing like children, living like lovers, rolling like thunder, under the covers.

And by the time he gets the words out, he’s smiling again. Not because of the absurdity of him performing Elton John for the second time in one evening, or because this is far from what he would have chosen to sing you, but because of the way you’re watching him.

Like you’re watching him play Sonata No. 14.

Long before Elton John first graced the US charts, Bradley would be sent over to his grandmother’s neighbor’s house every Thursday for two hours while the adults were at work. There, he sat at the piano and seethed to the pace of the metronome while a miserable seventy year old war vet scolded his posture. He hated playing piano back then.

It’s not so bad anymore.

And that miserable old man wasn’t really a bad teacher. Maybe Bradley was just a bad student.

Just stare into space, picture my face in your hands. Live for each second,

He turns his attention back towards the keys like he didn’t have the song memorized by ‘84.

And never forget I’m your man.

Wait on me, girl. Cry in the night if it helps. But more than ever, I simply love you, more than I love life itself.

Your head settles back against the warm muscle of his shoulder. Your fingers dance along the sensitive inseam of his forearm. You close your eyes and the rain grows louder, Bradley’s breaths between the lyrics grow deeper.

This is nice. You let your mind wander, wondering if evenings would always look like this with Bradley, if he would always sing you the same song over and over. On evenings like this, he would kiss the top of your head and tell you he loved you, and you would tell him the same.

It’s not hard to picture.

Your eyes remain closed through the chorus and remaining verses. Just the soft cotton of his shirt against your cheek, the rumble of his singing voice and the rain outside.

He swallows and clears his throat quietly, as he withdraws his hands from the keys.

“What’s your favourite song?” You ask him softly. His hands rest in his lap, his eyes on the painting directly across from him. He takes a moment to think about it.

“Have you ever heard the song Take it To the Limit by The Eagles?” You might not have, he figures that since you probably would have been in school when that album came out, you probably weren’t as big of an Eagles fan as he was.

You shake your head softly. “I don’t think so. What’s it sound like?”

He pulls back, and raises his eyebrows at you. “Is this an elaborate plan to get me to play for you all night?”

Your smile grows bashful, but your eyes remain steadily on him. “I just want to hear how it goes.”

“Well, what’s your favourite song?”

“You know that song from last summer, rhythm of the night?”

Bradley stares back at you. His eyes wrinkle at the edges and his mouth breaks into a grin before the laughter bubbles over and he spills forwards.

“Like El de Barge? Forget about the worries on your mind, da-da-da-duh-da-da?” You’ve never heard Bradley giggling quite like this before, literally tickled pink by your revelation as he jokingly hums out the words.

You’re powerless but to grin back at him. “Uh-huh. What’s wrong with that?”

Alessandro peers into the sitting room as he passes by. He doesn’t take time to stop and stare at the two of you sharing the piano bench, giggling with each other, but now he understands what the other students have all been gossiping about.

“I was expecting Madonna or — Wham, or something.” Bradley manages through his giggles, swiping a hand through his curls, almost gaining composure before bubbling over into laughter again.

“Sure, I like them,” You agree with him, smiling dumbly at the way he leans into you to laugh, “But come on! — You just can’t listen to that song and not feel happy!”

He’s up so close that you could kiss him when he finally gets himself together, still smiling softly back at you. Driven by his amused disbelief, he shakes his head softly. His fingers brush against your knee.

All of a sudden he has this image of you wandering around with that headset covering your ears, and De Barge being the soundtrack you have picked. Scowling at him from the back of the minivan, listening to such an upbeat track.

“You’re a trip.” He tells you.

Your eyes flicker downward, briefly catching on the way his fingers are curled into the skin of your thigh. Not too hard, just kind of holding you close. His own eyes follow suit, and linger on the way your hands sit in your lap. On your still bare ring finger.

When he looks at you this time, he’s thinking of the shower this morning. Your head lulling back onto his shoulder, sighing in pleasure as you just let yourself enjoy the moment. His lips tug at a soft smile.

“So, will you play that song for me? — Your favourite?” You ask. There isn’t a lot of room on the bench so, as you twist to face towards him, your thigh sits across the top of his, halfway into his lap.

Maybe he will end up playing for you all night, after all. He shoots you an amusedly pointed look, then lifts his hands and settles them onto the keys once more.

You grin at him, shifting closer again, settling your cheek against his shoulder.

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666@krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

[drabblesofrapture]

Angel and Ghoul meet the King! (Superhero au)

Hey there kiddos, it’s your ol’ pal Dusty here again with a lil snippet I wrote for our superhero au. The young superheroes Angel (Johnathan) and Ghoul (Takeo) cross paths with one of Rapture’s most notorious supervillains: The King (Malcolm).

CW: some violence and broken bones

Another late night in Rapture. Most people had already gotten home from work, so the usual evening traffic had died down considerably. Still, car horns and the peeling of tires could be heard in the distance, typical for such a city. The lights in most of the small businesses and restaurants were starting to go out as the owners closed up for the night. Even the welcoming neon lights of Glen’s Diner went out. A few lonely souls wandered the streets, some taking refuge within Chugger’s Bar for a long night of drunken shenanigans. All things considered, it was a rather quiet night.

However, quiet or not, justice never takes a night off. Perched on the lonely rooftops were two of Rapture’s new young superheroes; the Dynamic Dude Duo themselves, Angel and Ghoul! Once again the pubescent patrollers were spending the night scouring the unforgiving streets of Rapture looking for crime to fight and people to help. They’ve found themselves in somewhat of a rut though, now entering their second week of seeing no action whatsoever. 

“Shit,” Ghoul breathed as he paced around the roof, his gloved hands furiously rubbing his bare arms. His entire torso was exposed to the elements, save for his waste which was protected by a purple sash wrapped around it . “It’s fuckin cold tonight.”

“You’re the one who thought fighting crime shirtless would be a good idea,” Angel pointed out, not prying his eyes away from the street below. He was crouched on the very edge of the roof, like any typical brooding superhero.

“Whatever man, I still look badass,” Ghoul scoffed in return, puffing his chest out only to shrink back in on himself as a shiver ran down his spine.

Under the mask, Angel rolled his eyes at his poorly prepared pal. He undid the clasp of his capelet and tossed the garment to Ghoul. “Here, take this.”

He caught the capelet and looked down at it for a moment before sheepishly draping it about his bare shoulders. It was a bit tight for his broad frame, but it would do. “Thanks..”

“Just bring a jacket next time.”

Pulling the capelet around himself, Ghoul walked over to Angel and sat down beside him. He let his legs idly dangle back and forth off the ledge of the building. “Think we’ll see anything tonight?”

“I hope not,” Angel said, raising a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “I should be working on that paper for english class; it’s due Tuesday and I haven’t even gotten a start on it yet.”

“Aw c’mon Johnny! Fighting crime is way more important than school!” Ghoul replied, his lips pulling back into a grin to reveal his pointed teeth.

“If heroism starts affecting my grades then my aunt is going to know something is up,” Angel pointed out. “She’s already becoming suspicious of how late I stay out most nights.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly before easing his grip and allowing his hand to slide down the rest of his face. “I swear, between patrolling with you and all the things Evelyn is having me do, this heroism thing is starting to run me ragged.”

Ghoul just gave his friend a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t worry bro, you ain’t doin’ it by yourself; I’m by your side ‘til the end!”

The way the eyes of Angel’s mask squinted slightly gave away the fact that he was smiling. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ghoul smiled and patted Angel’s back once more. “Tell ya what, let’s just stay out for like ten more minutes, and if nothing happens we can go home.”

Not even five seconds after he said that, there came a crash from the alleyway behind the building the two heroes were stationed on. The boys rushed over to the other side of the roof, being careful not to make too much noise themselves. They peeked out over the edge of the roof to see two men in the alleyway, carrying duffle bags into the dry cleaner’s shop through the back door. One of them was holding the door open, and he gave a reproachful look to his counterpart behind him who had accidentally tripped over a metal trash can, tipping it over. After a whispered scolding, both of the men shuffled inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

“Didn’t know the dry cleaner was open this late,” Ghoul whispered.

Angel shook his head. “I don’t think they’re here to get their clothes dry cleaned.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for? Let’s get down there and crack some skulls!”

“Takeo wait-” 

Too late. Ghoul had already jumped down into the alleway. They were two stories up, but with Ghoul’s powers it was nothing. Rolling as he landed, he quickly hopped to his feet and ran towards the door. Angel followed quickly behind him, bringing out his wings and using them to slow his fall. He dashed over to his comrade and pulled him away from the door as he began tugging on the handle.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Angel hissed. “We don’t even have a plan!”

“I have a plan!” Ghoul defended, throwing his hands up. “We go in there and beat the ever-loving shit of every bad guy in there!”

“That’s a terrible plan!” 

Ghoul was already trying to open the door. However, one tug on the handle gave away the fact that the door was locked. With a sigh, Angel lightly pushed his friend to the side and put his hand up against the keyhole of the door. A small black tendril snaked out of his hand and slotted itself into the hole, growing and contorting to fit the necessary space of the key. With a turn of his hand, the lock clicked and Angel gently opened the door. Ghoul was about to go right in, but Angel suddenly blocked his path.

“We’re only going in to observe, understood?” he said, holding a finger up in Ghoul’s face. “We don’t know how many more are in there, we don’t want to get in over our heads.”

“Dude c’mon, will be fiiiine,” Ghoul groaned as he pushed past him.

To their surprise, the place was completely dark and empty. The only thing there was the racks of clothes which looked so eerie in the dark. Upon further inspection, they noticed a light coming from behind the door to the basement. As they approached the door, they also began to hear faint voices coming from within. The boys looked at each other for a moment before softly pushing the door open.

They found themselves staring down a stairwell bathed in the yellow light of incandescent light bulbs. The noises from the basement became more clear as well; people talking, the shuffle of feet, and things being moved around. Angel was about to go down first, his leg extending out and slowly lowering down onto the first step. When he put his weight down into that leg, the step made a loud creak. They both froze. It felt like their hearts had stopped beating for a moment, and they both held their breath as they waited for the henchmen to take notice. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like any of them noticed as the noises downstairs continued. They let out a shared sigh of relief and stepped away from the stairwell.

“I’ll go down, you stay here,” Ghoul explained in a hushed tone.

He approached the stairwell himself and turned around so that his back was facing the stairs, leaning back, he reached his arms out towards the ceiling and stuck his hands to its surface. Once his hands were firmly stuck to the ceiling, he leapt up off the floor and brought his feet up to the ceiling as well, sticking them firmly in place. From there he slowly crawled along the sloped ceiling down the stairwell until he reached the bottom.

The two men from the alleyway were there, as well as a few other assorted henchmen and henchwomen. They were all quickly stuffing money from secret compartments in the wall into the duffle bags they were all carrying. One of the henchmen stood back from the others, frowning and tapping the barrel of his gun against his hip impatiently.

“Hurry it up you guys!” he barked. “The boss will be here any moment and he wants all this shit packed up and ready to go!”

One of the henchmen turned around with a confused look on his face. “By ‘boss’ do you mean the Boss or our boss?”

“Of course I mean our fucking boss! Jesus Christ Gary!”

“Don’t have to shout at me…” Gary murmured as he continued shoving money into his bag. The henchwoman beside him gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Angel watched his companion. The mask hid the concerned expression the boy had on underneath. His hands clutched at the door frame as if it was the only thing keeping him standing. Something was about to go wrong, he could feel it. He could literally feel it, it was one of his powers. A nagging ache at the back of his head. A cold sensation spreading down his back and causing the muscles in his shoulders to tighten. A pit in his stomach that opened wider with each breath. Something bad was about to happen. Something bad was coming.

No, not something bad, someone bad.

A hand suddenly clapped down hard on Angel’s shoulder, and he had to will himself not to let out a yelp. He spun around to face the stranger, and the eyes of his mask grew wide to match the horrified countenance underneath. This was no stranger, he knew who the tall man was from the very moment he laid eyes on the golden crown that sat atop his head. He knew that brilliant emerald green suit, he recognized that intricate masquerade mask and the dead eyes that lay behind it. He had seen it all countless times before on the news, the one thing he knew he would have to face someday when he first donned the title of a superhero. He was standing face to face with one of Rapture’s most powerful supervillains, the King.

The gloved hand on his shoulder quickly moved to his neck, strong fingers squeezing his throat and lifting him off of his feet. The King threw him down the stairwell. His body slammed right into Ghoul and both boys fell in a heap of tangled limbs at the bottom of the stairs. They wasted no time getting back on their feet, backing away from the stairs and into a wall of goons all with handguns trained on them. Both their bodies tensed, locked in fighting stances. The stairs creaked as King slowly made his way down them. 

There he stood, blocking the way to the stairs. His cold glare was locked onto the heroes. He took a step towards them, and then another. They couldn’t help but flinch when he approached. Two boys, kids really, facing off against what was basically to them a demigod. They’d seen the stories on the news, they knew the things he was capable of. What chance did they stand against someone of such great power?

“Leave.” His deep voice resonated throughout the room, sending chills even down the goons’ spines.

“Like Hell we will!” Ghoul growled, finally mustering up the confidence to speak. He took a step towards King, his teeth bared and his fists raised. “We came here to kick crime’s ass, and right now I’m looking at the King of Crime himself!”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” King clarified. His piercing green eyes scanned over his underlings standing behind the heroes. “All of you, leave. I will deal with the heroes myself.”

They all seemed more than eager to follow their bosses rules, all quickly shuffling up the stairs as soon as he finished speaking. The heroes made no attempt to stop them, both locking gazes with the supervillain before them. Once they heard the door upstairs shut, the fight was on.

Ghoul lunged forward with a mighty roar. He took a wild swing at the King who dodged effortlessly out of the way. He threw a jab straight for the villain’s chest, but King avoided it with a simple sidestep. A wild frenzy of punches ensued, all of which the King easily evaded. Ghoul threw a jab for his jaw but found his fist caught in the villain’s hand.

“Your form is sloppy,” King commented. His fingers tightened around Ghoul’s fist, causing him to wince. There was a loud snap and Ghoul howled in pain as the bones in his hand shattered. His face caught the back of King’s other hand and he went flying into the wall, knocked unconscious.

The King then made a lunge at Angel. He barely had enough time to throw up a wing to block a lethal punch for his head. Angel staggered as the fist made contact with his wing, nearly forcing him to his knees. The wing swung outwards to push the villain back. It succeeded, but King was immediately back on the offensive. Angel was stuck on the defensive, constantly blocking a flurry of punches with his wings. When the barrage let up, he opened his wings to let out his own barrage of black projectiles shooting out from their inky depths. King was faster though, dropping down and sweeping Angel’s legs. He was thrown off balance, and King moved at inhuman speed to get back up and slam Angel into the floor. 

“Pathetic,” King spat as he stared down at the defeated hero on the ground who only let out a strangled groan in response. “Killing you two wouldn’t even be worth my time.”

With that, he turned away and began walking to the stairs. Angel wanted to get back up and stop him, but he feared what would become of him if he did. Instead, he lay there in his own loss until King’s footsteps faded away and the door upstairs shut once more. Once he was sure that the villain was gone, he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. His entire body seemed to scream in protest as he did. Now that he was sitting, he then slowly got to his feet and staggered over to his unconscious friend. He scooped Ghoul up with his wings and carefully carried him up the stairs and out of the building.

The King and his goons were all gone by the time they got out. Angel couldn’t help but let out a disappointed sigh. The first action they see in weeks and it turns out to be the most major loss they’ve faced so far in their superhero careers. He gently set his friend down on the concrete before sitting down next to him. He let his face rest in his hands for a moment before letting out another loud sigh.

A groggy moan escaped Ghoul’s lips as he started coming to. An eye fluttered open, and he looked over at his sullen comrade. “Did we win?”

“No,” Angel said bluntly. “We got our asses kicked.”

“Ah fuck..” Ghoul breathed out. He reached out a hand and patted his friend’s knee. “Don’t worry man, we’ll get the fucker next time.”

Angel looked down at the battered Ghoul before staring off into space. “Yeah… next time…”

[llucy-san]

Powerful

CHAPTER 8      A3O

“Objection, Your honour!” Hayley cut short her opponent in his riotous monolog after hoisting herself from her seat.

“The defendant is simply flailing with more unsubstantiated proofs.” She fumbled with perfectly written records while her eyes kept gazing at the judge of the case.

“Unsubstantiated facts?!” Mr Hamilton's attorney, who had long been an admirable counsel, scoffed at young challenger, yet Hayley carried on.

“My client is the rightful owner of both the real estates, the apartment on Hampton Street here in Atlanta and also an old villa in Malibu.” She rounded slowly her desk and proceeded toward the judge.

“I would like to add legally verified certificates regarding possessions proceedings during the marriage where only the claimant is registered as the owner.” Hayley looked over her shoulder but still addressing to the judge, “i.e. Mrs Hamilton.”

Judge Jenkins ran her eyes over the document and nodded. “Mr Murphy, do you have any more questions for Mrs Hamilton?”

“No your honour.” The counsellor replied with his ears down like a dog who was denied his favourite toy.

“And you, counsellor Moore?” Judge summoned once her eyes settled at a young woman who was acting perfectly during the course of the trial.

“Yes, I do your honour.”

“In that case, the witness is all yours.” She fluttered her hand and took a seat and continued watching the act while scripting more of her notes.

A soft smile blossomed on Hayley's lips as she set off, step by step, to the jury sitting on her right-side whilst aiming her questions to her client.

“Mrs Hamilton, do you remember when you bought both of uttered properties?”

Claire smiled cheerfully at the same time as she hoisted her head higher. “YES, I do. It was a few months after we got married. We both agree to leave both residences written in my name because Mason wasn't involved in such things before."

“And did Mr Hamilton bestow any financial part to the estates?” Hayley pushed further, her goal of wiping her opponent in this duel was slowly heading where she wanted.

“No. The only thing Mr Hamilton ever did,” Claire fixated at her future ex-husband, who was sitting hushed in a hot chair next to his public prosecutor, “was him dragging any whores he saw from streets straight into my house!

“Madam appellant!” The judge rumbled. “Weigh your words!”

“My apologise.” Claire cleared her throat and fixed her dress after calming down. “I meant women with whom he took. . .pleasures in my property.”

“Objection!” Mr Mason's lawyer barked. “Mrs Hamilton has no evidence that my client has ever been unfaithful to her.”

Hayley peered at Malcolm, wanting to cut him short for a second time with his pathetic defence, however, Claire couldn't hold her anger any longer.

“I have not?! Oh, I do have. Tons and tons of evidence of my husband's betrayal! And one of those proves is sitting right here in this courtroom!”

The judge instructed Hayley to carry on with her questioning after planting the wrathful lawyer back on his seat and hushing the racket in the courtroom with her judge mallet.

“Mrs Hamilton, has the defendant, Mr Hamilton, ever been involved in the renovation?” Hayley pointed briefly at the said man, sitting in a well-dressed suit. From first glimpse an attractive-looking man but it was easy to read from his eyes the apprehensiveness of each Hayley’s blow. All this time he's been twitching in his seat like a restless child who wants to go out.

All eyes were on the ashen blond woman, placed in the witness chair. A brief hush filled the courtroom as the witness bend forward over the microphone to draw attention to her reply as she sank her eyes into her future ex-husband. “Not even a dollar.”

“Objection,” Malcolm roared as he rose from his hot seat yet again. The pure determination coloured his face, the will power to win this duel at all costs. “Both spouses acquire property during the marriage, regardless of who and how much money they contributed. Maybe counsellor Moore should go back to school and clarify the basics of the law again.”

“Counsellor Moore, where are you going with your question?” The judge pulled her thick-framed glasses to the bridge of her nose, tilting her head to the side.

