#maybe the bourbon street part has to be cut down

[egipci]

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. This was two years before the torrential rains fell and crushed the land, before all the levees broke and a bunch of homes washed away.

They stood in front of the shop and a little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared wearing green fairy wings and holding a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons trailing off it. She ran them through her fingers and twisted them and then made a motion as if cutting them with scissors, snip-snip. She craned her neck back to look at them and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth downturned, his jaw clenched tight. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He shook the bag so there was a rattling sound, like, you sure? This is the good stuff. They were two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said, mostly to himself. He unwrapped another piece of candy and threw it into his mouth and watched his dad. Carefully he thought about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort but instead scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail. He couldn’t reach what was stuck between them, the taste thick at the back of his throat.

Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean turned to wave his hand at the guy behind the wheel and gave him a startled angry apologetic look and turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on up-turned buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the—and the corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and important choices to make like does he go back where he came from or walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely, voice echoing and spilling out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said here you are and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made a sound, no telling what kind, and found his back against the wall, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. He pressed his hand to his chest as if to keep it in place.

Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall and pulled him closer by the flap of his jacket. Dean tripped over his feet, held on to Dad’s arms for balance. Dad laughed low and said found you, mouth smearing against his cheek. He stuck his hand into the right pocket of Dean’s jacket, cloth pouch in hand, and found it full of candy wrappers. They fell out soundlessly to the ground. Dad tsked and said you’re gonna make yourself sick bud, low and pitying. He pulled Dean’s jacket open, left the bag inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know.

I found you.

Dad said, I know, hand around the back of Dean’s neck, the other under his jaw. He smiled, said hey come here, tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

[peachesofteal]

Home

Part of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Relationship issues. Feelings of sadness, anxiety, fear. Mention of attempted suicide. Alcohol use. Tenderness. Simon is soft for you. Simon is a good dad. The 141 is a found family trope. Angst with a happy ending. The gang's all here. Lots of crying. Home.

>You need to come down to the pub.  >What? >Simon’s in bad shape.  >It’s hardly noon?  >Just get down here, Sassy.

The text from Price has you walking briskly down the street within a minute, jittery with nerves and heart racing in your chest. The pub is not a long walk, the shortest route is east two blocks, south two blocks, and a quick left turn into the pedestrian alley that runs between two large brick buildings, to where the red painted door is nestled in off the street.

It’s not a long enough walk at all, because it hardly gives you enough time to collect your thoughts. Your feet fly over pock marked asphalt, anxiety shifting around in your mind, finding the softest pieces of your brain to sink its teeth into and derail you. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s not hurt. He’s fine. 

You’re practically vibrating with nerves. Your body feels uncontained, unbound by laws and physics, like you could fall apart completely at any moment. Rip apart at the seams and disappear into nothing, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a struggle, in the next moment, to not follow that previous thought up with ‘maybe it’d be better.’ 

You weren’t allowed to say those things out loud anymore. Or, so says your therapist. You weren’t supposed to think your family would be better off without you, this shell of a human that is neither a mother or a wife now, just a skeleton, just a nervous system, just a heart and a brain.

You grit your teeth.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. You are loved. You are worthy of being loved. 

You fight the eyeroll and repeat it on top of your other mantra for good measure.

Theo is okay. Simon is okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

When you get to the pub’s front door, you stop for a second and stare at it.

Your hands shake on the handle.

There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. You are still you. You are worthy of being loved. 

“What’re you doing ‘ere?” Simon slurs, and you chew on the inside of your cheek while Price stands opposite you, adjacent to the drunk man’s shoulder.

“Sassy’s going to take ya home.” Price explains gently, and Simon shakes his head furiously, eyes slamming shut like he’s suddenly been blinded by the sun.

“No.” He vows. You fight to keep your voice even when you try to reassure him.

“Si. Hey, it’s okay, you’re just-“

“No, Sass.” His fingers curl around the small glass that’s filled to the brim with bourbon, before he throws it back and wipes his lips on his sleeve. “Price’ll take me home. Go on.” The directive cuts, but you swallow the hurt down. You put him here. You did this. 

“I can’t, mate. Got to meet the wife down the street for an appointment.”

"I can't go with 'er." He snaps, and you try not to choke the saliva that's building in the back of your throat with your nausea. Price looks at you over Simon’s slumped posture, mouthing something that looks like: ‘it’s okay, call the cab’, and you manage it in record time, the tracker on the screen showing a black vehicle pulling down the street a minute later. Your hands are still fucking shaking, and you can’t stop them, can’t do anything with them except hold them together in hopes they’ll keep you from falling apart.