“My goal is, your honour, to show that Mrs Hamilton's family was the landlord of these properties before she married Mr Hamilton. Thus, the property to which Mr Hamilton claims as a share in the divorce isn't his but still the property of the Mitchell family. The only thing he's entitled to is a car and a few valuables he received as a gift.”

The mutter of various voices voting for and against filled the courtroom resembling a nest full of bees. Judge Jenkin's law mallet, however, silenced the buzz time again. “Silence in the courtroom!” She cried out. “Counsellor Moore, you have some more questions for Mrs Hamilton?”

“Not your honour.”

Judge Jenkins nodded. “I can hereby declare the evidence closed. I ask the jury to announce their final evaluation.”

Everyone in the courtroom rose up whilst the Judge rose from her throne and uttered her final words aloud.

Claire couldn't wipe off her huge smile of her face after the words she'd longed for so long. FREE. She's finally free, and she hasn't lost anything her ex-husband tried so hard to take over. The ashen blond woman thanked Hayley briefly for excellent job, but before she left, she added that if she needed a lawyer in the future, Hayley would be the one she was looking for.

“Congratulations, miss.” Hayley turned toward the cold, ironic voice. “It's not every day you see something like this. . .” The man paused, looking for the right words to define Hayley's performance, staring at his without doubt thousand-dollar shoes before lifting them back into her olive eyes. “You know, a greenhorn like you.”

The brunette smiled gently at the corner of her lips at the lawyer, holding out his hand to her. “I would hardly call it "luck" rather thoroughly processed case but thank you.” She shook her rival's hand gently, gazing into his cold and calculating brown eyes.

“And why do you think I’m. . .” The man didn't even let her finish as he expressed his amusement. “Oh, please sweetheart, I would definitely remember such a pretty face like yours and I've been here a while.” His voice carried undertone that Hayley didn't like with every passing second, his gaze made her trivial, but she tried to hide her discontent behind a veil of self-confidence.

“Anyhow.” The man cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, fixing his elegant, tailored jacket. “You were lucky today, but next time you won't be.” Hayley furrowed at this but the self-assured lawyer carried on with his monolog. “Let's just say the life of a young lawyer in a big city like Atlanta is very. . . difficult to assert themselves. But you.” He took a step closer, his elbow planted on his briefcase on the table and his face cocked closer to hers to emphasize his next words. “Oh, I'm sure John will arrange that for you.” His peppermint breath puffed on her cheeks as his blond hair fell to his eyes. “You know what they say, sometimes everyone needs to let go of steam and occupied themselves with something else.”

“Excuse me?!” Hayley knit her brow. The nerve of him.

But before Malcolm could utter another word, he was interrupted by a voice pleasant to ears as well as a hand on his shoulder pulling the defeated defender back a few steps. Nearly dropping him to the floor.

“All right, mate, that's enough. Leave the lady alone and go about your business.”

Kyle filled the gap between Hayley and Malcolm. Her knight in shining armour was a head taller than Malcolm, and it always raised respect. Not only at school but also outside. No one dared stand up to Kyle Peters because they knew it wouldn't end well for them, not to mention that the Petersons were respected family in Atlanta.

Men of Malcolm Murphy calibre, charismatic, wealthy and thriving may be known in the law community as well as in the Atlanta's elite, but he's certainly not stupid and he knows when to back off. With a quick move, he straightened his jacket o'er, playful smile played on his arrogant lips pretending as if nothing had happened.

“Everything's fine, there's no need to make a fuss, boy. I was just giving advice to this lady; however, I still have places to be.” He reached for his briefcase and straightened up. “Give my regards to John.”

Kyle didn't take his eyes off the man until he disappeared behind the corner of the courtroom. After turning his face to Hayley's, he flashed his boyish smile, a smile that made all the girls buckle to their knees.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Hayley repeated, a tender smile blossomed on her face after their lips met in a chaste kiss. His fingers wrapped around her loose brown lock and brush it behind her ear. “Nicely done, baby boo,” His lips grazed hers in the softest of touches, “you were amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Kyle knit his brow and raised his head a little higher, enveloping her in a strong embrace. “For what?”

Hayley beamed at his behaviour; she leaned forward into his warm embrace to steady herself, her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest while gazing up at his stunning sky like eyes. “Oh, what would I do without my knight in shining armour?” She mused out loud making Kyle chuckled with shake with his head.

“Anytime.” Kyle breathed, kissing Hayley again, practically pulling her into his lap and kissing her hard.

~×~

A city full of hustle and attainment has immersed in night time liberty and entertainment. The clubs glimmered with hues, club music flowed from every corner and the dance floor was teeming with bodies.

“You kidding, right?” Nadia pooh-poohed after finishing off the rest of her champagne - the rest of the champagne bottle to be exact. The same bottle they opened to cheer Hayley's victory. “Did you at least kick his ass?” The redhead stared between her two friends waiting for them to answer her.

Hayley giggled at the rim of her bubbly drink. “No, we didn’t, but-” her lips were pressed together in a tight line to keep from grinning.

“BUZZ-KILL!!” Nadia groaned as she slumped back into her fauteuil and threw her hands in the air, looking down from the VIP salon to the dance floor full of colours and the bodies flocking into one rhythm. The bartenders worked at lightning speed from opening of her bar. One order followed another. The Blue Note is Nadia’s pride and joy. Once she had gotten enough resources, which did not take long, she built her dream bar. The whole bar had industrial look that matched perfectly with the warehouse district. The redhead took another draw of breath into her lungs and peeked at a couple of her longest and best friends, sitting across from her and whispering sweet nonsense like teenage lovebirds. She laid her head in her hand propped against armrest of her easy chair, a gentle smile played on her lips.

“Aren't you two an adorable pair?”

Both Kyle’s and Hayley’s eyes shifted to Nadia, who was watching them with her big smile that didn't bode well, a smile that meant she was up to something, or planning it.

“Okay,” Hayley sighed, ready for what Nadia has to say. “What’s that look for, Nad?”

The redhead grinned like a Cheshire cat as she peeled away from her seat, leaning her hands on her thighs. “I know I’m a strong independent woman, but right now, I could use a little help. I know shocker!” She repositioned in her armchair. “So, I wonder if you could, in that mooshie-gooshie Kyle loving heart,” there was a slight drawl in her voice as she dragged her index finger along the rim of the glass, arrange me meeting with Prince Charming?”

Hayley’s eyes widened and Kyle let out humouring laugh. “A What? Prince Charming?”

“Why?”

Nadia smirked, amused by the way Hayley’s eyes widened at the mention of her boss. “Well. . . You know. . .”

The brunet wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I’m too sober for this.” Hayley leapt from her seat and crossed Kyle's legs. She made a small turn on her heels and set her eyes on her associates. “What else do you want me to bring?”

“Bring something harder, we'll have the night of our lives tonight!” Her best friend yelled over the pulsing music, the alcohol already coursing through her veins, but she still wasn't drunk enough. Hayley nod and leaned over Kyle. She placed her palms flat on his wide shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “AND what should I bring you?” Her lips brushed across his lobe; her hands glided down his chest in an obvious tease.

“I'll have what you're having, Bam-bam.” Kyle leaned closer and pressed his lips against hers in sweet peck on the lips.

“Okay, I'll be right back.” She kissed him again and straightened up. “Just keep an eye on her for me.”

The club was packed. Again. The red top and black tight leather pants that Nadia had borrowed her felt like a poor choice of clothing, however, her wingman/partner in crime promised her that this outfit was essential for tonight. Walking to the direction of the nearest bar was hard work, but after a moment of pushing and shoving through several layers of people, she finally got to the bar and scanned it through an open gap between people’s heads until she found a bartender and made a hand-order on the house. Having a nightclub owner as a friend pays off.

“Busted!!”

Upon hearing the well-known voice, Hayley’s heart skipped a beat the moment she spun her head toward the source. There he stood; her boss, the colourful strobe lighting strikes of club lights were bouncing off his exquisitely carved face as he stood a good six feet before her, a glass of liquor already in hand. This time, however, wasn’t dressed in one of his posh suits but simple Henley shirt, a pair of dark jeans, an expensive-looking leather jacket appearing particularly divine. His chestnut hair, always slicked back, was now falling into his face, the ends were turning into small curls. Her olive eyes hungrily took in the sight of him, feeling the pull in her chest every time she saw this man. AND there it was again. SHOCKER! The longer he was around, the more she had this feeling.

“John.” Hayley breathed. The nostalgia was settling in and she began to feel a lump in her throat that she failed to clear.

"Hey, Miss avoiding me for three days." His velvet voice was smooth as ever and beat over the pulsating music that seemed to be dying into the background. His enticing cologne filled her common sense and her heartbeat a mile a minute.

“What. . .?” She stopped dead; her brain kept spilling nonsense; her mind didn't want to cooperate with her in what way she wanted to. Not to mention the alcohol still running through her system. “No. I wasn't.” She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I wasn't avoiding you.” SHE WAS!!

John arched an amused brow. “Yes you were.” His pearly white teeth showed in one of his charismatic smiles as his eyes gazed over his shoulder. “Darling, I've hardly seen you at the firm these past few days.” He angled his head to one side to make his point. “You've been avoiding me.” He stated.

Hayley blushed, returning to the task at hand. Drinks. Where the hell is that bartender who's got her order?

“I. . .” Hayley couldn't form a single sentence, it’s like this was the only monosyllabic word she could manage. Why does this have to happen around him?

John’s eyes trailed over her; taking in every inch of her person. She could see the hunger clouding his eyes, as he became distracted by the dress she had on.

“I heard about your success today.” Thank God sighed Hayley. Change of the topic. With a gentle nod, she spun back to the bar, where she finally caught sight of the bartender with her drinks. She planted her hands, palms flat on the wooden surface of a bar that was already wet with alcohol and other liquid stuff. Ugh.

“Yeah, it went okay.” She admitted, trying her luck to look him in the eyes but failed, utterly, those eyes and that confident smile are taking her breath away. He's like a hunter who doesn't take his eyes off his prey, and she’s the PREY.

“Claire was over the moon.” John took sip from his drink and turned his whole attention toward Hayley.” Oh, My Lord, Help Me! Hayley mused, taking a lungful breath into her lungs. “She called me as soon as the trial was over and said, and now I quote: “that girl was unstoppable. Everyone in the room was overwhelmed by her performance and even shamed that idiotic lawyer my fucking ex hired.”

Hayley smiled then, her cheeks red, scattered with some kind of dust. A smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“She really said that?” She searched John’s eyes, not realizing how close he was to her. He gave her thoughtful hum before hoisting his drink close to his lips and finished it with a final gulp. The glass banged against the surface of the bar and he straightened.

“Well,” he muttered to himself before seeking for the bartender in the sea of lights, calling him for another round. “Tell me what should I order you. We have to drink your victory somehow, don't we?” Hayley's body tensed at the feeling of his hand rubbing soothingly her back as he whispered his words in her ear.

“I don’t, uh-“ Hayley managed to spill, she wasn’t that much drunk, yet, this was the everything she could string together. It seemed her mouth and her brain weren’t on the same page tonight.

“Nuh-uh, love, no, isn’t answer for me.” His hot breath hit Hayley’s skin as he leaned in close to her ear, his lips brushed against her ear creating rather an intimate step, chills went down her spine.

Swallowing nervously and hoping John hadn’t noticed her irregular heartbeat.  She shot him a genuine smile as she brought her eyes up at him. “Yeah,” she replied, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, or maybe it was the alcohol? She seemed like she wanted to say something, and then backtracked. Her eyes snapped to the source of the new sound before stepping away.

“Gotcha!” Victoria Chase - tall, gorgeous blonde in killer heels, always perpetually flawless with her clothes and makeup whom Hayley can hardly compare with threw her arms around her partner in a bear hug and pressed drunken kiss against his cheek.

The blond eyed Hayley up and down, trying to focus on who is in front of her, an impressed expression mixed with the shock widened at Victoria’s face moment later at Hayley and her outfit.

“Hayley?” She asked in awe. “My goodness, look at you.”

The brunet quickly looked down at what she was wearing. Hang on. Did she just compliment her outfit? She brought her eyes back up and beamed up at Victoria. “Do you like it?”

“I love it!” Victoria smirked into John ear, snuggling to the crook of his neck.

“Thanks.” Hayley muttered before trailing off. She then suddenly remembered why she came here in the first place. “Perhaps you’d care to join us at our table?” Hayley asked, pointing up to the balcony above. She assumed it would be rude not to invite them.

“Marvellous!” Victoria chirped; her gaze flicked from VIP loggia back to Hayley. “Lead the way.”

“Good.” Hayley muttered, hesitantly turning toward the bar and taking the drinks. She yelled back a short thanks to the bartender though she doubted he heard her. She turned to look at the gorgeous pair, John hadn’t moved his eyes off Hayley, and she had the feeling that he was five steps ahead of her on a game she didn’t know she was playing. And as for Victoria, she was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

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[ranxiaolong]

Biological Basis of Love

Summary: (Y/N) sighed. Biology. Arguably her least favorite class. Why did she have to take it to graduate? She wanted to be a comp sci major, so why did she have to sit through this class? Just as the dreaded first class of the semester is starting, in stumbles a cute bespectacled blonde. Maybe biology won't be quite as bad as she anticipated.

Hey y'all! I'm back after a rather long break with a new fic! I hope you guys enjoy it!

.

(Y/N) breathed in deeply, the warm air and blue sky soothing. Jeans that were slightly too warm for the weather, some professors notorious for cranking the climate control to arctic blast and she didn’t want to be caught wearing shorts in that unfortunate situation. (Y/N)’s index finger and thumb gripped the collar of her shirt as she trudged along the courtyard, fanning air across her chest with the front of her white t-shirt.

The last days of summer hung upon (Y/N)’s head as she walked over the grassy patch between large brick buildings. The final days of summer, and (Y/N)’s classes had started up again. How she wished she could just lay down on the grass and nap. First week of classes and she already wanted to pass out on the grass.

‘What a fantastic start to the semester.’ (Y/N) thought grimly.

(Y/N) shifted the backpack on her shoulders as she unlocked her phone, checking her class schedule once again.

“Crap, I’m gonna be late!”

(Y/N) picked up her pace, nearly sprinting across campus.

“Why does the bioscience building have to be so far away from my literature class? Why do I need biology? I want to be a software engineer, not stare at cells all day.” (Y/N) grit out as she rounded the corner, nearly tripping as she ran inside of a large white marble building with large letters carved into a slab reading “THE LIFE SCIENCES” above the grandiose mahogany doors.

(Y/N) ran through the halls, eventually making their way to a door, a small plaque reading “LS-145” next to the doorframe. (Y/N) nearly slams the doors as she throws them open, skidding into the lecture hall. It was half empty.

(Y/N)’s eyes raked over the rows of semi filled benches, eventually landing on a frizzy-haired woman writing in a notebook. (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed as she marched through the isles towards the woman tapping the end of her pen against her chin. The woman wore a top with rainbow stripes running down horizontally beneath a faded jean jacket. A pair of sky blue sneakers adorned her feet and a pair of black jeans covered her legs.

The woman glanced upward, realizing (Y/N) was stopped next to her.

“(Y/N)! You made it!” A wide smile plastered itself to the woman’s lips.

(Y/N) glared murderously at the woman who was sitting quite contently.

“Why did you tell me I was late, Bill? I ran halfway across campus for nothing.”

Bill raised an eyebrow, amused. “You are horrible at keeping your schedule. Lucky for you I changed all the class times on that note you have to be early by ten minutes.”

(Y/N) groaned, sliding down onto the bench next to Bill, laying her face on the desk. “But I ran across campus. I don’t run. That was torture. It’s too hot for running.” (Y/N) whined.

A chuckle escaped Bill’s lips. “Well, maybe you’ll find that this class was worth running for.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Biology is never worth running for. There is no part of the field I want to go into that has to deal with mitochondria or mitosis.”

Bill rolled her eyes. “Well regardless, this is supposed to be the best intro to bio classes. I think even you will manage to enjoy it. I’ve had this professor before and he’s amazing.”

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed as she faced her friend, “Didn’t you have him for some real obscure class that was, like, not biology in any capacity?”

Bill shrugged, an elbow supporting her arm on the wooden desk as she placed her chin in her palm, “He was still a good professor. Besides, even if you don’t like it, it’s only for your GE requirements. You don’t need to take any more bio classes after this one as long as you pass.”

A soft grunt leaves (Y/N). “I’m not taking this blasted class again. I’m going to barely be able to sit through this semester.”

“Come on, be a little more optimistic. Maybe you’ll like this class.”

“I haven’t liked a bio class since middle school.” (Y/N) closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

Bill ran a few fingers through (Y/N)’s loose hair lazily.

“Must you harass me?” (Y/N) slowly opened an eye, mirth dancing in her iris, contradicting her harsh words.

“Until someone better comes along.” Bill teased back.

(Y/N) closed her eyes again, a soft smile edging on her lips, “You’re impossible.”

As Bill ran her fingers over (Y/N)’s nape, (Y/N) listened to the sound of students slowly shuffling into the large lecture hall. She could identify a few groups of loud groups—a set of boisterous men, a gaggle of giggling freshmen girls, a batch of hooting sports junkies—and was immensely glad when the echo of their voices traveled away from the spot from where she sat.

A sudden slam of the doors opening and a sweeping silence across the room prompted one of your eyes to open. Unable to see from the angle you were at, you let out a long-suffering sigh and sat up, opening your other eye to see down the rows of benches.

Old.

That was the first thing (Y/N) noticed about the man placing a bag on the lectern at the side of the room. First thing she noticed about him after his eyebrows, anyway. He had curly grey hair, but he was tall and lanky. He wore well-fitting clothes, a dark jacket with a red silky material on the inside that stood out against his black vest and pants, the white collar and visible ‘V’ of his shirt starkly contrasting the black as well. Well-polished shoes occasionally clicked across the wooden floor of the stage.

“Morning.” An accent laced his words as he spoke.

So he was Scottish.

“I’m your professor for Introduction to Biology, Malcolm Caecilius.”

(Y/N) leaned over to Bill, whispering, “I was expecting something a bit different from that. Not something that sounds and looks like some bloke they dug up from Pompeii.”

Bill lightly hit (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Ow.” 

“This course will mostly be run by an assistant professor.”

Bill sat up, her eyebrows furrowed. “That’s new. He generally doesn’t like having other people teach his class.”

You pulled out a notebook and a pen, flipping it open to the first blank page to start notes.

A sudden thump at the door and it having been thrown open in haste caught the attention of nearly the entire room. Professor Caecilius didn’t look up from his bag. A blonde woman stumbled into the room, a yelp on her lips as she barely caught her balance.

(Y/N)’s breath caught in her throat.

The mystery woman’s hair was short, slightly curling in at the ends towards her face. A pair of rounded square glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, the wide black frames slowly slipping down her face. As she stumbled across the stage, a few loose papers flew from the large stack in her arms. She wore a pair of jeans and a dark navy button-up shirt.

She set the stack of papers down on the desk before rushing back to pick up the papers that had fallen in her hurry.

(Y/N) heard a low whistle.

“She’s your type.”

(Y/N) nearly choked, barely covering a cough, “Bill!” She hissed out.

“I’m not wrong. Ditzy, airhead.” As Bill added to the list she counted them off on her fingers.

“Hey!” (Y/N) hissed.

Bill snickered. “You gonna have trouble paying attention?”

“What?”

Bill grinned. “I mean, you’re definitely going to be paying attention to her, but I meant the content of the class.”

A flush spread across (Y/N)’s cheeks. “I—”

“Should I make arrangements for you? Help you get a hot date with the TA?”

(Y/N) managed to huff defiantly, the impact substantially subdued due to her red face. “Oh shut up.”

Professor Caecilius finished rooting through his bag, writing his name across the wide black chalkboard in white chalk, ‘Biology 101’ written beneath. “Due to last-minute reshuffling of staff, you’ll be receiving lecture from Jane Smith. I will be ultimately in charge of the course, but she will be lecturing a sizable portion of it.”

The woman seemed to nearly jump as her name was mentioned while picking up the flyaway papers from the floor. She quickly stood up, facing the students whose attention all shifted to her. Her eyes seemed to dart back to Professor Caecilius before she cleared her throat. “Hello, I’m Jane Smith. I’ll be your lecturer for this semester. I do hope we get on.”

(Y/N) clicked her tongue. The universe must be conspiring against her. There were far too many good qualities about this woman. Cute looks, cute accent, cute demeanor. (Y/N) suppressed a sigh. The least the universe could have done was give her a tolerable professor who was decent at teaching. She didn’t need any more trouble passing bio than she knew she was going to have. 

Well, maybe she’d be an asshole when grading. There was always hope for that.

Jane picked up a much smaller stack of paper, significantly more manageable than the entirety of the stack she barged into the room with, and started towards the end of the first row of seats. “Uhmm, I’ll be passing the syllabus out at the end of each row, so please pass it down the rest of the way. Please tell me if there aren’t enough.”

As the stack of papers reached (Y/N), she took one from the stack, passing it along to Bill. (Y/N) flipped through the packet, further deflating. The grading system didn’t seem too unfairly skewed towards exams. Good for her in the sense that she wouldn’t fail and need to retake it if the section wasn’t purely exam-based, but not so great in that it didn’t make the lecturer any less appealing.

(Y/N) slouched in her seat.

“We’ll be going over the syllabus today. I know you’ve received this speech all week, so I’ll make quick work of the basics...”

(Y/N) flipped through the packet occasionally zoning out. At the end of the day, syllabuses were pretty much the same. Go over grading, no eating in class, if you cheat you fail the class and it’s put on your file. Nearly a full hour of the hour and a half lecture time was eaten up by the professor going over the syllabus and answering questions pertaining to it. (Y/N) was slightly surprised that Professor Caecilius managed to wrap up all syllabus related content before the end of the class session. Many other previous professors made no issue of extending deep dives of their syllabus to fill the length of their two or three-hour lecture. Honestly, they could just say use a pen on all assignments in one place instead of reiterating it in every single section of the syllabus.

“Right. Now if there are no more questions, I’m going to have you all turn to your neighbor and introduce yourselves. You will benefit greatly from having connections in this class if you need help when neither I nor Dr. Smith is available.”

As introductory chatter began to break out (Y/N) turned towards Bill, wiggling her eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, beautiful.” 

Bill promptly pinched (Y/N)’s nose.

“I camp breeb.”

“You could try not being annoying. That might help your situation.”

“Bub ‘ou lub me anyway.”

“Hmmm. Not totally sure about that.” 

Bill let go of her grasp on (Y/N)’s nose and (Y/N) took in an exaggerated breath of air. “I have been freed.”

Bill rolled her eyes, “Maybe go introduce yourself to somebody new. You need more friends anyway.”

(Y/N) blew a raspberry at her so-called friend before turning to her right, the brown woman seated next to (Y/N) wrapping up her conversation with the lanky man seated on her other side. The stranger turned her torso to face (Y/N), chocolate eyes flicking across (Y/N)’s face quickly before extending her hand.

“Hello, I’m Yasmin Khan.”

(Y/N) took her hand in a firm grasp, “I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you, Yasmin.” (Y/N) shook Yasmin’s hand, “So what are you here for? Major?”

Yasmin scratched the back of her head. “I’m mostly trying to get bio out of the way. I have to take quite a few of these to be a police officer.”

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up in interest, a wide grin on her lips, “A police officer, huh? Well, I think you’d make a fine cop miss Khan.”

She smiled gratefully at the grinning student. “Thanks. How about you?”

(Y/N) chuckled, “Computer science. Hoping to be a software engineer if I make it out of here alive.”

A soft snort left Yasmin. “I feel the two of us are in a similar boat, then. Want to exchange contacts for the semester? I’ve heard good things about this professor, but always a good idea to have a classmate to contact just in case.”

“And here I was thinking I’d have to ask first.”

Yaz just shook her head and smiled as she pulled out her phone, “Oh, actually. While we’re at it, this bloke next to me,” Yasmin lightly batted at the arm of the man next to her, “this is Ryan. He’s mostly here ‘cause I dragged him along.”

(Y/N) waved, “Nice to meet you.”

The man turned from his conversation with the person seated behind him to face (Y/N) briefly, “Nice to meet you, too. Have Yaz give you my contact.” Ryan turned back to his conversation with the brunette man.

Yasmin rolled her eyes, “I’ll give you his number.”

(Y/N) pulled out her phone, reciting the digits for Yasmin to type in. She quickly entered the number, typed a quick message, then sent it to (Y/N)’s phone which pinged lightly as soon as it received the message. As (Y/N) was attaching Yasmin’s name to the phone number, Professor Caecilius drew attention to the front of the room.

“Now wrap up your conversations, I have a few last announcements before I let you all go. I’ve taken the time to gather some campus resources and are in the back of the syllabus packet, but I would highly recommend finding additional resources.” Professor Caecilius approached a podium near the door, a stack of papers sitting atop, “Your first assignment is to fill out a small packet that I have at the front of the room, so take one on your way out. I will be in my office if you have any individual questions. Class dismissed.”

Yasmin turned to (Y/N) “Well, see you next class, yeah?”

(Y/N) grinned loosely, “Yep, see you next class, Yasmin.”

The woman stood up and waved a quick farewell, turning to exit. She joined up with her friend, Ryan already at the end of the row chatting with another man, before leaving the lecture hall. 

Students quickly emptied out of the lecture hall, quite a few flocking to Professor Caecilius before he left, taking a copy of the homework packet as they exited the room. The professor announced he would be taking the rest of the questions back at his office, and the small pack of remaining students followed him eagerly out the door. (Y/N) slowly descended the stairs with Bill, in no rush to get to their next classes.

“See, it wasn’t that bad.” Bill raised an eyebrow at her companion,

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “It was syllabus day, the worst offense syllabus day usually has is being boring as all heck.”

Bill sighed as both women reached the bottom of the stairs. She glanced across the stage, lightly nudging (Y/N) with her shoulder. “Gonna shoot your shot?”

“Huh?” (Y/N)’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, turning her head when Bill nodded in a direction across the room. A soft groan followed by a withering glance was aimed at Bill. “You can’t be serious?”

Bill only grinned in return, “I’ll grab you a packet. If nothing else at least introduce yourself. It’s good practice to get in the lecturer’s good books anyways.”

(Y/N) blew a soft raspberry at Bill, a sigh leaving her lips as she trudged towards the woman organizing papers on a wide podium. (Y/N) hesitated before stepping onto the stage, unsure if she should clear her throat or offer some sort of signal that she was going to initiate conversation. She pursed her lips and stepped onto the stage, light, carefully placed steps until she stood approximately two meters away from the assistant professor.

(Y/N) hesitated once more, shook her head, and stepped forward, clearing her throat from behind Jane, “Excuse me?”

A small squeak and a slight jump of Jane’s shoulders followed, “Oh, yes, hold on just a moment.”

Jane tapped the bottom of the stack of papers in her hand against the flat of the desk before turning around. Her eyes seemed to widen as she turned around, fumbling slightly with the papers in her hands. 

Easily startled, (Y/N) presumed.

The lecturer seemed to stop, a sort of lost expression painted across her features, eyebrows drawn together. Her gaze flickered back to (Y/N), seemingly lost in thought. Jane quickly snapped out of whatever internal musing she was going through, quickly nodding her head slightly, hand flying up to adjust the temples of her glasses, “I’m Jane.”

“I know,” (Y/N) immediately winced as the words left her mouth. Smooth, (L/N). “You introduced yourself at the beginning of class. Sorry, not good with words.” (Y/N) clarified, “I’m (Y/N).”

Jane chuckled nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. (Y/N) noticed star-shaped earrings adorning Jane’s ear, the chain connected to a cuff glinting slightly. 

Cute.

“Err, well I look forward to the semester.” Unsure what to say, (Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Admittedly bio isn’t my strongest subject so I may be coming to office hours quite a bit.”

Jane fiddled with her glasses, eyes darting from the undergrad to the wall, uncertain what to say. Before she had time to process her words mentally, they spilled from her lips, “Well, be like 8.5 percent of the human population’s blood type and B positive.”

(Y/N) blinked. She had no response.

“You know because B positive is—”

“Yeah, I got it.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, trying hard to suppress a smile and a groan. The joke was just so bad. 

Jane was back to fiddling with her plastic frames.

Silence.

“Right, I just wanted to introduce myself. I look forward to this semester!” (Y/N) practically shouted before dashing out of the room. (Y/N) caught Jane’s eyes widening in alarm at her sudden exclamation as she rushed out of the room, grabbing Bill’s arm and dragging her along in the process. As soon as (Y/N) made her way into the hall and far enough away from the double doors she groaned.

Bill barely managed to suppress a yelp as (Y/N) grabbed her arm in her rush out the door. As (Y/N)’s brisk pace steadily slowed she loosened her grip on Bill’s arm. Bill raised an eyebrow at (Y/N) as her arm was released, able to walk properly and not being half dragged down the hallway. She matched her steps with her friend.

Bill’s elbow lightly jabbed against (Y/N)’s side. “Smooth.”

“Shut up!” (Y/N) hissed, the burning in her cheeks still not subsided.

How she was going to survive the rest of the semester, (Y/N) had no idea.

.

Thank you fo reading!!

[snow-pitch-grimm]

My Baz

Summary: Simon tries out different pet names for Baz.

SIMON

I didn't notice it at first. Or at least I didn't see when I first started saying it.

"Sweetheart," just slipped out so easily when talking to Baz.

Of all the places to notice it, I first realized it during lunch one day.

"Pass me the salt, Sweetheart,"

When the salt shaker didn't instantly appear in front of me, I looked up in time to see a slightly pink-cheeked Baz reaching for the salt. Without his magic.

Now, I'm not the smartest person in the room, so instead of jumping to conclusions, I test it again.

"Thanks, Sweetheart,"

And there it is. Baz freezes just for a second and then ducks his head, a soft blush spreading on his cheeks.

Huh. Interesting.

This needs further investigation.

xxx

Baz is sitting on the sofa, bathed in the dim light of the lamp. His eyes seem to be glowing a little as he reads his book in the practical dark with his vampire eyesight. His long hair frames his sharp features and makes him look like something out of a fairytale.

"Hello, Gorgeous," I say, the name rolling off my tongue naturally. He is, after all, one of the most gorgeous people I have ever laid eyes on.

Baz looks up, and even in the dim light, I can tell he's smiling widely.

"Why thank you, Snow," he says, pulling me close to him and laying us together on the sofa, "You're not so bad yourself,"

xxx

"Morning, Beautiful,"

And there it is again, that broad smile on his face. It makes him look like he just won the lottery.

"Good Morning to you too," he says, voice cheery, and his hug is a little tighter than most morning. Not that I mind. Hugging Baz is always fantastic.

It's especially wonderful when he's feeling giddy from being called physically appealing.

Who knew Baz liked that kind of thing.

I'll have to keep that in mind.

xxx

"Hey, babe," I tell him as I sit down in front of him for our coffee date

Baz instantly wrinkles his nose, "I'm not a baby, Snow,"

"Yeah, I know. It's just a nickname, Baz,"

"Well, I don't like it," He says, shrugging, "I already ordered your favourite by the way. It should be here soon,"

I open my mouth to say something, but Baz cuts me off.

"And yes," he says with his trademark smirk, "I ordered the sour cherry scones too,"

I smile at him, "Thanks, Sweetheart,"

Aaaand there's the blush again.

My boyfriend is adorable.

xxx

We're sitting on the couch in front of the TV. There's some romantic comedy playing, but neither of us is paying attention.

"Tell me how much you care for me,"

He doesn't use the word love. We're not there yet, but I can tell how much he needs this.

"You mean the world to me, Baz. Being in your arms feels like home, being close to you feels like flying and if it's up to me we'll be by each other's sides for a long, long time,"

I lean down and brush my lips over his, "You're my world Baz,"

He smiled up at me, and his eyes are a little wet, "Thank you, Snow,"

"Any time, My Heart,"

And oh, Baz melts. His eyes go soft, and he sinks further into my arms, letting loose a long breath.

"My Heart," I whisper again, and this time, he whines into my chest, cuddling closer.

I spend the rest of the evening whispering into his ear, about him much he means to me, ignoring the few sniffles he lets out.

Next time he's annoyed and stressed I wrap my arms around him call him 'My Heart,'

He melts again. All the tension drains out of him, and his face ends up in the crook of his neck.

'My Heart' becomes my favourite name for him.

xxx

"We're going to be late, Snow," Baz calls out, "Do you want a lecture from Fiona about punctuality?"

Yeah no. I don't

"Coming, Honey," I call back

"I'm not food, Snow,"

I grin, "It's just a pet name, cupcake,"

"I'm gonna throw something at you,"

"Snickerdoodle is out too, then?"

His jacket hits me in the back of my head.

"Shut up, Snow!"

"Sorry, Dearest,"

I'm rewarded with a chuckle and a kiss on the cheek.

When we're at dinner, I ask Baz, 'Please pass the vegetables, Dear,"

Daphne lets out a chuckle. Fiona full-on laughs and even Malcolm seems amused.

Baz looks like he's a second away from bursting into giggles, and I'm not sure what's so funny about the whole thing, but it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Afterwards, Malcolm makes a comment about 'the young old married couple,' and kinda get it.

It doesn't stop me from adding 'Dear' and 'Dearest' to my list of pet names for Baz.

xxx

"Dance with me, Snow,"

It's the Christmas Eve party at the Grimms' house. It's relatively small compared to their other ones. The couples, including Malcolm and Daphne, are swaying too some Christmas Jazz. The children are running around, and the atmosphere is comfy and homely.

So, I take Baz's hand and let him pull onto the dance floor.

"You look amazing, Darling," I tell him

His arm tightens around my waist, and he pulls me a little closer. Startled, I look up, right into Baz's darkened eyes.

I know that look. It's the look Baz gets right before he pulls me into the bedroom or before he goes on his knees in front of me or after I leave teeth marks on the inside of his thighs.

But right bow- It can't be because of...can it?

"Something wrong, Darling," This time, I let the 'r' roll on my tongue and make my smile small and secretive.

Sure enough, he bites his lips and his flow stutters just a little.

I spend the rest of the night torturing him.

Later, when he's spread underneath me, and his nails are digging into my back, I softly whisper 'darling' into his ear, making him arch up and beg for more.

'Darling' becomes my second favourite thing to call him. Right after 'my heart.'

xxx

Baz shifts and whimpers softly from where he's laying in my arms.

"Wake up, Baz," I say softly

He doesn't, and the whimpering only gets worse.

"Hush, Bazzy," I say, "It's okay. It's just a dream,"

It takes a few more minutes, but Baz finally wakes, shaking so badly that his teeth are chattering, and his hands can barely hold on to my shirt.

"I love you. I love you, Simon," he says hoarsely, "Please don't leave me. Please, Simon,"

My heart feels like its shattering into tiny pieces, cutting through my chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," I say, "It's okay. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever,"

"Promise?" he whispers, voice still broken and shattered

"Promise, My Love,"

He raises his head and winds his arms around me, looking at me like I just handed him everything.

"Say that again," he whispers

"My Love," I say, "My Love. My Love,"

Whenever I want to get Baz's attention, I call him 'Love' and he looks at me like I just gave him the world, like I am his world.

I let him know he's mine too.

xxx

Baz bites me, and it doesn't hurt, not really

I wake up hungry for something I can't identify, not until Baz puts the bag of blood in front of me.

Later, when we're curled up together, he asks if I regret it.

"Never, My Baz,"

Funny how, in the end, calling him "My Baz' is what makes him cry.

[get-your-fics]

Plaything

Summary: You are Malcolm and Ainsley’s babysitter, but end up getting involved with the father of the Whitly family in unexpected ways.

Pairing: Martin Whitly x reader

Warnings: Cheating, kidnapping, drugging, language, non-con sexual content

A/N: so this has been in my drafts for a while and I don’t think I’ll ever get around to finishing it, so consider this my new year’s eve present to y’all :)

“Coming!”

The voice came from inside the Whitly’s townhouse three seconds after you had rung the doorbell. Footsteps drew closer, and the lock on the front door clicked. The knob twisted before the door pulled open, revealing a man on the other side.

“Hello,” he said in a deep, rumbling baritone. He had brown, curly hair and a full beard. He was wearing a bright red sweater, and he had a welcoming smile on his face that you noticed didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You must be (Y/N).”

You forced a smile on your face. “That’s me.” You reached a hand out to him and hoped he didn’t notice the way you were slightly shaking. You couldn’t help but get a little nervous when meeting new people. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitly.”

His blue-green eyes raked over your form up and down as if he was taking all of you in. After a moment, his grin grew wider, and grabbed your outstretched hand. “Please, call me Martin.” You tried to ignore the way the feel of his skin ignited sparks along your nerve endings. “Why don’t you come in?”

You subconsciously mourned the loss of contact when he retracted his hand. He stepped aside and held the door open wider for you. You stepped inside and wandered further into the foyer, gazing up at the crystal chandelier and high walls in admiration. “Wow. You have a really nice home, Mr. Whitly.”

He closed the front door behind him. “Thank you,” he walked closer to you, “and didn't I tell you to call me Martin?” He nudged your shoulder with his elbow and gave you a playful wink. You felt an involuntary blush wash over your cheeks as he called up the stairs, “Ainsley! Malcolm! The babysitter is here!”

You heard the pitter-patter of light footsteps against hardwood before you saw two children appear at the top of the stairs. They flew down the winding staircase in a blur and landed in front of their father at the bottom. One of the children was a girl with long, blonde hair that was slightly mussed. The other was a boy slightly taller than his sister with brown hair like his father’s and bright, blue eyes.

“Kids, meet your babysitter, (Y/N).” Mr. Whitly wrapped his arms around his children’s shoulders. “You listen to her while we’re gone, all right?” They nodded wordlessly, and he ruffled their hair with a chuckle.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” You swiveled your head to see a woman rushing down the stairs, her stilettos clicking against the hardwood. She finished putting her other earring in as she came to a stop next to Mr. Whitly. “Sorry I’m late, dear. You know how long it takes me to get ready.”

She flipped her glossy, chestnut brown hair over her shoulder, and it cascaded down her back in elegant waves. You assumed this must be his wife. She was extremely beautiful and had a regal air about her. “Mrs. Whitly, it’s nice to meet you,” you stammered out and held your hand out to her.

She glanced at you before draping her hand in yours. “You, too.” She gave your hand a single shake before drawing hers away. She turned to her husband. “Really, darling, we must get going if we want to make it to the banquet on time.”

“I wonder who’s fault that would be,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes only you caught. You stifled a giggle. “You go ahead and get in the car, dear. I have to give (Y/N) a few instructions first.”

She let out a sigh. “All right.” She gave each of her children a kiss on their head before exiting the townhouse, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.

“Here’s some money in case you want to order a pizza later.” Mr. Whitly dug out his wallet from his pocket and handed you a crisp twenty dollar bill. “They should both be in bed by nine o’ clock.” He put a hand on your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Thanks for agreeing to watch them for us.”

He smiled at you, and you felt like you were glowing under his touch. “No problem.” You gave him a small smile back. You didn’t know why you were reacting to him in this way, but he was so handsome, you couldn’t help it.