“Okay Si, come on.” You’ve managed to get him out of the car, and into the house, but he’s fading fast. The irritation from earlier settling into drunk sleepiness, draining some of that tension that he’s always carrying from his body. You shift him so that he’s leaning on you, his massive weight nearly bowling the two of you over as you encourage him to take the step up. “Help me out.”

“Wy’re you here?” He slurs and you grimace, pressing your thigh into the back of his knee so it bends forward and then up to the next step.

“This is ou- my house.” Our house. It wouldn’t have been a lie, wouldn’t have been anything but the truth, if you had said it. Instead, you bit your tongue just in time. “Can’t take you to yours because you’ve drank the city dry of Kentucky bourbon, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Always ‘lone now.” He mumbles and you feel the burn of tears in your nose, under your lashes. Don’t fucking cry. “Ya shouldn’t be here.” He protests as you walk next to him, step by step, your arm wrapped as much as it can be around his waist.

“It’s okay, come on.” You heave him up the last stair to the landing, where you keep your hands on his hips and steer him towards the bedroom.

For a split second, you consider trying to push him towards the guest room but disregard the notion as soon as it comes. He won’t be comfortable in there. The bed’s too small. Don't want him to wake up confused either. He grunts when you herd him towards the master. Master bathroom is better. That way he won’t wake Theo if he gets up in the middle of the night to puke. 

You manage to nudge him into the bed, heaving his legs onto the mattress and stripping his giant boots off, throwing them haphazardly in the corner while you glance at the bedside clock. Almost time for pick up. 

“Our room.” He blinks, arm stretching across towards the middle, towards the side you always sleep on, the side you still sleep on.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more relaxed in here.” You explain, tugging and pulling at the sheets. He’s so heavy, like dead weight against the fabric, but you don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and the sheets are knotted together under his back. His head lolls, body full of slack, blissfully unaware, floating high on a river of Kentucky bourbon and he looks like he’s about a minute from falling asleep. A tidal wave of longing sweeps through you, everything yearning to curl up into his side, bury your face in his neck and listen to the sound of his breathing.

You can’t. You ruined it. You ruined everything. Again. 

“My sweet girl.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into it, close your eyes and take a lungful of air. “Don’ cry.” He croaks and you manage a smile, a small one, mostly for his benefit.

“I’m okay.” You try to reassure him, his brow crinkling in the center like it does when he knows you’re lying and he’s about to call you out on it. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and glance at the clock again. Shit. “Si, I have to go get Theo, I want you to try to get some rest.” He stays quiet for a while, eyes drooping before he agrees half-heartedly.

“Right, I’ll be ‘ere then.” He shifts, rolling partially on his side, and yanks your pillow into his arms, folding it down into his body until his chin is resting on it. You don’t move from his side until his eyes start to slip closed, the dizzying rhythm of drunken sleep pulling him under, and when you finally stand so you can go get Theo, you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and press a feather light kiss to his temple. I love you; you think. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. 

Theo is, as always, pleased to see you on the sidewalk after the bell rings, his voice vibrating with excitement as he goes through his day, telling you about the things his friends did and the stuff his teacher said.

When you get about two blocks away from the house, you stop and he looks up at you in confusion, face creased in the center of his brows, the spitting image of his dad. You sigh, and squat down so you’re just about eye level. “Theo, I need your help with something when we get home.”

“Kay mum?”

“We need to be really quiet when we get home, okay? Dad is-“

“Daddy’s home?” He squeaks with glee, eyes wide and excited. Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

“Daddy’s home but he’s sick… so he’s asleep. To help him get better we need to be quiet so he can sleep, right?” He nods, and you know he understands. “Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie in the living room with our snack instead of playing in your room, yeah?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and you melt a little. He’s so kind, so patient. Such a sweet boy, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you at this point. You consider yourself lucky he’s so resilient, because you’ve already gone and screwed up half of formative years.

When he gets to the front door, he puts his finger in front of his lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, the little gesture showing you that he remembers what the two of you discussed and you melt even more.

He’s definitely getting ice cream tonight.

The morning comes too soon. You spent most of the night awake after managing to get Theo in a bath without causing a huge ruckus and putting him to bed, agonizing on having to face Simon, who may or may not even try to slip away undetected. Not to mention, the three of you have dinner at the Price’s tonight, since Johnny is in town, and it will be the first time you’ve seen Kyle in months. You’re already anxious about that, on top of everything. Your nerves feel rubbed raw.