He patted your shoulder before turning to his children. “Be good for (Y/N) while we’re gone, okay?” He kissed the top of their heads before giving you a final wave goodbye. You waved back, and he followed after his wife out the door.

You watched the headlights of the Whitly’s car pass over the windows as it drove away. Then, you turned to the two Whitly children who stood stock still at the bottom of the steps. You bent down so you were eye level with them. “So...” you smiled at them. “Who wants pizza?”

The Whitly children were rather surprisingly easy to deal with. Ainsley was a little demanding, dragging you around by your hand to play dolls or stuffed animals with her. Malcom was more guarded and reserved. He had this haunted look in his large, round eyes, like he had seen too much, more than he let on.

When you put the kids to bed on time, you still had a while before the Whitly parents were due home, so you retired to the living room. You laid down on the couch and turned on the tv, flipping to some random channel playing a movie. The blue light from the screen washed over you as your eyes started to flutter closed.

Next thing you knew, there was a hand on your shoulder shaking you and a deep gravelly voice whispering in your ear. “(Y/N), wake up.”

You opened your eyes. The television was off. You blinked rapidly to clear your blurry vision and, through the darkness, you could make out Mr. Whitly’s form hovering above you. “Oh, Mr. Whitly,” you murmured, your voice groggy. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

“That’s all right.” You thought you felt his hand trail up from your shoulder to caress your cheek, but it could have just been your mind playing tricks on you. “Here’s for babysitting.” He pressed a couple of folded bills into your hand.

“Thank you.” You closed your eyes and stretched your aching limbs. You were all cramped from napping on the couch.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. I can walk.”

“Walk? At this time of night?” He looked dismayed. “At least let me get you a taxi.” You nodded, and he stood up. “I’ll go call one now. Can I make you a cup of tea while you wait?”

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Yes, please.”

He smiled. “Great. I’ll be right back.” He retreated to the kitchen, and you felt your cheeks warm. You didn’t want to inconvenience him, but you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend a little more time with the man. There was something intriguing about him. You found him undeniably charming, and his presence was so warm and comforting.

“Leave,” a voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you whipped your head around to find where it was coming from. You spotted Malcolm standing in the archway leading to the foyer dressed in his blue striped pajamas, a blanket wrapped around his small frame.

“Malcolm?” You furrowed your brow. “What are you still doing awake?”

“Don’t drink it,” he urged you in a hushed whisper. Before you could question him further, the sound of approaching footsteps made his clear blue eyes go wide. He whirled around and dashed back up the stairs the way he came as quiet as a mouse.

A second later, Mr. Whitly returned with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he warned you as he set the cup down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Thank you.” You stared down at the murky, brown liquid in the cup before looking up at him. “Did you call a taxi?”

He folded his hands in front of him and nodded. “It’ll be here in ten minutes.” He jutted his chin out in the direction of the cup on the table. “Aren’t you going to drink your tea?”

You looked back down at the cup, curls of steam rising off of the surface and floating into the air. You didn’t want to be rude, and Malcolm was probably just trying to play a joke on you. But when you lifted the cup to your lips and took a sip, you swore the grin on his face grew wider and his cerulean eyes turned dark. You set the cup down and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him with a smile.

“Good girl,” he nearly purred, sending shivers down your spine. He drew closer to you as your vision became fuzzy, his eyes as black as a shark’s when it smelled blood. You felt like you were being sucked into a blackhole, and you gave in as gray dots blurred your vision.

The last thing you saw before you were completely swallowed by darkness was Mr. Whitly’s menacing grin sharper than a knife.

-

Falling. You were falling. You were falling down a long, winding rabbit hole. Your eyes were closed, and swirls of bright light lit up the veins running along your eyelids. You couldn’t move. Your limbs were numb, but it felt like every inch of your skin was draped in warmth. Then, the gray gave way to a blinding light above you searing your eyes.

You winced. “Turn it off,” you groaned. “Turn it off.”

The light moved out of your eyes, and you blinked to see Mr. Whitly hovering above you. His lips lifted into a wide smile when he saw you. “Finally. You’re awake.”

You frowned. “The sun. It’s too bright.” Your words were slurred, the vowels and consonants running together until you were barely intelligible.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’re all right.” He reached out a hand and brushed some stray strands of hair out of your face.

You tried to move your arms, but couldn’t. You looked up to see rope looped around your wrists. You tried your legs next, but same thing. You looked down to see you were restrained to a metal table and your form was completely bare.

You looked back up at him. “I’m naked.”

He laughed and hummed. “Yes, you are.”

You furrowed your brow, but your muscles felt like they were made of molasses. Your mind tried to form a coherent thought, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton. You leaned back against the table and groaned. “My head hurts.”

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s probably a side effect of the drugs I put in your tea.” He corners of his lips turned downwards, but his expression didn’t match the twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, really. I was just going to let you do your job and go. But when I saw you standing on my doorstep, so innocent and naive, I just couldn’t resist.” He brushed his thumb over your lower lip and stared down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. “I had to make you my new plaything.”

Your lips parted, and his thumb slipped into your mouth. Without realizing what you were doing, you swirled your tongue around the pad of his finger. You closed your lips around his thumb and sucked. He watched you, entranced, before removing his appendage from your mouth with a pop. You let out a high-pitched whine.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, never taking his eyes away from you. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. “I am sorry, (Y/N).” He slid down your body as your vision blurred. “But I’m not sorry about what comes next.”

[luckywilliams]

Ann Todd: A ‘peaches and cream stunner’ of a film star from Northwich.

Dorothy Annie Todd was born on January 21st, 1907, in Hartford, Cheshire, and under the shorter, presumably more glamorous stage name of Ann Todd, she went on to become a film star and actress famous across the world. She had an acting career which spanned the best part of 60 years, from the 1930’s to the early 1990’s, and which encompassed films, stage and TV. During this time, Ann met, and worked with, many of the most famous people in movie history, including Alexander Korda, Alfred Hitchcock, David O. Selznick, Gregory Peck, Sir Ralph Richardson, and many others. She also starred in a number of films directed by David Lean, one of the greatest film directors of all time, and became Lean’s wife in 1949.

Despite Ann Todd’s distinguished career, and her stellar connections with some of the leading film and acting legends of the 20th Century, little has been said or written about her in the town and county of her birth. It is therefore appropriate that Ann now features as one of the on-line ‘Hidden Women of Cheshire’ in a promotional campaign currently being run by the Mid Cheshire Community Rail Partnership (see www.amazingwomenbyrail.org.uk.) Ann Todd certainly led a remarkable and colourful life, which definitely deserves to be less ‘hidden’, particularly in the town of her birth.

There is some ambiguity about the year of her birth in Hartford. – Many biographies indicate that she was born in 1909. However, the 1911 Census, and other registry evidence, clearly shows that she was born two years earlier, in 1907, and was christened in March 1907. Like many in the acting profession (both past and present) it was perhaps best to be a little coy about one’s true age. Ann Todd’s slim frame, good looks and comparatively small stature (she was 5’4’’) meant she always looked quite young. Indeed, possibly to Ann’s delight at the time of her marriage to film director David Lean, in 1949, she was described in at least one American newspaper report as being 29 years old, rather than the more accurate age of 42!

The future film star, Ann Todd, was born into a well-to-do, affluent middle class family, in Hartford, Northwich (population 850 in the census of 1901). Though Ann was born in Hartford, her sales manager father, Thomas, was a Scot from Aberdeen, and her mother, Constance, was a Londoner. By 1911, the Todd family had moved to London, probably to advance Thomas’s career in sales management, and Ann had acquired a younger brother, Harold, who went on to achieve fame as a writer of comedies such as ‘No, my Darling Daughter’ and ‘A Pair of Briefs’ which were commercially very successful during most of the 1950’s and 1960’s. The family still seem to have been very affluent in London, and could afford to accommodate two live-in female teenage servants, and Thomas’s adult sister, Ethel, within the household.

Harold was packed off to school at the exclusive Marlborough College, and then undertook a degree at Cambridge University. Ann Todd went to school in Sussex, but acting seems to have been in her blood from an early age, and she was soon enrolled at the Central School of Speech and Drama in London, specialising in the interesting combination of elocution, drama and fencing.

It didn’t take long for Ann Todd’s star potential to be noticed, and by her late 20’s she had been signed up by the British film mogul Alexander Korda. She was a key actress in a number of the films he produced in the 1930’s, such as ‘Things to Come’ and ‘South Riding’. Ann’s big break, in terms of worldwide fame, came in 1945, when she starred opposite the British matinee idol, James Mason, in a film called ‘The Seventh Veil’. Her performance as a troubled concert pianist drew rave reviews in America. The film critic of the Los Angeles Times, for example, commented that she ‘carried the film’, and it was American film critics at this time who first dubbed the Northwich born actress as the ‘pocket Greta Garbo’ because of her distinctive style, looks and diminutive stature. Hollywood, in the form of the great David O. Selznick (the driving force behind the film production of Gone with the Wind) soon came calling, and Ann was offered the largest film contract ever offered to an English actress at that time – probably worth around a million dollars all told - which was an astronomical sum in the late 1940’s.

With Selznick’s backing, in 1947, Ann starred opposite the Hollywood screen legend Gregory Peck, in the Alfred Hitchcock directed film “The Paradine Case”. Much has been written about Hitchcock’s preference for directing blonde actresses such as Grace Kelly and Tippi Hedren, and Ann Todd certainly fitted in with the look and style of these other actresses. Tippi’s relationship with Hitchcock, in the film “The Birds” certainly seems to have been fraught. However, no hostilities between Hitchcock and Todd seem to have surfaced. Indeed, Ann Todd starred once again for Hitchcock in the 1950’s, in an episode of his successful U.S. TV series “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”.

The Paradine Case wasn’t as commercially successful as hoped, but America never lost its enthusiasm for Ann Todd. All aspects of her life, personal and professional, continued to be of interest to U.S. reporters, and features about her were carried throughout America, in newspapers from Lubbock in Texas to California, Utah, and Albany in New York. In 1957, William Glover of the New York press described 50 year old Ann as being “a damsel of allure” as she prepared to make her debut on Broadway. Not surprisingly, she was given a very laudatory obituary in the Los Angeles Times, on the day following her death in London in May 1993.

Ann Todd’s career in British films is often undersold. We are told, for example, that she specialised in playing rather stoic, put upon, post-war British housewives. – Anyone that watches her 1950 performance as the morally ambiguous probable Victorian murderess, Madeleine (in David Lean’s film “Madeleine”) must realise that she could play a wide range of roles with subtlety and distinction.

In fact, there were many different aspects to the Northwich born actress’s career. For a start, she seems to have recognised the significance of television, as a medium for acting and drama, from the very beginning. She played a leading character in the late 1930’s British television serial “Ann and Harold”, which was produced during the pre-WW2 days when Britain was pioneering the introduction of television (an experiment abruptly ended by the onset of war). In fact, many experts regard ‘Ann and Harold’ as being the first ever attempt at producing what today would be called ‘soap opera’. Ann Todd’s involvement in television also extended to America, where she appeared not only for Hitchcock, but also in John Frankenheimer’s 1960 TV movie adaptation of Hemingway’s ‘The Snows of Kilimanjaro,’ alongside Hollywood movie star Robert Ryan. Following many an actor’s adage about never giving up or retiring, Ann continued to appear in TV productions, such as Michael Gambon’s 1992 Maigret series, until she was well into her 80’s.

Ann was well versed in the challenges of appearing before live theatre audiences: In 1957, she made her Broadway debut (thus escaping the pressures of a traumatic divorce from David Lean) by starring as a wealthy American socialite in a production of the little known play “The Four Winds”. Back in England, during 1954-5, she took on some of the leading female Shakespearean roles, during a complete season of acting with the Old Vic Theatre Company. All this just goes to show how accomplished and versatile Ann Todd actually was as an actress. Not content with film, stage and TV performances, the multi-talented Cheshire born actress also developed a highly successful career as a travel writer and documentary producer, in the 1960’s, with programme credits to her name such as “Thunder of the Gods” (1966) and “Thunder of the Kings” (1967).

In many respects, Ann Todd grew up in Northwich, London and Sussex to become an archetypal Hollywood movie queen. – She had wealth, good looks, and a prodigious amount of talent. Her private life was also stormy, to say the least, and filled the gossip columns of papers on both sides of the Atlantic. She was married and divorced three times. Her first husband, Victor Malcolm, was the grandson of Lillie Langtry, the famous music hall artiste and mistress of Edward VII. In an era when there were no ‘blameless’ divorce cases, Ann’s 1949 divorce from Nigel Tangye, her second husband, was particularly bitter. Ann left Tangye to live with and then marry the film director David Lean, who was Tangye’s first cousin. Tangye sued Lean for $160,000, largely as a consequence of his ‘misconduct’ with Ann. This financial claim was thrown out by the divorce court judge, but Tangye was granted custody of Ann  Francesca (Ann Todd and Tangye’s daughter). Happiness eluded Ann Todd in her third marriage to David Lean, as well. They were living apart from each other within 5 years, and Ann was granted a divorce, on the grounds of Lean’s desertion, in 1957. None of this personal trauma seems to have adversely affected either Lean or Todd. David Lean went on to achieve further cinematic immortality with his direction of the film “Lawrence of Arabia” in 1962. Ann Todd immediately threw herself into a starring role in a Broadway production. It was here, in her dressing room, in 1957, whilst preparing for her role in “The Four Winds” that the admiring American film and theatre critic, William Glover, interviewed Ann, and referred to the now 50 year old Northwich born actress as a “real peaches and cream stunner” of a film star. In terms of her energy, zeal and talent for acting, William Glover’s summary was just about right.

Adrian L. Bridge, April 2018.

[eye-raq]

Happy Holidays Brielle

ERIK STEVENS SMUTTY CHRISTMAS FANFICTION.

Hey guys!! This is going to be a little series with some holiday cheer along with some holiday lovin’.

Summary: it’s the annual entrepreneurial Christmas party in NYC. Brielle Johnson attended every year. Erik Stevens the playboy multimillionaire attended as well.

“Take me to that hotel suite you got so we can finish this juicy convo more privately.”

Which translated in her head as take me to that hotel suite so I can fuck your brains out.

She let out a flustered breath.

“No.”

“No? Is that a serious no?”

Yes, it is.”

She drank some of her spiked eggnog, licking the foam from her lips.

“Damn, you really know how to diss a nigga. I just wanna taste it. I wanna see what little miss Chocolate princess with curls got to offer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“How about we make that a reality?”

She let out a laugh, looking down at her nails, inspecting them.

“Why don’t you go find some easy girl to do you, like Charlotte Cruise.”

“Well, what if I’m tired of easy girls? What if I like the chase, considering it’ll end up being worth it.”

Oh, he was good. And persistent. And bold. And confident.

“I’ll tell you what...give me about, infinity years to think about it.” Really? That was her response.

“So forever then? I can wait...I can wait.”

He took a swig of his spiked hot cocoa, licking his lips afterward, those dimples deep from the action.

“Sure you can. We’re not immortal sir, so by then we would be nonexistent.”

“I’m impossible to kill. You ain’t know that shit? They didn’t nickname me Killmonger for nothing.”

“Killmonger huh?” She was intrigued.

“What makes someone end up with the nickname Killmonger?”

He smiled that charming smile, the black turtleneck giving him a professor look and the black Malcolm X frames made it just perfect.

“Well, when you kill thousands of people with precision like I did, that’s the nickname you get.”

The contents of her eggnog sloshed over the rim of her mug from the shock that hit her.

“You killed people…”

“yeah, when I was a Seal.”

She relaxed some. Jesus, she thought this man was an assassin.

“And when I was apart of the JSOC ghost unit.”

She took that back.

“Woah...yeah you’re definitely bad news.”

She went to get up, and to her shock, he didn’t stop her. He looked a little hurt actually.

The usual bold guy that she saw at these business affairs, torn up by her response.

“Shit Erik…”

She seated herself.

“I’m sorry. I’m just, not used to someone boldly telling me they took the lives of many, not just as a Navy Seal but also as an Assassin.”

“Mercenary.”

“So? It’s not different.”

“And I’m not used to some rude shit like this from a person I thought I could relate to. I expected that from those colonizers who don’t give a fuck about our people.”

She really hit a nerve.

“Well, maybe if you had a better approach at introducing the fact that you’ve killed people, then I wouldn’t have responded the way I did.”

He chuckled to himself to calm his overgrowing nerves.

“Regardless of what, you would have responded the exact same way girl.”

“That’s not true.”

“LIE AGAIN.”

Everything went quiet between them both. She couldn’t lie, she might have...she wasn’t tolerable of a lot of things especially that for one.

“Okay, you got me. I would have gotten up to leave.”

He grazed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, his teeth crashing painfully with his bottom lip.

“Wow. If you’d of said that to me I wouldn’t have gotten up to leave.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Would that be before or after I killed you? Can you blame me, Erik? That’s not some shit somebody can just deal with.”

“Nah, I can’t blame you. But I’m glad I didn’t stick my dick in you.”

“Oh, so that’s the approach. Your salty because I don’t wanna give up my goodies willingly, no matter how good you look. Then you’re even saltier because I’m being honest about how I feel about you murdering people.”

She made a sour look, grabbing up her clutch to leave once again.

“So fucking spiteful for what? All a nigga tried to do was get to know you. It’s not like I haven’t before all those times I’ve seen you, Brielle. How long have we known each other? Two years? This Christmas party? That yacht club shit those couple of springs? Rooftop parties that Jason through when I was in town?”

“I’m not spiteful Erik. Just admit that you're angry because I don’t wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, you don’t know me very well.”

Erik stood himself, picking up his Calvin Klein solid wool overcoat.

“I’m a multimillionaire, Co-owner for the Wakandan Outreach Centers around the world. I could have any women I wanted Brie, and that’s not to brag, you don’t need to brag when it’s the truth. So for me to waste my time to get to know you further, means that I really wanna pursue you.”

He picked up his wool hat to match, turning to wave goodbye to the other black business owners at the annual entrepreneurial Christmas party.

“How amazing, Erik Stevens the womanizer. That’s really impressive. I would have definitely opened my legs for you.”

Brielle picked up her cream-colored faux fur coat that traveled all the way to her ankles, the silence between them as the low sound of Santa baby played out in jazz.

They both looked up in time to see a mistletoe hanging between them. It smelled like spiced pine cones and the beautiful gold and wine red colors clashed perfectly.

Erik raised a single brow, lips set in a hard line, before downcasting his eyes onto Brielle.

“Would you look at that? A mistletoe.”

Erik leaned in towards her, pausing, then turning to whisper in her ear.

“Happy Holidays Brielle.”

With that, Erik swept past her swiftly, pushing at the revolving doors with his exit. Brielle stood still with her gold clutch in her hand, trying to gain composure before removing her coat again, seating herself at the bar.

She needed a stiff drink, and that was a year ago.

___________________________________________

“Mmmm, back that fucking ass up on this dick….

Arch yo shit, you know how I like it”

It was November 30th, just one day before the annual entrepreneurial Christmas party. Erik Stevens was a little preoccupied with his assistant Kelis, pounding her tight wet pussy from behind.

She was so fucking tight and wet, her bubble booty clapping against his skin with force.

“Oh shit, right there Erik!” She frantically pulled at the blanket on his king sized bed within his hotel suite, the edges lifting and coming undone.

Erik reaches down mid-fuck to stroke her clit, his other hand in the middle of her back to keep her arch.

“You disrespectful. I told you to keep that fucking arch didn’t I?”

“It’s too deep E!!! I can feel that shit in my stomach.”

“Tell me some shit I don’t know, like what time it is.”

Erik started pounding her relentlessly now, making sure she felt every single stroke in her lower belly. She attempted to clench her legs together.

“Open wider Kelis. I didn’t come to play I came to fuck.”

She widened her legs, Erik leaning forward to grip her ombré weave from behind.

“This hair ain’t cheap nigga! Ahhhhh fuckk!!!”

She stared ahead, open-mouthed and frozen.

“I know, my money paid for this shit.”

The more he gripped, the more it felt like her edges would be no more.  Her pussy felt like a never-ending nerve center, the more he stroked the more her orgasm peaked.

“That’s what? Cum number four on its way?”

“Fuck you.”

“Nah, fuck you.”

Erik lifted her to his chest,, his hips snapping forward with force, her loud obnoxious moans echoing off the walls. She reached back to dig her claw nails into his thigh, body shaking from her fourth orgasm that night.

“Shit...my pussy is through E.”

“Swollen kitty still getting fucked though.”

He still had to cum, he was amused.

Erik flipped her over, grabbing her ankles, resting them over his shoulders.

“Finally..” she let out a breath of relief to be in this position, Erik preferably wanted to blow her back out until he came because it was deeper.

“Finally huh!? The fuck..”

Erik practically put her legs behind her head, watching the panic set into her features. Her stiletto covered feet scraped against the headboard roughly as she reached out to push at Erik’s chest.

“E no no no no.”

He didn’t respond, his body doing push-ups in the pussy, every entrance so deep she could see stars. He held her legs while he drilled, the stretch and the deepness making his eyes roll and circle.

He gnawed at his lip to control the moans that wanted to escape, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

“Moan Daddy, go ahead and moan I know you want to.”

Erik’s lip shook, his eyes turning into slits.

“FUCK YO!” He wasn’t gonna moan for this chick.

“Look at this dick Kelis, LOOK.”

She lifted her head to watch Erik’s full 10 inches dog, and dig, and drill…

“You see that? Stuffing this pussy.”

She reached down to rub her clit, Erik spitting on her fingers to add lubricant. She bucked her hips to meet his, the tacky liquid from her raw pussy causing Erik’s pelvis to stick to her thighs like glue.

“You gonna moan for me? Let it out for me?!”

“Shut the fuck up.” Erik barked with a groan.

“Make me.”

Erik places one hand over her mouth, lifting to pound her with his other hand on her leg.

“Oooo right there E!”

“I’m hitting that spot?!”

“Yeah, nigga!”

She bucked her hips with all the strength she had to meet this man’s strokes. Erik cupped her ass to help her further, the smacking so loud it sounded like a whip.

“OH MY GOODNESS THIS GOOD DICK!”

She grabbed at his throat for leverage.

She gasped repeatedly, her eyes wide on him.

“Her it comes!!!”

“Yeah, girl give me that shit!!!!”

She lunges forward, wrapping her arms around his neck while she unraveled, the liquid nonstop.

“My turn.”

Erik lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, his fingers digging into her back while he fucked her like she was riding a ruthless bull, her body jerking and her eyes fluttering.

“Ah ah ah ah” Erik was close, his muscles tiring.

“Daddy cum! Give it to me!”

And with that, Erik came. His footing slipping and both of them landing on the bed.

He lifted from her slow, slipping his condom covered dick out of her pussy. He stood up, sweaty sticky body glowing in the low light from the lamps, peeling the condom off slow, watching his stiff dick bob up and down like a door stopper.

“Here, this yo early Christmas gift.”

Erik walked over to Kelis, turning the condom over, watching as her eager tongue flicked with need, the white liquid oozing out like a string to her tongue. He smiled tiredly, squeezing it down so she wouldn’t miss a drop. Kelis swallowed it longingly, laughing afterward as if in heaven.

“Tastes good every time.”

Erik tossed the condom in the trash.

“I bet it does.”

Kelis picked up her phone to check it, scrolling through to see she had a few messages and missed calls.

“They sent me a notification about that Christmas Party you go to every year.”

Erik turned on the shower, feeling at the water to make sure it was warm enough.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower before I head out.”

“You heard me E?” Kelis asked while snuggling into his bed.

“Yeah, I head you girl.”

“So? Are you going or not?”

“Why the fuck is it a concern?” He responded with humor in his voice.

“It’s a concern because I wanna be your plus one.”

Erik knew she would ask this eventually. His dick and money had that kind of effect.

“Sure, I never brought a plus on with me, plus you can help me make connections this year with other entrepreneurs.”

Kelis scowled at that last bit. She really grew to like Erik a lot, and she wanted him to feel the same.

“Yeah, sure..”

“You gonna join me? Or stay in that bed?”

Kelis lifted from the bed, picking up her bonnet to cover her hair. She stepped in behind Erik.

“Here wash my back.” Erik handed her his body sponge. Kelis didn’t argue, used to the routine as she scrubbed in circles over his russet skin.

___________________________________

“Brielle this is amazing. I love what you did with the back. You know I love a low back. And it’s red!”

Brielle sat on the carpeted floor of her studio, measuring tape around her neck and rough sketches pooling in front of her. She wore her long curly hair in a low ponytail, cat eye red-framed glasses on her face with a fluffy cropped cream sweater, nude leggings and cream colored leg warmers with chestnut uggs on her feet.

“It compliments you, Erika, it’s your signature look.” Brielle took a sip of her caramel macchiato, playing with s single Tiffany diamond earring. She had a dress that needed to be made for Victoria’s Secret model who was having a bachelorette party. She wanted a short cocktail dress with a high slit up the leg in a pretty champagne silk. The back would be low with strings of diamonds dragging across.

“I can always count on you girl, DANIELLE!!!”

Erika’s assistant Danielle came rushing over, her boyish navy blue suit and public desire open-toed shoes coming into view.

“I want you to have this dress sealed and sent to my condo in Manhattan right away. If I so much as SEE a stain, that’s your head and your job.”

Brielle rolled her eyes, leaning forward to add detail to the sketch in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am right away!” Danielle scurried away to some of the employees of Brielle’s design studio to have the dress ready and protected. Erika slipped out the garment, gracefully handing it over to one of Brielle’s assistants.

“How is the life of Broadway going for you?” Brielle asked.

“Perfect actually, I will be touring internationally in about a week for the Nutcracker play. Of course, I’m staring in it.

She flipped her blunt cut hair, light skin glowing almost yellow under the vanity lights.

“That’s amazing Erika, I’ll definitely be out to support you of course when it starts.”

“Free tickets at the booth like always.”

Erika got dressed in her Fendi jumpsuit, Gucci booted heels on and real fur coat. She snapped her fingers for her Fendi clutch, Danielle handing it over.

“Well, this is goodbye, for now, Brie, I’ll see you sometime next year, you know I'll want my stylist to cook up something fabulous for me.”

“As always Erika you know I gotcha.”

She blew a kiss and waved goodbye, making her exit, finally causing Brielle to relax.

“Finally, queue the music and bring out the spiked eggnog guys. Her assistants laughed, all of them joining her.

“So, tomorrow is that Christmas party Brielle! You excited?”

Brielle didn’t wanna think about that damn party, but making connections made her money and more opportunities.

“Yeah, I’m going to drag my ass there no matter how much I don’t want to.”

“Alone?” Her main assistant Chrissy asked.

“Yep, like I have been doing for the past two years.”

Brielle didn’t have time to entertain a man.

“You would look cute with a plus one, how about Trevante Rhodes? He’s been eyeing you for some time girl and all that chocolate of a man can’t go unnoticed.”

Trevante was handsome and charming, Brielle definitely considered a date with him, but never made the initiative.

“Nah, I’m just gonna show up, drink, and go back to my hotel.”

Brielle looked at Chrissy, a thought surfacing.

“You know what, why don’t you come with me? It would be a great opportunity Chris and you would love it.”

Chrissy was shocked that Brie was making an offer, but nonetheless, she cheerfully accepted the invitation.

“Yes, Brie I would be more than happy to go with you girl.”

Brielle didn’t want to invite any of her other friends this time, and she really enjoyed Chrissy’s company. Who knows? They could explore the nightlife of New York afterward.

___________________________________________

Brielle finally made it to her Brooklyn apartment, greeting her Yorkie Muffy while opening her door.

“Hey, muff! I missed you baby!”

She ruffled her fur, kissing her nose. Brielle turned on her answering machine, busying herself with household duties while each message played out. Every single one was business related, and she didn’t want to deal with that right now especially since she just made it home. Brielle decided to make herself a pot of lasagna soup, leaning into her fridge to check for all the ingredients. Luckily she had everything she needed, grabbing up her crock pot. She made a pot of water to boil for her noodles, walking away to her bedroom to undress.

She felt like being naked for some reason, the cozy warmth of her apartment giving her more of a reason to walk around in her birthday suit. Her feet were covered in ugg slippers, and her curly hair out and wild.

“Alexa, play my Christmas playlist.”

The instrumental to Chris Brown this Christmas version played while she grabbed up one of her homemade eggnog glasses from the fridge. She loved this time of the year. Her birthday was just one day before Christmas. Her tree was already up and decorated, most of her gifts under it. She had lights up around her apartment, and streamers, even a mistletoe.

That very mistletoe she actually stared at right now, her naked body curled up on her grey suede couch.

Erik.

He came flooding her memories from last year, the cold way he told her Happy Holidays after stalking out sent a chill up her spine. After that, Brielle had been thinking and she felt horrible. She thought over the past week how she would apologize if he showed up, which he always did but still, she was afraid of his response.

Erik wasn’t the type of person to forgive easily.

Christmas Party, 2015:

“Erik! Come over here.”

Jason Blake, the CEO of a string of steakhouses across the nation.

“I would like for you to meet a friend of mines. She’s a Celeb Stylist here in New York.”

Erik approached, wearing a navy blue and green plaid tailored suit with gold cufflinks, navy blue suede custom Calvin Klein dress shoes, and matching black Calvin Klein glasses. He had short dreads that swept to one side of his face, some of the ones in the front touching his right eyebrow.

“Brielle, this is Erik Stevens. He is the CFO of the Wakandan Outreach Centers that originates in Oakland.”

He oozes charm, that killer smile blazing.

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Brielle.”

He held out his hand, Brielle taking it politely, slipping back with a hold on her glass of Chardonnay with two hands. Brielle wore a black suit dress of her design with gold buttons, feet covered in Louboutin red bottoms, her curly hair up in a messy top knot bun with bright red lipstick and a Smokey eye to bring out the captivating brown of her irises.

“I’ll let you two get to know each other.” Jason slipped away through the crowd, Erik stepping closer with a glass of what looked like Hennessy in his hand.

“Is it too soon to say that you look stunning.”

“No, but thank you.”

There was a pause before he spoke again.

“So tell me, why design?”

“Well, it’s funny that you ask that. I wanted to be a neurosurgeon.”

Erik looked taken aback, his eyebrows raising with enthusiasm.

“Really?! Why the change that’s dope.”

“Well, I’m all about following my passion. I started just one semester of it, and I found out I didn’t love it like I thought I would. Med School after graduating high school early was horrifying. So, I dropped out, and followed my other dream… I went to design school.”

Erik nods his head, impressed.

“I admire that. It’s amazing to see a strong, successful, black women do her thing.”

She blushed.

“Okay so, why the Wakandan Outreach? What do you do there?”

“I work in the science division. We basically come up with different technology that could benefit the black community, especially the youth.”

“That’s a really good job, and hard to get. King T’Challa from what I heard can be tuff.”

Brielle kept up with these sorts of things, she admired the way T’Challa decided to give back to African Americans.

“Yeah I know, he’s my cousin so I see first hand.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yes ma’am, he’s my cousin.”

Brielle just stared at Erik, hoping for a joke, but there the April fools didn’t come.

“Wow. Just wow…” that’s all she could say.

“Where does that place me in your circle of entrepreneur friends?”

Brielle let out a soft giggle.

“Uh, nowhere special. But that did shock me though.”

Before Erik could speak, a hand reached out over his shoulder seductively, causing Brielle to pause between drinking. The thing was, she could smell a womanizer on a man, and that was definitely Erik Stevens.

The women was a fellow business owner by the name of Charlotte. She had a couple of psychiatry offices in New York.

“Well well, I wondered when I would see you again.”

Erik’s jaw tightened, but not in annoyance.

“Charlotte Cruise. My…”

Brielle rolled her eyes, pressing out the wrinkles in her dress with her hand.

“Oh, hi Brie.” The women said with no interest.

“I’ll let you two talk and kiss and whatever else.”

Brielle downed the rest of her Chardonnay, heading over to Jason to talk about his new restaurant opening in Boston.

“Hey!”

Brielle looked over her shoulder.

“Leaving already? The convo was getting juicy.”

“Maybe another time, take care.”

To her surprise, that night Erik bothered her, but she didn’t mind a little. He was charming, but also she knew he admires her as well. Ever since then, he came to the Christmas parties, talking to Brielle.

Brielle was pulled from her thoughts when she heard the sizzling sound of water hitting fire, jumping up, naked booty bouncing as she made it to her boiling pot of lasagna noodles. She strained them, finally setting out to prepare her soup in the crockpot.

She sat on her carpeted floor, a wool robe on and freshly showered, Home Alone on. Brielle tried her hardest not to think about Erik, taking slow tastes of her hot soup.

Why was he on her mind, she didn’t like him.

But he’s so cute

I Don’t even want this man I just feel sorry for how I acted.

But he’s tantalizing and charming, and aristocratic.

“Oh boy” she doesn’t need this right now, a slow breath escaping her mouth as she opened her eyes to Kevin setting up toys near the window for the burglars to step on.

@panthergoddessbast @eriknutinthispoosy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @whoramilaje @thehomierobbstark @ange-sensuel @allhailnjadaka @hdkween @killmonger-dolan @killmongersgurl @killmongersaidheyauntie @erikismybitch @erik-killmcnger @erikslulbaby @njadaka-apologist @njadaddy @njadakasrage @sweettea-and-honeybutter @muse-of-mbaku @blowmymbackout @killmongersprincess @chaneajoyyy @whorderofthepheonix @purple-apricots @destinio1 @wifin-niggaz @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @laketaj24 @vikkidc @shookmcgookqueen @bidibidibombaclaat @kaytauru @shesakillerkween @janelledarling @loosewindmill @n-jadaddy @wakandanblogger @wakandawinning @softnani @iamrheaspeaks @drsunshine97 @blackpinup22 @disneysdarlingdiva @forbeautyandlife @brittyevans @deja-r @eriksprincess @unfriendly-blk-hottie @wakanda-inspired @abeautifulmindexposed @itsangeludaku @thehonorablekingerik

[resplendentgoldenwings]

All That Remains, Chapter 8, Six Weeks

rating: teen

characters/pairings: Iris West, Francine West, Cisco Ramone,  WestAllen

warnings: grief, suicidal ideation

summary: Iris struggles through her first month without  Barry, all the while unaware of a little surprise that Barry has left her. angst, h/c

beta: asexual-fandom-queen

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Six Weeks

Iris surveyed  Barry's apartment. It wasn't like the cozy two bedroom place she shared with her best friend, Linda. Barry's place was spacious with hardwood floors, recessed studio lights, bay windows, two bedrooms and a nice long hall. Light and air flowed through it making it an easy, cheerful place to be in.

It was beautiful she'd helped Barry with some of the decorating, creating a whole pin board of ideas when working on her thesis got to be too much, helping him select plants, art and rugs. Iris felt as comfortable here as she felt in her own place, even now.

Now she surveyed the space considering the chores that needed to be done.

There was a stack of mail, about a week's worth, sitting on the table next to the door; his answering machine flashed seven messages -only Barry Allen had a home phone and an answering machine in 2015 and his plants needed watering. She kept her eyes away from the mantle and the far living room wall. Both were decorated with pictures of them, pictures of a life that was over.

After the wake, Linda had brought her here. Drunk and exhausted Iris had collapsed into Barry's bed, falling asleep in seconds. She'd woken to a dry mouth, headache, a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table. She'd gulped down the water, taken the aspirins and listened to the sound of Linda getting ready for work.

   When the other woman had knocked on the bedroom door, Iris had feigned sleep until she left.

   Linda was already doing plenty by staying here at Barry's, with her. She didn't want to distract the fledgling journalist from work as well, the other woman hadn't even completed a full year at CCPN.  Iris didn't want her best friend worrying or distracted at work, not at her dream job.

Iris picked up the stack of mail. Electric bill, gas bill, phone bill, junk, junk, she froze at the next:

A large, thick, creamy colored envelope addressed with a fancy curling script and wedding bells, addressed to Mr.Barry Allen and Ms.Iris West. The return address brought a lump to her throat: Canon Photographers. Her hands started to shake, and she dropped the envelope into the wastebasket.

She knew there were appointments that would have to canceled, but she couldn't deal with that now.

Instead, she hit the play button his answering machine.

"Hi, this message is for Mr. Barry Allen, I'm calling from the Garfield Conservatory. You contacted us about hosting your wedding on May 12th, 2016-" Iris hit the fast forward button as tears sprang to her eyes. She sighed with relief when the next message was about a dental appointment; she could call and cancel that. She wrote down the number, and the third message started. Another wedding photographer, the message was short, finished before she could hit fast forward. The fourth was also about the wedding, as was the fifth and the sixth and even the seventh.

Iris found herself rooted to the spot, listening as friendly, chipper people offered to help arrange a future that no longer existed. Listened as she started to tremble, as her grief surged, heart breaking with this fresh reminder of future charred beyond recognition in a matter of hours. Each message calling up the agony sitting just below the surface of a skin stretched too thin. Pulling at her until it poured forth in a keening wail.

They had both been eager to plan the wedding. The date, that was easy, May 12th the date of their prom, their first kiss, the day she'd confessed she still loved him seven years later and he said he'd still felt the same. The day they'd come back to this very same apartment and made love for the first time, the day he proposed. The perfect date for a spring wedding.

"Oh God." Why had they waited so long? Why had she ever thought it was ok to delay until after college? She could have switched schools, canceled her gap year, finished grad school faster. Why had she ever waited? Why had she ever believed she had time?

"Oh, Barry."

She sobbed his name and sank to floor, one word expressing so much grief,

Francine came by with lunch and found Iris asleep on the floor exhausted by her misery. She let her mother coax her into eating a meal she barely tasted and then bed. The last thing she heard as she drifted into sleep was her mother's voice, heavy with sadness as she made the first of many phone calls.

The next, two weeks passed in a haze of grief.  She spent more time alone in Barry's apartment than any of her family and friends wanted. She couldn't work. The thought of her meta-human blog her ill. She couldn't imagine putting together a pitch, contacting magazine publishers or  looking for story ideas. Her mind couldn't fathom it. After a week she tried going to Jitters for work, but Barry's ghost was there waiting for her.

She could see him, sitting at his favorite table, savoring the warmth of the late afternoon sun on a fall day as it warmed his lean frame, a Flash and apple turnover sitting on the table before him. The same Barry she had always known, long and lean with the same dark hair and green eyes, but a man rather than a boy, handsome and charming, her man.

Barry's ghost was everywhere in Jitters. She couldn't just curl up with her memories and let them hurt her if she was there to work. Iris never made it past the front door.    

She'd never known that a life could be completely consumed by pain. She'd scoffed at the idea of dying from heartbreak, but when you woke sick and crying every morning spent the day holding back tears, went to bed the same and woke to do it all again, well it didn't seem so impossible.   

She wore his favorite pullover, slept in sheets rapidly losing the mingling of their two scents, and tried not to cry. Linda spent the nights there with her, being a true best friend and Wally came to visit during the day when he could, Joe came by in the evenings.    

At the end of two weeks, Henry came and packed up Barry's things.  Iris wanted to help, but she couldn't. It had been Barry's apartment, but their home as a couple.   