Your brain didn’t let you sleep, not fully, instead choosing to free fall through memories like you were watching a movie, bits and pieces of your entire life playing out in your mind like you were sitting in a dark theatre with a bucket of popcorn.

The first time you met Simon, the confusion over the skull that seemed so familiar, your brain automatically linking it to Mace’s and dousing you in nervous fear. 

The first time he refused to show you his face. The first time you refused to give him your name. 

The moment you saw him in the bathroom, felt the magnetic pull like magic. The time you caught him watching you, standing outside of the safe house, face tilted up towards the rain. 

When he showed up at your house with a battered ultrasound photo and your name on his lips.

When you held his baby, your son, in your arms for the first time while he cried and kissed you over, and over. 

The day you said yes to marrying him, when he got down on one knee in the nursery, hands shaking with nerves. 

Sleep is brief. You’re half-awake on the couch, listening for any sound from either of them, staring at the floor while the rising sun casts shadow across the hard wood.

You hear the creak of heavy feet on the stairs, the hesitancy of someone standing at the top, unsure if they should come down.

What are you going to say when he does? What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?

Hey, I’m sorry I had a panic attack and abandoned you after we touched each other for the first time in almost a year. 

Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out and left which caused you to spiral into a bottle. 

Hey, I’m sorry I’m still a fucking nightmare that doesn’t actually deserve you. 

“Morning.” He calls, and you turn to see him at the bottom of the steps, walking towards the chair next to the couch, the giant one that’s got an imprint of his body in it.

“Hey, morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“A little.” The living room goes deathly silent, and you sit up, crossing your legs in front of you to face him. Say something. Say anything. 

“Look, I-“ you start.

“Sass-“ and so does he. The two of you stop as soon as you realize you’re talking over one another.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You follow up lamely, lip tucked between your teeth. He sighs, long and low.

“I’m sorry, you had to… deal with that. With me. Like that.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve seen you in rough shape.” You try to tease him, try to lighten the giant storm cloud that is bearing down on the two of you, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces instead. Smooth. You curse yourself. “I uh. Didn’t mind. It felt kind of… nice. To do something for you.” He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “You’re always taking care of me, you know?”

“You’re my priority-“ a bedroom door creaks upstairs, followed by the sound of little thundering footsteps, and you feel a pang of regret. Of all times to wake up early, baby. You can't fault him too much, he's so excited to see his dad. “you, and this guy.” He smiles across the room to where your baby stands with his blanket tucked in his hands, still in his pjs with a sleepy smile. “C’mere, bug.” Simon pats his thigh and Theo runs, scrambling up onto the chair and nestling into his dad, eyes still wearing their crust of sleep, hair all a mess.

“Breakfast?” you ask and Theo nods into Simon’s chest.

“Pa’cakes?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh.

“Sure, bug.” Simon looks at you over his head. “Will you stay?” you ask, trying not to let any emotion slip into your voice. It’s his choice. Don’t pressure him. He needs to be comfortable. 

“Of course.”

He stays all day. You don’t intend for it to happen, but it does, and you don’t complain. The two of you dance around the other night gracefully, but it doesn’t feel awkward or awful. It feels… okay. Normal. Without the elephant in the room, you could almost close your eyes and imagine this as before, and your willingness to relax and enjoy their company, together, without getting lost in your own head, is something you’ve been working diligently on thanks to Dr. C.

It feels good. It feels good, when you settle Theo in his room to watch a movie while you figure out his dinner before dinner, just in case he decides to be picky later. It still even feels good when Simon asks you if you want a glass of wine before you start getting ready for said dinner, because he can tell you’re nervous, and you actually say yes without feeling guilty. It all feels great, until it doesn’t, and your little bubble pops.

“Do ya want to talk about the other night?” Fuck. 

“Sure…” you taper off and he sits back in the chair, watching you with a scrutinous gaze, the one you’ve seen dozens of times, but not usually in your home.

“It’s important… that we’re honest with each other,” he says, and a knot twists in your stomach. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I need you to… acknowledge. What happened. I need to talk about it with you.”

“Okay.” You rush out. “I’m sorry… the other night, I- I made a mistake.” It’s the wrong thing to say. The words themselves are an error, and his face shutters, the beginning process of him shutting down taking over his body, his mind. No no no. 

“A mistake.” He repeats and you shake your head vigorously.