They'd first made love in his apartment. She could still recall his lips, his touch, the flush of heat through her body as his hands moved over her skin, the unexpected, but not unpleasant stretch of him inside and the way her pleasure had rung through the halls unmatched by anything she'd experience before enriched -not by any special expertise, but by the depth of feeling they had for each other.

On Saturday mornings they cuddled on his couch and plotted their future together. In the evenings after a long day at Jitters she'd be at the kitchen table writing pitches for articles. When she felt too tired, too drained to write Barry was there to keep her company  or bring her a cup of coffee to keep her going. "The world news Iris West's voice." He'd said that to her after a series of especially painful rejections.    

They'd spent a weekend in his kitchen making ravioli from scratch, pasta and all. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been made with love.  

She could sit at his dining room table, close her eyes and see his warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. There had been times when she'd teased him about the crow's feet destined to grow around those eyes, but she loved that smile.  

She couldn't help Henry pull it all apart.

So instead Henry sent several boxes of Barry's thing to the apartment she shared with Linda.

Francine came by daily, made sure she ate and showered and she did eat and shower because she didn't want her mother to fuss. She watched What Dreams May Come and cried. She watched The Constant Gardener and felt a cathartic longing when Justin Quayle was finally executed by the same men who'd murdered his wife. She watched Singing in the Rain hoping to feel Barry's presence and was angry when she didn't.   

Iris fought with her mother that day.   

She uploaded every picture of Barry from her phone to her computer, sent them to the drug store to be printed with duplicate copies. She backed up every picture she had of him or the two of them together to an external hard drive. She had four voicemails from him, Iris recorded them into one long message and played them on loop until she fell asleep at night. She did all this while wearing his favorite shirt and wrapped in his too big bathrobe though his scent had long since faded from them.  

When she went to the drug store to pick up her pictures, Iris dressed in all black –not that it meant anything anymore- and glared at everyone who spoke to her or looked at her.   

The cashier at the drugstore, a cheerful young woman with a pleasant smile,  commented that the guy in her pictures was cute and asked if Barry was her fiance.   

"He's dead," Iris growled before snatching her pictures and felt some satisfaction at the devastation on her face.  She tried to take off her engagement ring, put it on a chain when she got home, but couldn't.

She spent a lot of time asleep and chalked it up to depression.   

She spoke to her family and friends, but they all seemed so unbothered Iris kept her misery to herself. She talked to Henry and sometimes her mother. Henry, because he was about as miserable as she was and she couldn't bring him down any further.  She talked to her mother because well, her mother was a therapist and had been depressed for years herself.   

She received a card from Malcolm after two weeks telling her to hang in there, and he called her once a week just to see how she was. He didn't try to pressure her into doing anything or being anyway. He just checked on her, it was nice. She didn't mind talking to him about Barry. He and Barry had been casual acquaintances. She couldn't hurt him with her memories, unlike Wally who thought of Barry like a brother or Joe who'd been delighted when they'd learned that Barry would officially become a part of their family.

A 30,000 check came from the life insurance company. Francine paid her bills out of it.

Cisco appeared on doorstep. His hair lank, face gaunt,  circles under his eyes -heavy and black, mouth a tight miserable line.  Guilt surged, he'd meant what he'd said when he called Barry best friend. He'd found some of Barry's things at the lab and decided to bring them over.   

She invited him to have a seat, talk to her about Barry. Listened to him talk about The Flash and enjoyed it, memories that weren't hers, memories that didn’t hurt.   

"He was my good friend," Cisco finished.   

"Best friend," she corrected gently and was surprised to see him smile. "Caitlin really was just trying to help wasn't she?"   

Iris looked away as she asked that.   

"Yeah. Barry would be in a lot of pain sometimes, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, lacerations. He wasn't in any danger, but it was hard to watch-"  

"-I remember."   

And she did, Barry unexpectedly insisting that they stay in some nights, or cuddling up to him only to have him wince away and blame any injury on clumsiness. She'd almost started to worry and then it mysteriously it stopped.   

Guilt washed over her.   

"I owe Caitlin an apology."   

"She'll understand."   

She wrote Caitlin a long email apologizing for taking her anger out on the other woman.   

Caitlin wrote back: 'My fiance died in the particle accelerator accident. I know how hard it is, I know how you feel.'

The guilt she'd been feeling surged at that response. Caitlin had known Barry for two  years, been his main doctor during the coma, she would never hurt Barry. Cisco and Caitlin really did just want to help. The guilt was a pleasant distraction from her grief and Iris started planning something she could do to thank the two scientist.

At the end of that first month, Iris looked at herself in the mirror and saw her chin and cheekbones standing out at sharp angles, her color ashen, and hair that looked like straw. She'd been sleeping too much, not eating enough, not exercising and not getting enough sunlight.   

She considered doing a face mask, deep conditioning her hair, taking a walk. She looked like she was falling apart. No wonder her mother came to see her every day.   

Iris told herself to shower, dress, do that face mask and a miserable angry part of demanded to know why and then proceeded to tear through every answer that she had. Reminding her that there was no point, that nothing felt good or right anymore. Barry was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Making herself look perfect wouldn't bring Barry back, just like it hadn't helped her mother when she was a kid. Barry would always be dead and she would always be miserable.  

By the time that miserable angry part of her was done Iris was crying as if she'd only just found out. She put on Barry's favorite top, wrapped herself in his robe, plugged in her  earbuds crawled into bed and put on her recording of his voice.   

She tried it again in two weeks and actually managed to eat breakfast, which she threw-up. The same thing happened the next day and the day after that. The third day she threw up her lunch too. When she heaved up the breakfast bar Linda coaxed her into eating on the fourth morning the other woman looked at her with worried frown.   

"Iris, I don't know how else to say this so I'm just going to spit it out. Are you pregnant?"  

              "What?"   

"You've been throwing up, you're tired all the time and you look terrible."   

"Gee thanks. I'm just nauseated from not eating right."   

"You haven't been in our stash." The two friends shared a collection of sanitary napkins, tampons, and panty liners, Linda was right she hadn't been in it. Barry had been gone for more than a month and she hadn't had a period.   

"I'm stressed, stress changes your period."   

Linda took a deep breath.

"Let me see your phone."  

          It took them several minutes to find her mobile. She'd let the battery run down and misplaced the charger. Linda went into the living room and plugged it in there setting it down on the coffee table.

"Linda I'm sure it's nothing. I don't want you to be late for work."  Iris sat down on the couch, and Linda sat down beside her.

"I already told them I was coming in late today."   

"Alright," Iris said with a sigh.

"I know how unhappy you are. I see it, but if you are pregnant you have to face it sooner or later and sooner is always better than late with pregnancy"

"Except I'm not. We were always careful; we always used condoms."

"You know condoms aren't 100% and I know you aren't on the pill."

"Well, we didn't just use condoms. I tracked my period; we didn't, you know, have intercourse if I could get pregnant."

"Never, not even once?"

"No, we-"

-Except for May 12th, the day Barry proposed had fallen into that fertile period.  She'd wanted him so badly. They'd used condoms, but as Linda had pointed out, they weren't 100%.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Iris pressed her fingers to her lips.

"What is it?"

"My period was already a few days late, before- before everything. I-I just forgot about it."

Linda put an arm around her shoulders, and they both stared at her phone waiting. When that first sliver of red showed in the battery, Linda snatched up the phone powering it on, and Iris gripped her friend's arm.

It had been a month and a half since Barry...and she had already been late. That was two and half-months. Stress didn't do that.

She thought back over the past six weeks, the morning nausea, the constant state of exhaustion, her breast- she touched them gently now over her shirt- they were tender...Iris felt a strange crawling sensation in the back of her head, and her shoulders began to rise, meeting the heavy sense of dread settling over her.

Her phone finished booting, and she watched Linda's thumb come down on the little flower icon for the period tracker.

"76 days late."   

Iris felt her eyes go wide and then she started to cry.  Linda's arms came around her around her.

"It will be ok. We're going to take care of you."

At that moment Iris West felt many things, but none of them was ok.

A/N- Alright so we’re finally gettng to the meat of part one. I’m super excited about the remaining chapters. 

Thanks everyone for reading. Please take a  moment to comment and if you like this fic give it a reblog. 

[confessionsofacookie]

I Hate You, I Love You

For the anon who asked: for a enemies to lover fic (sorry lovie I can’t find the actual request and I usually write them in bullet points in my book)

Author’s Note: In Microsoft Word this is 18 pages long and has a word count of 7344 words. Hope you guys enjoy it!

y/n = your name

y/f/n = your first name

y/l/n = your last name

I Hate You, I Love You

The waves lapped softly under the bridge. The light from the street lamps reflected off the water like orange jewels. I huffed a heavy sigh and raised my face to the glittered sky, allowing the chilly, wind to caress my face and toy with the loose strands of hair on my head. I swallowed the lump in my throat, the saliva in my mouth thick making it almost impossible to go down. I crunched the picture in my hand and leaned against the cold metal railings. A slight wetness from the afternoon shower clung to the metal and soaked into the forearms of my jacket.

I lowered my eyes to the crumpled picture in my hand. Dark almond male eyes stared back at me. Gently I caressed the photo, following his long straight nose with my thumb and tracing the outline of his strong bearded jaw. I looked up again and stared out at the horizon, it was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I’m sorry John,” I whispered and let the photograph slip from my fingers into the water below.

***

Several Months Ago

 “Y/n I have an assignment for you,” drawled Crowley, as he offered me an enveloped package.

I took it from his withered hand and opened it. Carefully I removed the contents – a manila folder and read it.

“The usual?” I asked, my eyes scanning the kill order and the picture of the target.

A glass clinked “, yes and the money will be wired into your account upon completion of the job.”

I stood and repackaged the folder “, until then.”

***

The rough concrete was cutting into my stomach from where I lay. I shifted slightly, my eye looking through the scope of the sniper rifle, for my target. Any moment now he would walk through the door of his office and sit at his desk which was framed by a huge glass window.

Movement caught my eye – show time. The door swung open and the salt haired target stepped inside. I steadied myself and fixed my line of sight. Slowly I breathed. The man walked to the corner right of the room and removed his jacket. A bit closer and that money would be mines for the taking. Forcefully he tugged on his tie loosening it and crossed to his desk.

He was in sight. I placed my finger on the trigger, the cross-hairs lining up with his head. Suddenly he moved off. I frowned and eased the pressure on the trigger. The door to his office opened once again and a tall slender, sharply dressed gentleman stepped in. I couldn’t see his face, as he was standing far back in the room.

I wiggled on the ground again trying to dislodge the knobby bits of concrete from my ribs. Two bright bursts exploded in the room and my target fell.

“What the fuck?!” I whispered harshly, gripping the rifle tightly in my hand.

I turned up the magnification on the scope to get a better look. My target was crawling towards the window. The new competitor followed, bringing himself fully into the light. Surprise coursed through my veins when I saw his face.

“Baba Yaga,” I whispered to the wind.

Another burst of light erupted in the room. Hastily, I lined up my competition and fired. The glass shattered and his body jerked back violently as the bullet connected. I cocked the rifle, expelling the used shell with a clink and fired again. I missed as he bolted through the door.

Rapidly I stripped and stowed the rifle, heat burning through my body. Someone had just taken my target. Sirens blared in the distance and I ground my teeth at the outcome of events.

I arrived at my employer later that day.

I burst into his room, shoving aside his secretary.

“Someone else took the target,” I hissed through clenched teeth at my employers turned form. Rotting bastard had just cost me seven million dollars.

Crowley waved his hand “, Octavia can you leave us please?”

The curvy, brunette, secretary shot me a dirty look before slamming the door shut behind her.

“Bitch,” I muttered under my breath.

His leather office chair creaked as he reclined further “, is that so?”

I stood akimbo, huffing, eyes narrowed at the chair “, what do you what me to do?”

The chair spun with a squeak “, I have another person who has trouble sleeping that I’d like you to help.”

Slowly he leaned sideways and pulled out a similar looking package from the drawer.

He tossed it across the table “, same price and make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I swiped it off the table and left with a bang of the door.

***

Crowley smiled smugly to himself as y/n left. He picked up the phone and dialed his secretary.

“Octavia, love be a doll and ring up Stewart from me and tell him the bet is on?” he drawled into the phone.

“Right away sir,” she responded crisply “, anything else I could do for you sir?”

Crowley pondered a moment before replying “, bring your cute little ass in here and keep my lap warm.”

***

Thoroughly I read the file. Malcolm Whittaker, another high-profile banker was my next target. In two days he would be attending a conference for world bankers. He’d be arriving by plane and from the airport he’d head straight to the meeting.

I rocked myself in the recliner, studying the pictures I had taken earlier of the building designated for the conference. The walkway to the entrance of the building were lined with palm trees at least ten feet apart. The surrounding area was littered with high rise buildings. Many places where I could easily hide and get away. The multilevel car park looked highly appealing.

Whittaker was a man in a high position so that meant there would be press coverage. The best place to get him would be the entrance walkway to the building.

At my hotel room, I gathered and packed my supplies.

***

Despite the windy conditions, I was pleasantly happy that I didn’t have any concrete digging into my body. Hidden behind a white panel van in the multi-level parking lot that was several levels taller than the meeting place I waited, crouched down with the rifle braced on the concrete culvert. I checked my watch, ten more minutes till eight, any moment now.

A crowd and the press were already gathered outside waiting for Whittaker. I blew into my hands warming them before rubbing my palms together vigorously. A car passed behind me and I shrunk back slightly. Despite being properly hidden I could help but felt a little paranoid about being discovered.

I looked through the scope, a line of black SUV’s were driving in the direction of the bank. Show time. I hunkered down and fixed the magnification on the scope. With the sight directed on the black cars, I followed their arrival.

The crowd began clamouring as the vehicles came into view. My target emerged from the middle car, a wall of security buzzing around him. What kind of banker needed this kind of security? I slowed my breathing as I focused all my senses on the target. I lined him up in the cross-hairs, the guards and pedestrians making a clear shot currently impossible. I waited, patiently.

The press swarmed him, pushing his security detail out of the way. A pathway cleared and I depressed the trigger. Whittaker’s head jolted forward, red matter flew out the side of his head as he crumpled to the ground. Chaos ensued, people running, screaming and shoving each other to flee from the scene.

I gave the area one final sweep through the scope, making sure Whittaker was dead. I smiled smugly to myself, seven million dollars was mines. Now I could take that lovely Caribbean vacation I always wanted.

A dark, crisply dressed solitary man caught my attention. I pulled back from the scope alarmed, the Baba Yaga was in the crowd, hand tucked into his jacket and staring up at my position. He moved and began walking towards the parking complex.

Swiftly I stripped the rifle and chucked it in the case. I ran to the car I had stolen from the police compound and fled. It was so very hard not to sink my foot on the gas and fly out of there. I gripped the steering wheel with clammy palms as I reached the last level. Ever so slowly I exited the complex. Baba Yaga stood across the road casually holding a newspaper. Recognition lit his dark eyes as they locked on mines while I exited the building. The papers dropped and his hand flew to his jacket. I floored it and sped out onto the street.

Shit he’d seen me, I lamented, and he knew who I was.

I jumped as my phone rang. Pulling it from my pocket I checked the screen, I had been sent a message. I parked on the shoulder and opened it – seven million dollars have been deposited into your account. I smiled like the Grinch and pulled back onto the freeway.

***

A phone was ringing however I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming it. The sound grew louder. Nope I wasn’t dreaming it. I groaned and rolled, my hand patting wildly across the bed for the ringing monstrosity. I found it tucked under a pillow. I swiped my thumb across the screen and brought it to my head.

“Hello?” I croaked, my voice thick with sleep.

“I have someone who needs help sleeping,” drawled a voice on the end and the phone disconnected.

I flipped onto my back and tossed the phone aside. I groaned as I sat up and began dressing, it was still dark outside.

I shrugged on my coat and stepped out into the frigid air. Slowly I rolled my neck, removing any lingering sleepiness. I slapped my hands to my face in quick succession before taking in a huge gulp of air. The frostiness dried and burned my throat, awakening my senses even more.

Alrighty then, time to go make some mula!

I arrived at Crowley’s estate, the lavish mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree. I always wondered when I was a child what kind of people lived I such houses. Eventually I got my answer. I chuckled to myself as I waited for the guard to open the gate to the grounds. I drove up the long driveway and stopped in front of the entryway. Immediately it opened and Octavia, Crowley’s personal assistant exited holding a very familiar manila envelope.

“Mr. Crowley, apologizes that he isn’t able to meet you at the moment,” announced Octavia when she spotted me “, he has asked me to give you this.”

She offered me the envelope and I couldn’t help but smile a bit smugly to myself as I took it from her outstretched hand.

“Is something the matter?” she snarled.

I chuckled this time “, it’s not, really – .”

I shrugged and walked towards my car, Octavia folded her arms and frowned.

“I just wish I had someone who went above and beyond the call of duty the way you do.”

Her shoulders bunched “, I don’t believe I follow what you’re talking about.”

I slid into the car “, might want to put a little foundation on that hickey on your neck or someone will think you got mauled.”

Her hand flew to her neck as her eyes widened.

“Next time tell Crowley to meet me directly. This wasn’t our agreement and if this happens again he’ll have to find someone else to work for him.”

I shut the door, turned the key and sped down the driveway back to my room.

The sun was beginning to peek through the sheer curtains. I grumbled to myself and plopped on the unmade bed. Slipping my thumb beneath the flap I ripped it open and dumped the contents onto the bed, three folders fell out.

“What’s this?” I muttered and checked through the number of folders again. I was right, there was three.

I opened the top folder and read the order - Iccha Patel, some oil tycoon. I pulled the second file – Yuri Vladimir, diamond investor and mine owner. Alright, last one. I checked the contents – Marco Polo – ambassador to the United Nations. I froze – wait – was his name really Marco Polo? I doubled checked the file.

“Hmm your parents must have hated you,” I mumbled.

Another issue crossed my mind, why three files at once? I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Crowley’s private line.

“Hello y/n, I see you’ve got the packages,” greeted Crowley.

“Why three?” I questioned, wasting no time.

He chuffed on the other end “, always so abrupt aren’t you.”

He fell silent and I waited for him to respond.

“Silent pressure right? They’re all in some urgent need of sleep and each one is interdependent of each other. Hence three at once.”

“Price?”

“Seven million a piece, but, if you help them before the new week starts, I’ll double the final price.”

“Consider it done and I trust you got my message.”

“I did.”

“Good,” I replied and disconnected the line and tossed the phone across the bed.

I stared at the profiles before me, three targets before the new week starts, no problem.

I slid off the bed and turned on my laptop and began digging through every aspect of their life I could find.

Several hours later I dropped back onto the bed exhausted. The room had darkened and only the blue light emanating from my laptop illuminated a small fraction of the bed. I groaned, stretched and turned over onto my stomach, it rumbled angrily, I hadn’t eaten since my visit with Crowley and I was beyond famished.

I flipped on the bedside lamp and closed the laptop. I crawled off the bed and began stripping as I made my way to the shower. My clothes leaving a trail as I moved. I hopped out of my dirty underwear and tossed it into the hamper, I’d collect the other clothes when I came out. The hot water was soothing against my skin and I purred as it slid over my body. I was almost reluctant to leave the warmth of the shower but my stomach kept protesting.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get you some food soon,” I murmured while rubbing my damp stomach.

I toweled off and dressed restaurant worthy, which in my case meant a wide legged black trousers, slim fitting white shirt, pearl stud earrings and red pumps. Pulling my hair back, I swept it back into a high pony tail. Giving myself a once over in the mirror I left for the restaurant.

The elevator ride was quick and I stepped off on the ground floor and headed towards the restaurant. The gran décor marveled me every time I entered the room.

The crystal ball chandelier hung seemingly by a thread in the centre of the room. Each hand cut crystal globule shimmering like diamonds and refracting the light brilliantly across the ceiling. The setting otherwise was very French country, the walls coated in mild pastels that seemed almost white and lined with gold. It was a large open space with close to one hundred dining spots. The tables and linen as well were white, with hydrangeas of pink, blue and green in short rounded vases adorning every table.

I spotted a familiar face tucked away in a corner table sipping a glass of wine. Their bespectacled, dark head declined, reading away.

“Winston,” I greeted as I approached the table.

Crystal blue eyes lifted to mines.

“Y/n!” he greeted and stood “, please, have a seat!”

“No, no, no,” I said declining his offer while he pulled out a chair for me to sit “, I don’t want to disrupt you.”

“Nonsense!”

I smiled knowing it to be futile to fight with him and sat. Winston raised his hand signalling the waiter. A crisply dressed man greeted and offered me a menu. I read through the food offered, unsure of what to pick.

“Um,” I began, pursing my lips “, I’ll have the steak – well done and whatever he’s drinking.”

He nodded in agreement, took the menu and left.

Winston peered at me over his glasses “, so how have you been?”

I raised my eyebrows “, I’ve been well – you?”

“The same old thing, taking care of my place and growing old.”

“Still as handsome as ever tho.”

Winston laughed heartily and took a sip of his drink, the deep violet liquid swirling in the glass. The waiter arrived quickly with my meal and left a bottle of wine, which Winston promptly poured for me. Hungrily I dug in completely forgetting Winston. A quiet snort pulled my attention off my food. I looked up to see Winston gazing at me with a bemused expression.

“Sorry,” I apologised, my cheeks heating “, been busy with some work and I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

“You mean stealing my work,” came a deep male voice behind me.

“Jonathon!” marveled Winston.

I froze, the food in mid-chew. Suddenly a chilled wind slinked into the room.

“Winston,” he returned good naturedly.

Winston held out a hand towards and empty seat to my right “, please sit. Would you like something to eat?”

He nodded and the waiter returned as he sat.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” said the Baba Yaga.

Slowly I chewed the food in my mouth and swallowed, the food going down my throat hard. I took a sip of the wine to help it slide down a bit easier.

“Have you two met as yet?” asked Winston.

I raised my head to him, for a second I was stunned. He was handsome. Inky black hair was pushed off a broad forehead, dark almond eyes were framed by strong equally inky brows, a long straight nose, full pink lips and a strong bearded jaw.

I wiped my hand on the napkin and offered it to him “, y/f/n y/l/n.”

He grasped my hand firmly, the rough pads of his fingers lightly scraping the backs of my hand.

“I know who you are,” he responded and shook my hand firmly.

“I’m –,” he began.

“John Wick,” I cut in “, I know who you are as well.”

Winston watched us interact with weary eyes.

Grasping the column of the glass he raised it towards us “, might I make a toast?”

We nodded in unison and grasped our drinks and held them afloat.

“To new friends and old ones,” announced Winston and moved his glass towards ours.

We clinked them in the centre of the table and took a long generous drink.

Winston swallowed and turned his crystal blue eyes on me “, what’s this about stealing work, now?”

I returned my glass to the table just as the waiter finished placing John’s meal on the table. I waited for him to cut into the food and chew before answering.

“John killed the target I was contracted to kill,” I answered simply.

I felt those dark eyes slid to me and narrow slightly. I continued with my meal as John chewed mindfully. He wiped the napkin over his mouth and angled himself to me.

“Thank you for the lovely gift by the way.”

“What gift?” I pondered and placed a forkful of salad into my mouth.

He dug his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and plunked a deformed sniper slug on the white linen “, this.”

I stared at it for a fraction of a second before picking it up and rolling it between my fingers.

“Why thank you darling, but, a gift is a gift,” I cut John a wicked smile “, don’t you know it’s rude to return a gift?”

Winston’s eyes darted between us both. The temperature in the room literally dropped as we stared each other down.

“Do remember the Continentals’ rules,” cut in Winston.

I smiled in a friendly manner at Winston to reassure him I did and continued with my meal.

“Did you have a contract for Whittaker as well?” I blurted out without thinking.

“What do you think?” he murmured, before taking another sip of wine.

The conversation came to a close then. All the while Winston kept a close eye on both of us while we ate. I finished and signaled the waiter to clear my dishes.

Placing the napkin on the table I stood “, Winston, dear, always a pleasure.”

I turned to leave and found John standing as well, his meal halfway done and a forkful of food on standby at the edge of the dish.

“Mr. Wick,” I said stiffly.

“Miss y/l/n,” he replied equally stiffly “, I do hope I don’t see you at anymore of my job sites.”

I cut him a side glance, his full lips were set slightly downwards.

“Likewise, Mr. Wick, likewise.”

I nodded at Winston again and left for my room, my hands clenched in tiny balls. Somehow, I had a feeling I would be seeing Mr. Wick again and it wouldn’t be casually.

***

“Hello again Mr. Wick!” I shouted above the roar of wind.

“Miss y/l/n!” he replied.

Quickly I glanced around the edge of the building. A bundle of green and blue barrels saluted my eyes, along with a metal ladder descending off the far side of the building. Shots whizzed through the air and I pulled back, pressing my spine into the brick. The edge of the wall exploded into bits of red sand.

“Are you really trying to kill me?!” I called out, estimating how I could make a run for the ladder.

I dropped down onto one knee and opened fire at the brink wall to the other end. I looked out quickly again, the flammable sign on the barrels catching my eye. I fired again before he had a chance and rolled out behind the barrels.

I was down to one clip and I slid it into my glock. Wick fired again at my previous position. I gazed between gaps of the barrels and saw there were some of the same kind of barrels close to where he was positioned. I hoped I could do a flash special for what I had in mind. I gulped in some air and stood, exposing my body. Quickly my eyes found my target, however Wick was quicker. He spotted me and fired, hitting me in the stomach. I grunted in pain, the searing burning sensation filling my abdomen. I fired, the bullet catching my intended target. I sped off towards the ladder as fast as I could an inferno raging behind me as the other barrels exploded.

Warm, sticky blood leaked down my left side soaking my shirt and pants as I struggled to make my way down the ladder. I was gasping for air by the time I reached the bottom. On wobbly legs I moved, my body becoming sluggish from the loss of blood. Blindly, with my hand pressed firmly to my stomach I ran into a neighbouring alleyway to get my bearings. My breath was coming out in short, shallow gasps. That’s when I saw it, a sleek grey and black, vintage 1989 Mustang, more formally known as John Wick’s baby.

I grinned to myself and hobbled to it. Thankfully the door was open and the keys even more luckily, were in the ignition.

“Oh thank God,” I grunted and got in.

I bounced the starter and the car purred to life beneath my hands. For a second I totally got why Wick loved this car, then I remembered I hated him. Taking my bloodied hand, I smeared it over the dashboard and everywhere else I could touch. It was petty but it was revenge.

“Take that bitch,” I grunted “, I hope it doesn’t wash out.”

I spied a white tee in the back seat and grabbed it. Using my teeth as leverage I split it down the centre and bandaged my wounded abdomen.

Woozily, I started the car and drove out into the traffic and back to the Continental.

I stumbled through the front doors and made my way to Charon.

“Hello, Miss y/l/n it’s very good to see you,” he greeted, his earthen skin gleaming under the fluorescent lights “, how may I help you today?”

“Can you please send the doctor to my room? It’s urgent,” I said through gritted teeth.

He gave me a once over, his sharp eyes detecting the extent of my damage.

He inclined his head slightly “, certainly madam, might I get someone to escort you to your room?”

Unable to answer I nodded. Immediately a smartly dressed gentleman firmly but gently grasped my upper arm and guided be behind Charons’ booth. Carefully I was placed in a wheelchair out of the public’s eye, where I was rolled to the service elevator.

The last thing I remembered were the silver doors of the elevator closing and me looking like I had just crawled out of hell sitting in a wheelchair reflecting back at me.

***

A pounding on the door woke me. I groaned and cussed. I made to sit up but immediately fell backwards and cussed some more. For lack of a better term, I felt like utter shit. Like someone had taken my insides, removed them and connected them back in a different order.

“Go away,” I croaked, my throat dry.

The pounding stopped and I sighed happily, now I could go back to sleep for a bit.

“Where are the keys to my car?” rasped a man.

I opened my eyes. Ah shit! John Wick was standing in my room looking as equally crappy like myself with his singed hair, bruise marks littering his face, a limp in his step and a cast on his arm.

“I think it’s in the bedside table,” I whispered, somehow relieved I hadn’t killed him. He limped to the right side and opened the drawer, not there. Wick hobbled round the other side of the bed and opened the other drawer, I heard the clink as he withdrew the keys.

A low groan escaped his lips and he sat on the bed, his body doubling over.

“Just lie down and sleep,” I told him “, it’s not like I could kill you here anyways.”

I closed my eyes again, disappointed I didn’t get to keep the car. I felt him raise from the bed, two dull thuds hit the floor and the rustle of clothes. The bed sank again. I felt the comforter pull back and cool air rush in, then it was warm again.

“You got the kill by the way,” mentioned Wick.

“Two, one,” I mumbled half asleep.

He grunted beside me. His large body radiating delicious warmth me making me even more sleepy.

***

I was warm, so warm and comfortable. I snuggled into the warmth. It was also soft and it moved? I cracked open my eyes to find my head snuggled into a broad chest. A male chest.  Confused I pulled back slightly and looked up at the owner of the chest. Inky hair splayed across a white pillow greeted me. I gasped lightly. He had stayed the night.

Wick was breathing deeply and evenly, his chest rising and falling with each breath. I studied him quietly. He had full, thick eyelashes that curled slightly and almost touched the tops of his cheeks. Not to mention his mouth was ever so slightly parted. There was a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose like some star constellation.

Unconsciously I reached out and stroked one of his midnight brows. Tracing my finger across the fine hairs from beginning to tip, down his cheekbone and along his nose. He shifted slightly and draped an arm over my midsection, pulling me closer to his body. Sleep called to me again, I didn’t want to get up but I had to. Internally I groaned, tucked my head into his chest once more inhaling deeply before sneaking out of the bed.

Grabbing the phone off the hook I creeped into the bedroom and dialed reception.

“Hello good morning,” answered the front desk “, how may I help you?”

I peeked at the bed, John was still sleeping.

“Can I get an omelette, with a side of bacon and some coffee at room 257 please?” I whispered into the receiver.

“Certainly mam’,” and they hung up.

I creeped out of the bathroom, grabbed my bag with my documents and a change of clothing and hustled back into the room. Quickly I changed and rummaged through the files to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with while I was sleeping. Everything seemed to be in place and I exited the room.

I approached the bed once again, dropped onto all fours and pulled my sniper rifle case out as quietly as I could. On the floor, I opened the case and withdrew a fully loaded glock.

I stared at John sleeping peacefully on the bed, the fully loaded glock grasped in my hand. I could kill him now and get rid of any further complications. The warmth and softness of his body flashed through my mind. I closed my eyes and shook my head sharply, dispelling the memory.

A soft knock sounded on the door. I holstered the weapon and opened the door to find a food tray out in the hall. I lifted the cover revealing the food I’d ordered. Grasping the handles of the cart I rolled it inside and placed it in front of the bed. Swiping a page off the desk I was working at I wrote a message and placed it on the bedside table by John’s head.

I took one last look at the room before leaving. Iccha Patel was dead so that left Yuri. He was supposed to be having dinner today at an open-air restaurant. Easy peasy… hopefully.

***

I set up my equipment on the top of the building overlooking the restaurant. Yuri had just arrived and was talking to someone inside of the building. I sat down and pressed my back to the concrete and bit into an energy bar I had bought earlier. John flitted through my mind, the gentle sleeping expression on his face, the comforting weight of his arm around my mid-section.

I groaned and smacked my forehead. I needed to stop thinking about him. A cough alerted me to someone’s presence. My hand flew to my glock.

“Thank you for breakfast,” said a familiar voice.

Despite myself I smiled as a slight fluttering began in my stomach.

“Your welcome and thank you for the car,” I replied with a smile.

He approached me dressed in his usual formal attire, a black suit, white shirt and tie. He chuckled and held out his hand which I deposited his car keys in.

He leaned on the concrete railing and looked out at the darkening surroundings.

“Let me guess Vladimir?” he asked.

I nodded, the fluttering increasing. I stood, joining him at the railing.

“Why do I get the feeling someone is pitting us against each other?” I sighed.

He looked at me, eyes soft “, you’re not the only one.”

I picked up my rifle and looked through the scope, Vladimir was already dining.

“Take it,” I said, offering John the rifle “, if someone if playing with us let’s even the playing field and see what happens.”

He grasped the rifle and peered through the scope making adjustments as necessary. If someone was pitting us against each other it’s a possibility John also knew about Marco.

I opened my mouth to speak.

“I’m guessing you have a contract on Marco Polo as well,” he cut in while looking down the scope of the rifle.

I stared contemplatively out at the glowing lights of the restaurant. The people dining and milling around looking like ants in the distance.

“Maybe-,” I began, the wheels in my head turning “, different people want the same people terminated?”

“Do you believe that?”

I bunched my shoulders and rested my head on my hands “, nope!”

I tilted my head to him and grinned “, just wishful thinking.”

John stooped down and braced the gun on the concrete railing.

He looked at me, his dark eyes gleaming “, where’s my car?”

I gestured behind me “, alley behind the building.”

He peered back through the scope “, get ready to run.”

A grin creeped its way onto my lips. His shoulder shook slightly with the recoil of the gun. Distant screams filled the air. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me with him towards the car where we dove in and drove off towards the Continental.

“What are we going to do about Marco?” I asked as the car sped down the highway, orange light briefly illuminating the interior.

John turned left and exited onto a side road “, how about we deal with that tomorrow?”

I nodded and stared out the window at the neon lights and pedestrians going about on their business. The Continental, came into view large and luminous. John parked on a side street and we entered the premises together.

“y/n,” called John.

I turned “, yeah?”

His eyes shifted left then right before locking back on me “, how does a drink sound?”

I raised my hand to my chin and tapped it contemplatively “, as long as you’re buying, it sounds wonderful.”

He ducked his head and chuckled, a piece of raven hair escaping his do. I stepped forward and tucked it behind his ear. Time stopped. My fingers lay frozen on the spot behind his ear as his eyes gazed into mines. A warm heat filled my stomach, a sensation I hadn’t felt for a long time.

Suddenly I was pushed into John’s chest. His arms flew up protectively to prevent me from falling. I steadied myself instinctively looking up to already find him looking down at me.

I searched his eyes for a second before asking “, how bout we skip the drink and head to my room?”

He responded by grabbing my wrist, similar to the roof top and towed me to the elevator. The gold doors shut with us alone inside. I punched the number for my floor and that was the only action I was capable of before his lips crashed down on mines. He backed me into the elevator wall with his body and ground his hips against mines. I gasped against his lips as the hardness of his cock rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

My body was on fire. I needed to feel his skin against mines. My fingers raked down his back and arms. Blindly I pulled at his clothes, somehow, I managed to rip open his shirt, the tie still attached to his neck. I pushed off the wall, side stepping him and pushed John’s back into the elevator. I pulled my lips from his as one of his hands found its way under my shirt and massaged my breast, the other was cupped on my ass. I sucked a trail of possession marks down his chest. He groaned, with each scrap of my teeth, the sound reverberating and rumbling in his chest. I wrenched open the shirt widen revealing his two peaked pink nipples. Hungrily I lapped at them all the while grinding on his cock.

The elevator doors dinged open on my floor. Grasping me by the backs of my thighs John hoisted up onto his hips, his cock rubbing at my core and hurried down the corridor to my room. I pulled out the key card from my jacket and opened the door, entered, hung the do not enter on the handle and locked the door behind us.

We stayed like this for several days, eating in, taking pain medication for our wounds and have sex, lots and lots of hot, heavy, rough sex.

***

“Hello Crowley,” croaked Stewart into the receiver “, let’s up the ante since none have pulled ahead.”

“That sounds like a good idea!” responded Crowley “, let’s initiate it tomorrow.”

“May the best man win.”

“Likewise, Stewart, likewise.”

***

I awoke blissfully sore the next morning. I stretched and tucked myself into John’s warm, slumbering form. The buzz from my vibrating phone caught my attention.

“Oh great,” I grumbled and un-tucked myself from him.

I hurried to the bathroom, gently shut the door behind me. I checked the caller ID, boss shone in blue pixilated letters across the screen.

“Crowley,” I answered in a low voice.

“Apparently, Marco died this morning of a heart attack and you only managed to send Iccha Patel off to sleep… that’s not saying very much about your ability in this job if you aren’t able to help the people I ask you to help,” Crowley scoffed.

I rolled my eyes at his accusation “, the same could be said about you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted.

I shrugged on John’s white shirt, his spicy cologne instantly filling the air around me. Instantly warmth pooled in my core and I felt the ghosted touches of his hands and lips on my body.

“Are you pitting me against someone?” I accused.

“Why would I do something like that?” Crowley replied flatly.

I leaned against the end of the porcelain white tub “, because you’re a bored old man with money to spend and personal vendettas to fill.”

He scoffed and a muffled can you believe this fucking girl snaked through the line. A feminine laugh echoed faintly in the background.

I sighed. “Why are you calling me Crowley?”

“I have one more job for you, it’s urgent.”

The line went dead before I could ask any questions. I stared at the lit screen showing the ended call.

“Jackass,” I huffed and began dressing. Well money was money and I hadn’t filled the quota that’d I have liked to and Crowley seemed to be telling the truth. I wrote John a note and left it for him beside his car keys.

I shrugged on my jacket and stepped out into the night to collect my package.

***

Two greyed men sat across each other in matching maroon terry cotton robes and fluffy house slipper. With legs crossed they sipped amber liquid and puffed smoke like chimneys. The slimmer of the two leaned forward and with a liver spotted hand plucked a white knight chess piece off the board and removed a black bishop from its tile. One more chess piece taken leaving a few key players and pawns on the board.

“Careful Stewart,” cautioned Crowley “, the game’s almost over.”

Slowly Stewart raised his eyebrows “, that doesn’t mean I’m going to loose.”

Selectively he chose his playing piece – a pawn and placed it in front of Crowley’s queen, blocking it from attacking any of his key pieces.

Crowley leaned backwards and laced his knobby leathery fingers together contemplatively.

“It doesn’t mean you’re going to win either,” he murmured, his glassy hazel eyes fixed on the board before him.

***

Now

I stared down the barrel of the gun at John, my eyes involuntarily prickling. John’s glock was also pointed at me, indecisiveness in his eyes. We were both contracted to kill each other and neither of us knew if the other was going to pull the trigger.

Suddenly John shook his head and lowered his weapon.

“It’s alright,” whispered John, eyes dropping, the gun in his hand slack at his side.

The glock trembled slightly in my grip as my eyes brimmed. My heart pounding away in my chest as my brain scrambled at the turn of events. I lowered my arm and my head.

“I can’t,” I gasped trying to supress a sob.

Warm arms banded around my shoulders and pulled me to a broad chest.

I buried my face into John’s shoulder “, I love you.”

Gently he rocked me as tears leaked down my cheeks “, I love you too.”

He released me after a few minutes. Taking my hand, he lead me back inside the Continental. It was early in the morning so the vicinity was mostly devoid of life. With our fingers laced together we walked to the front desk where we were greeted by Charon.

“Mr. Wick, Miss y/l/n, how may I help you?”

John smiled a little “, I need to speak to Winston.”