“No, no. Not like that I didn’t mean… please. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel or say things the right way anymore and my head has been so messed up, but I swear I… I want to try. I want… this marriage. I want us.” You’re crying earnestly now, tears dripping down your face, nails clenched into your palms so hard it burns. “And I… I wanted to take it slow.” He nods thoughtfully but stays silent. “I lost my head, the other night and rushed into things without really thinking.” Why isn’t he saying anything? “You were not a mistake Simon, I swear. You’ve never been a mistake to me.” You gasp the last sentence, throat raw with your tears and your eyes clench shut, hands going slack. Your chest is tight, it’s so tight and the air feels thin, and… you’ve completely ruined this, again, it’s all you ever do now, is ruin things. You ruined your family, ruined your son’s life, ruined Simon’s life, ruined everything. 

“Hey, hey.” You hadn't noticed, but his hand now curls around yours, pressure steady against where your pulse hammers under your skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to talk, Sass. Actually talk. Talk about where you are, how you’re feeling. Talk about a way to move forward.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to be honest with you about something. What happened the other night… it can’t happen again. I-“ He looks down to his feet. “I had a panic attack, after you left. I thought I was dying, I can’t… I can’t do that again. I have to be able to be present.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, but his grip slackens a little, and you feel your heart ripping into two pieces. Oh, Si. What have you done? “If I can’t be present, then I can’t take care of you, or Theo, or make sure nothing happens to the two of ya and I have to be able to-“ He abruptly stops, choking on the last sentence, and you watch as he straightens himself, twisting his back and rolling his neck. You stand, reaching for him, a tentative, seeking hand tracing along his forearm.

Asking for permission.

Asking for forgiveness.

Asking for everything.

He gives it to you. You fall into his arms easily, curling yourself into his lap, and he buries his face in your hair, shuddering breaths the only sound in the room, the only way you’d be able to tell he’s trying to compose himself. He dwarfs you, his embrace swallowing you up easily and you close your eyes, holding him as tightly as possible. You did this. You’ve let him down. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and he shakes his head. “I am, I… I am, Si. I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, a hand smoothing over your hair and then down your back. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

You check the door lock four times, while Theo jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk and Simon watches him carefully. The sun is starting to set, casting a orange pink glow over the street, lamps just starting to flicker on across the way, the sound of people out and about in the nice weather bouncing off the brick.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching for the bag on your arm. You nod, but reach out to grab his wrist when he turns to head down the block.

“I uh. I’m-“ you think you might be sick, and faint at the same time. You feel too warm in clothes, cold in your skin. You feel unsettled. Volatile. Why is this so hard? 

“What is it?” He’s gentle, voice soft and coaxing, and you try to smile and reassure him, but it comes out wrong, lopsided and nervous. You can do this. Just ask him. Today was mostly great. He’s not going to reject you. 

“I… was going to ask if you… if you wanted to come home with us tonight? After dinner.” His eyebrows raise, and something dark flashes across his face, something guarded.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Not for… that. Not for sex.” Jesus Christ. “I um… I thought maybe we co-could sleep together.” Oh my god. You’re blowing it. You feel like you might vomit all over his shoes. “Just sleep. In our bed. Together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yes. I want to if you want to.” He’s silent for a long time, practically eternity, before he steps forward, and presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, Sass. I want to.”

“Bloody hell. Feels like I haven’t seen ya in years.” Kyle pulls you into a hug and you laugh, head tipped back, pure joy on your face. You really did miss him.

“You look fit, Gaz.” You quip, and he preens just a bit. Simon scowls and raises an eyebrow from behind him. Price shakes his head like he’s already exasperated with the lot of you.

“Alright, alright. Stop hoggin’ the lass.” Soap shouts, elbowing him out of the way, and when he pulls you in for a hug, you’re not surprised there are tears smarting behind your eyes. Get it together. 

“Hey, Johnny.” You hold him back, arms wrapped around his waist, and he gives you a squeeze before pulling away.

“Hey Sassafras. You well?” He glances at Simon, and then back to you. It has not escaped anyone that the three of you arrived here together. You nod, and he smiles. “Where’s my nephew?” He half yells, because Theo is half hiding behind Simon’s legs, a little overwhelmed by the noise.

“He’s here.” You rub his head affectionately, and he peeks out, eyes landing on Johnny right away and glee lighting up his face.

“’cle Johnny!” he shrieks, and then flings himself at the poor man, barreling into him with the strength of a kid half his age.

“Oof.” Johnny gives you a bewildered look and you shrug.