“Of course, please hold a moment,” Charon picked up the phone and quietly spoke into it.

Using his thumb John rubbed soothing circled on the back of my hand in an attempt to calm my frayed nerves.

Charon replaced the phone in the receiver and turned to us “, he is in the lower levels and would be most happy to see you.”

We both nodded our thanks and took the service elevator to basement night club slash bar lounge.

Winston as usual was tucked away in a corner with his dark, bespectacled head down-turned reading some document with a glass of bourbon this time keeping him company.

“Hello Winston,” greeted John above the jazzy music.

Winston looked up and gazed at us over his glasses, those crystal blue eyes briefly landing on our joined hands.  

“Jonathon, y/n,” returned Winston.

He frowned slightly, his wrinkled forehead creasing even more “, weren’t you two trying to kill each other last time you met?”

We turned to each other and laughed, John’s hand squeezing mines lightly.

Winston held out his hand, the pen still clasped between his thumb and forefinger “, please, sit.”

John pulled out a chair for me and fixed it behind me as I sat. Winston’s sharp eyes took in every action. Without asking he poured us both a glass of bourbon.

He took off his glasses and rested them on the table “, now, what’s the matter?”

I licked my lips before beginning “, I think you should know the story first before we tell you the issue.”

Winston nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line “, alright.”

“Long story short, John and I have been contracted to kill the same people over a period of several months – five in total but one died of natural causes. Just – just this morning we received an order to terminate each other. We were hoping you could find out why.”

Winston nodded mindfully at my request, his eyes far as thoughts wandered.

He exhaled deeply and placed a hand upon his chin “, by chance are your employers’ names Crowley and Stewart?”

We nodded.

Winston clasped his hands together on the table “, there is a rumour that there’s currently a multi-million-dollar bet being carried out by those two on who has the better assassin working for them and people from all over the world are placing bets and wagers on it. I didn’t realise it involved you two. However, I’m not surprised seeing that you two are the best and no one would’ve predicted this turn of events.”

He gestured to our linked hands. John looked at me and smiled softly, he eyes closing to slits.

“What happens if we don’t kill each other?” inquired John. My stomach did a flip at the inquiry.

Winston picked up his glass of bourbon and stared at the amber liquid “, then they’d both hire an individual they believe to be skilled enough to kill you and keep the bet alive and running and still accumulating money.”

“Not if we kill them first,” I cut in.

Winston shrugged nonchalantly “, well there’s always that.”

We paid him our thanks and left knowing what needed to be done. With a peck on the lips, John and I left for our individual rooms.

I gathered the necessary supplies and made my way to my car for my last trip to my boss.  

[ladyamandapanda12]

The King and I Chapter 1

Okay First off I know the picture is crappy don't judge me! Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this. I released a couple of paragraphs and was threatened if I didn't release this soon. It was going to be called something else but that title was to long for me lol enjoyI

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just let me know!

Word count is a little over 2000!

Warnings: Sex talk and a little smut.

@myluvislikewow @ariallane @misshyen @heather-lynn @jennymagicalheart @daisykane535 @bowiegirl400 @alievans007 @emilyevanston @toc1985 @evansscruff @senesac79 @thaniya82 @mrs-captain-evans @always-an-evans-addict @theflimmaker1999 @sergeantmistress @smilexcaptainx  @theycallmebecca @avenger-nerd-mom @devikafernando

“Sire Please!” Moans and gasps of air was all that was heard throughout his chambers. Tia’s pleas went unanswered. How she ended up on the shoulders of the king with his head berried between her legs was a mystery to her. She knew not to think to long about it, because if she did she would’ve let go of the banister and fallen backwards. How did she get this stuck up old fart knocker between her legs? He has been any and everything but kind to her all week! Hell every time she comes to England for her biannual tour he’s either not around or not the nice. Well he was being nice now, real nice. Tia was awaken from her pre orgasmic haze when his highness moved to lower her. He placed her on the bed gently and nipped at her inner thigh. As he stood he started to undress himself.

As Chris gazed up and down Tia’s perfectly curvy pecan toned body he realized how much he had truly fallen for this woman. He wanted nothing but to give her anything that she wanted, and that started with him. Tia sat up and pulled his slacks down since he wasn’t going fast enough. Chris leaned down and captured her perfect luscious rosewood lips with his own. Tia finally managed to get his oh so many layers off of him and motioned for him to crawl up the bed next to her. And to think a week ago he wouldn’t have given her the time of day. Not because she wasn’t beautiful or his type because she definetley was. But because he had a country to run and they didn’t exactly take a liking to each other. Now all he wanted was for her to let him pound her into his bed.

One week earlier…

“Sire, lady Tia will be here momentarily, you should stick around and greet her.” His highness seemed less then pleased to do so. “Your highness will you give us a smile for the cover? Please?” The busty photographer’s assistant asked as she situated his hair. He was not in a smiling mood nevertheless he tried to look a little more pleasant in the photos.

Didn’t happen.

“Sire? Lady Tia?” James his trusted advisor probed at him again. As Chris finished his photo shoot he examined his advisor. He looked like any other advisor he had worked with in the past. About 6 feet tall, and older much older. James had taken his role as an advisor just 8 years short of Queen Elizabeth the second stepped down from her reign. He was there to see the whole scandal of the rightful heirs to the throne reject it. He was the one that actually sought out Master Evans to claim his place as king. He was their when his wife passed and left him with 2 small children. That was a long time ago, now his boys were 6 and 10 and seemed to be adjusting to their newish lives just fine. The photographer snapped the last frame and thanked the king for his time. After all the proper good byes were said and done Chris and James headed to the car so he could get back to the palace. The boys would be done with school soon and he liked to be there if only for a minute with them to say hello and play a little. On the way back to the palace Chris finally broke his silence about the Tia situation. “I will say hello and be on my way.” James let out a huff and nodded in agreement.

…..

“T?”

“Yeah?” Tia answered Chani one of her dancers and a good friend. “Are we going to go see Kate while we are here?” Chani asked with Cheshire Cat style grin. “You mean Kate Kate? As in to our opinion, the best fucking smut dealer that came from Down under? That Kate?” Chani nodded in excitement.  “Only if she’s there, call her and see…. When we get on the ground of course.” They were flying high in an old friend’s jet. On the way England to do their special pop up concert. They normally only came for the bi-annual concerts. One at the end of Summer and the other for the holidays. But this one was special it was the former Queen Elizabeth’s II birthday and she had asked for Tia to perform specifically. As happy as she was to see the Queen; She was not so happy to see the succeeding King. King Christopher Evans, boy was he a pain. When Elizabeth reigned she had insisted that every time that Tia came through she and her crew were to stay at the palace. Chris was far from happy about this arrangement. However, Tia did offer to not stay there, to help his family cope with the change. He refused and got upset and said that would be disrespectful to her wishes. And asked how she could ask him to do such a thing. The first couple of rounds were ehh okay. But things didn’t get any easier to have a 20-person crew in the palace. Especially since this is where this man and his family were supposed to call home. Bottom line it stressed everyone out. So after the 3rd time of uncomfortable exchanges she let her team stay at a hotel and only she stayed at the palace. Chris got offended and was upset that she had taken it on herself to break the accords. Tia insisted that if anyone ever challenged it she would take the heat.

Anyways ever since then, Tia and Chris just stayed out of each others way. When his wife died things got even more uncomfortable. His boys sought after her naturally desperate for a mother’s warmth. Any kind of mother, even ladies that haven’t been mothers yet. Naturally Chris was not for this idea at all. He despised it as a matter of fact. But Tia couldn’t help it. What is she supposed to do when two young boys sneak into her chamber at night for hugs and kisses? Shew them away!? So they kept their little secret from Chris. At night once he had retired to his chambers, Sebastian-6 and Henry-10 would come over to her room and get that extra love that they needed. Sometimes it was just hugs and kisses goodnight. Sometimes it was bedtime stories and songs. Then again sometimes all they wanted was to sleep next to her wrapped in her embrace. Sebastian a little more than Henry. Don’t get him wrong Henry never denied the love she offered but Sebastian let’s just say he had no problems inviting himself over. Especially late at night when he would wake up from a bad dream, or if there was a big thunder storm.

The jet finally touched down in Heathrow airport. The stage crew had already made it in, and met them at the gate. After a quick headcount and going over some rules for their visit. Tia released them into the city. As Tia made her way outside like clockwork the royal car was waiting for her. The driver Banks stepped out and greeted her.

“Lady Tia, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

“Thanks Banks! How are the kiddos?” She asked as she moved to the trunk and waited for it to pop open.

“They are fine, thank you for asking.”

“And?”

“And what ma’am?”

“How are things going with you and Malcolm?”

“Shh! Girl! You are going to get me fired.”

Tia busted out laughing, June and Malcolm had been dating for 7 months now. They met when His majesty offered him a ride to the theater.

June practically pushed Tia into to the car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Once it was safe she pulled out of the parked lane and headed for the palace. June rolled down the patrician window surprised to see Tia waiting right at the window to greet her.

“Shit! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!”

Another gut bursting laugh erupted out of Tia. She loved to scare June.

“Well you don’t text me back and I want to know how things are going. It’s not every day that one of your besties starts dating the president. Especially the president of the most romantic city in the world!!”

“Bloody hell!! Hush you! For Christ sake you’re going to get me in to trouble.”

“That’s the goal!”

Tia sat back and enjoyed the sights. She adored London the sights the sounds even the smells. This was one of the best places in the world to her. She was brought back to the conversation when June finally broke her silence.

“But Malcolm and I are great! He’s absolutely perfect! The kids luv him, they’ve become great mates.”

“June that’s so exciting! Soo how is he in bed?”

“TIA!?!? I can’t tell you that!”

A smile broke from the corners of Tia’s mouth. She knew if she didn’t press any further that June would tell her. So she made sure June was watching in the rear-view mirror before she shrugged her shoulders.

June not being able to contain herself calmly spoke. “He’s a lot more limber then he looks.”

Tia looked scandalized at June who just started to whistle and keep looking at the window.

“How so?”

“He’s a bloody porn star he is.”

“HA!”

“I have never ever in my life been exposed to that kind of sex. Mind you I was married to kink for 15 years!!”

“So he makes you happy?”

“Very much, he wants me to move to Paris.”

A gasped escaped Tia.

“Are you going to go?!?! Once my youngest gets to what do you call it in America? High School?” Tia nodded in agreement. “Then I will consider it. That gives him 9 1/2 months for him to be sure about his feelings.”

Tia could see the worry wonder across June’s face. It had only been 3 years since she became a widowed mother of four. But something still lingered across her mind. She wanted to make sure she wasn’t disrespecting her husband’s memory. Also she had promised him that she would find someone to take care of her and the ankle biters. His favorite nickname for the kiddos. June didn’t notice Tia move to patrician window to comfort her.

“You are an amazing woman, and you deserve an amazing man. I think Shawn would be proud of you for not lingering around. For putting your life back together in a short amount of time. Malcolm seems to be a great man and I know he will take care of you. I’m always here for you, you know that.” Tia kissed her on the temple and moved back a loose strand of hair that had fallen from her bun. “Now if you make me where one of those atrocious bridesmaid dress then I’m out. But until then I have got your back.”

June couldn’t stop the tear that escaped her. How she managed to be blessed with such a great friend at her age was beside herself. She thought of Tia like a daughter/bestie, kind of like a Lorelai and Rory Gilmore situation. As they pulled into the gate Tia’s heart sank. She was excited to see her boys again just not Chris. As they pulled up to the palace Sebastian and Henry were waiting outside with flowers in their hands jumping up and down in their royal attire. James was close behind them to make sure no harm came to them while they were waiting. June parked the car right in front of the boys and when Tia stepped out they rushed her.

“TIA!!!” They screamed in unison. “Tia, Tia we missed you!” Tia bent down and let the boys hug her. She kissed the tops of their heads.

“Hello my little loves! I missed you both soo much.”

A throat cleared in the background, and everybody stiffened. The boy’s let go and immediately stepped back. Tia slowly rouse to her feet straightened and spoke.

“Hello your Majesty.”

Copyright © 2016 LadyAmandaPanda12. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of LadyAmandaPanda12

[junker-town]

How to enjoy March Madness as an NBA partisan

There are lots of fantastic draft prospects headed to a TV near you during the NCAA Tournament. Lean in to the college game and enjoy.

The cold war between NBA heads and college basketball believers needs to thaw. At the very least, it could use a 20-second timeout.

The two have always been distant, bickering cousins. Go back through the decades and you’ll find cranky scribes and wizened NBA fans rolling their eyes at March Madness. The complaints then are the complaints now: the game is too slow, the spacing is too limited, the refs are too inconsistent, and my god, can we have a possession without a cutaway to some middle-aged dude with a clipboard hyperventilating on the sideline?

Lately, however, it feels like we’ve crossed a Rubicon from ironic NBA detachment to out and out disdain. It doesn’t have to be that way. Yes, the college game is not like the NBA game, but it doesn’t have to be the NBA. It can exist on its own terms.

It’s true that there are those of us old enough to remember a more prosperous time in college basketball. Way back when the NCAA Tournament meant Georgia Tech’s Lethal Weapon 3, Arkansas’ 40 Minutes of Hell, the Runnin’ Rebels of UNLV, and pre-championship Duke Blue Devils all competing in the same Final Four back.

There were no less than a dozen future first-round picks on those rosters (shoutout to Malcolm Mackey and Oliver Miller) with each participant sending multiple players on to the pros. Compare that to last season when there were three first-rounders total among the Final Four teams.

Far from an aberration, that combination of individual talent and iconic teams was a common occurrence back in the day. Where we used to watch players develop over time, now it’s an ever-changing personnel proposition. Even for the same power programs that load up on one-and-done recruits year after year. Things change.

But, here’s a little secret for NBA snobs. A week of cramming reveals that this year’s final college exam will be fun. There’s a bevy of point guards, athletic wings with diverse skill sets, and developing bigs with first round dreams. Many of those prospects are scattered among the tournament favorites, offering the possibility of some amateur advanced scouting before the draft.

Adam Hunger-USA TODAY Sports

There are also a number of good, veteran clubs that have been together for years and play like it. What Villanova, Virginia, and Cincinnati lack in top-end NBA talent, they make up for with steady play and exacting defenses.

That contrast between experience and young talent now lies at the heart of the Tournament. Nova’s Josh Hart may never be a star in the NBA, but he and the Wildcats have a legitimate chance at repeating for the first time in almost a decade.

With all that in mind, here’s an NBA-centric, player-focused guide to enjoying the Tournament. It won’t kill you, even if the endless timeouts and noxious parade of corporate champions may test your patience.

First, a word about who won’t be playing next week. Markelle Fultz, the presumptive top pick in this summer’s draft, saw his college career end with a whimper. Despite his many talents, his Washington Huskies team was decimated by early defections and never had a chance in the Pac-12. Scouts and talent evaluators aren’t holding that against him. In the words of one, Fultz just does everything well.

The other hot prospect sitting out March Madness is Dennis Smith. A turbo-charged point guard from NC State, Smith put on a show against Duke earlier this winter, but wound up exiting stage left following an uninspired showing in the ACC Tournament. That’s a pity because Smith is one of the more exciting freshmen in this year’s loaded point guard class.

That leaves UCLA’s Lonzo Ball as the man of the moment. He’s a unique player with a busted shot who still manages to carve up defenses with his uncanny passing ability. One of the cool things about Ball is that his unselfish play has transformed the Bruins from an also-ran into a finely-tuned offensive machine. (Defense appears to be optional and often comes in the form of a zone, but we can’t have everything.) Ball is a phenom, the one player you really have to see this week.

Troy Taormina-USA TODAY Sports

My favorite freshman point guard, however, is Kentucky’s De’Aaron Fox. Fellow frosh Malik Monk gets a ton of attention for his scoring ability, but Fox makes the Cats get up and go. He can’t shoot from distance, but Fox is a crafty scorer who can navigate into space. He’s also an awesome on-the-ball defender.

Monk, meanwhile, is one of the best pure scorers in the country. He may have to transition to combo guard status in the pros, but his athleticism and range make him a likely lottery pick along with Fox. With the wonderfully named big man Bam Adebayo patrolling the paint, Kentucky has its usual array of first-round prospects.

The point guard class thins out after that (Frank Ntilikina from France is also a likely lottery pick), but there are a number of quality veterans who always seem to emerge as March heroes. Iowa State’s Monte Morris is your dad’s favorite player. The senior almost never turns it over. Oklahoma State’s Jawun Evans is a delight. He’s the diminutive linchpin for The Cowboys’ high-octane offense.

Depending on how you classify Monk, there’s not a lot of top-end shooting guards in this year’s class. Louisville’s Donovan Mitchell is the one to watch here. He’s a classic Louisville guard who plays bigger than his size and has athleticism to spare.

The other main area of lottery competition takes place on the wing with three highly-touted freshman vying for a spot in the top five. You could not find three more different prospects.

Rob Ferguson-USA TODAY Sports

Josh Jackson may be the most complete of the three. The Kansas freshman is an excellent passer, especially out of the pick-and-roll as a smallball four. His shooting can be a bit erratic (including an unsightly 56 percent free throw percentage), but he can score and he’s a tough defender.

Jackson is also hyper-competitive — he once trash-talked Gary Payton in high school — and that can spill over on the court. Off the floor, he was charged with misdemeanor property damage after allegedly damaging a female student’s car. He was also suspended for the first game of the Big 12 Tournament for a separate incident. (There’s a lot going on at Kansas.)

Duke’s Jayson Tatum is a terrific isolation scorer, combining solid footwork and length to score over the top of defenders. Tatum’s been overshadowed at times by the emerging Luke Kennard (he’s good!) and the ongoing Grayson Allen chronicles, but Tatum put together a strong ACC Tournament. He may not have Jackson’s upside, but he’s a year younger.

Then there’s Florida State’s Jonathan Isaac, an athletic freak with projection written all over his long, skinny frame. At the very least, Isaac should be a phenomenal defender in the pros when he puts on weight. He’s already a good rebounder and excellent cutter. You can dream big on Isaac.

The old man of the group is North Carolina junior Justin Jackson, who returned to school after last year’s wrenching loss in the championship game to Villanova. Jackson needed to improve his range and he became a solid 3-point shooter en route to ACC Player of the Year honors. Jackson’s moved up the draft boards and that climb could continue if Carolina has another solid run.

The bigs are a mixed bag. The only true center with lottery potential in the Tournament is Creighton’s Justin Patton. A late-bloomer who redshirted his freshman year, Patton is skinny but long, and is an excellent finisher at the rim. Jarrett Allen from Texas and Robert Williams from Texas A&M will not be invited, unfortunately.

Steven Bisig-USA TODAY Sports

The top-rated four man is Arizona’s Lauri Markkanen, who is a tremendous long-range shooter. He’s not just a spot-up threat. The Wildcats run a bunch of different actions for him, both off screens and in the pick-and-roll. There aren’t many 7-footers like him.

Playing the role of versatile Michigan State forward this year is Miles Bridges, who has hung around the lottery pack. Wake Forest sophomore John Collins is a super-efficient scorer and Gonzaga freshman Zach Collins is the the definition of intriguing, even with a limited role. Baylor’s Johnathan Motley emerged this season as one of the best forwards in the country, and could be in line for a late rise.

One player to keep an eye on further down the rankings is SMU’s Semi Ojeleye. The Duke transfer has had a breakout season for the season’s biggest surprises. He’s strong and skilled and if he were three inches taller he’d be a lottery pick. Ojeleye does a little bit of everything for the Mustangs. At the very least he’s an awesome college player.

There’s plenty here for the NBA fan to enjoy. Why not try holding the sarcasm in check and giving college ball another chance? You might even like it.