“Why are you surprised? You know his dad.” Gaz barks a laugh, and Price’s wife rolls her eyes, before giving you a hug herself and dragging you into the kitchen. Gaz has got Theo up on his shoulders now, and you see Price handing Simon a beer out of the corner of your eye before you slip away, leaving them to their conversations.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” She motions to your under-eyes, and you tsk. You really did try to cover it up, but the puffiness is hard to hide.

“It’s been… a day.”

“A bad day?” She asks, and you consider it. Bad? No. Good? Also, not entirely. How would you describe it? 

“Not a bad day just… hard.” She reaches across the counter, squeezing your hand in a gesture of affection.

“If you need to chat…”

“Lunch this week?” you supply hopefully, and she readily agrees. It’s nice, having a friend. Having someone who gets it. Even though she’s a civilian, sweet as honey and soft as cotton, she’s still got an edge. She’s never shown fear, or disgust at the group of you. She married John, after all. And he loves her more than life itself. “So. What did you spend all day slaving away at in here?” you change the subject, and she giggles while popping a cork from a wine bottle.

“Fuck no.” She protests as she pours out two glasses. “I ordered catering. I’m not cooking for all you. You’re too picky.” She hands you a glass, and you chime your rim against hers.

“That’s fair.”

“How’s work, Sassy?” Kyle asks, bowl of salad extended towards Simon who turns his nose up at it.

“It’s good. Kind of dull.”

“What is it ye’re even doin’ now?” Johnny asks. He’s sitting next to Theo, who’s sitting next to Gaz, nestled between his two uncles like it’s a holiday, face beaming with happiness. They’re taking turns picking things off his plate too, since he’s already thrown a fit about eating vegetables tonight.

“I’m on a project. I’m just analyzing and compiling data for the DoD.” You try to keep it short, but Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of data?” You sigh.

“I’m tracking and analyzing the historical usage of Semtex.” You deadpan and his face lights up.

“Original compound?”

“Yes, Johnny.” You answer drily. Simon chuckles.

“You tryin’ to figure out how much is left floatin’ around out there eh?” You sigh again, louder for dramatic affect, and Price’s wife takes the cue.

“Okay, let’s talk about something other than bombs, hmm?” Gaz grumbles a protest, but she looks at Theo. “How’s school going Theo?”

“Oh yeah, sure use the kid!” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes, and you swing your toe into his shin. “OW!” He yells. You snicker. Price clears his throat. Whoops. 

“’Cools fun!” Theo supplies and Simon smiles softly at him from across the table. You watch him, the crease in the corner of his eyes, the gentle slope of his lips, the warmth and love that he exudes when he looks at his son. It makes you soft, so fucking soft and weepy and… in love. You feel the burn of a tear and rub your face subconsciously before looking down to your lap. Fuck. 

A heavy hand reaches for where yours sits, white knuckling the arm of your chair. A heavy hand wearing a gold wedding band, and you lean into it, hard, pulling his grip onto your lap, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles until you get your emotions under control.

“We’re gon’ miss you next week, Ghost.” Kyle says, cutting a piece of meat into a smaller portion and offering it to Theo who looks at it suspiciously. Simon coughs like he’s swallowed a fly.

“What?” you turn, and he grimaces. Price rubs his hand over his face, and Gaz looks between you and Simon like he’s confused.

“I’m taking some time off.”

“Well earned.” Kyle adds. “I’m sure Ale n’ Rudy ‘ll miss ya though.”

“You’re going to Las Almas?” Your head swings back and forth between the two of them.

“Wots lallamas?” Theo asks with a mouthful of food.

“Chew your food, baby.” You admonish. When no one else speaks, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head. “You’re going to Las Almas?” you repeat it, and Johnny shifts uncomfortably before answering.

“It’s just to help Los Vaqueros out.”

“With what?” you press, and now Simon is shifting nervously. “Soap.” You hiss and he holds his hands up.

“Valeria broke out-“ he starts.

“Someone broke Valeria out-“ Price tries to explain at the same time.

“Valeria’s on the lam and-“ Gaz uses air quotes around the word lam, and they all come to a stop when you laugh out loud.

“Oh my god.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’ll be out of your depth. She’s too smart for you all, and you know it.” The table goes dead silent.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for something to do lass…” Johnny trails off suggestively.

“That’ll do.” Simon barks, and Theo’s eyes go wide. Gaz looks down at his plate. Price frowns. Simon takes a deep breath, before cutting a glance to you, and you give him a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay. You try to communicate with the gesture. It’s alright. 

Price’s wife stands from the table, a hand on her hip, the other on John’s shoulder.

“Alright. Who wants dessert?”

Bugs chirp in the grass when you step up next to Price outside on the deck. Simon, Soap and Gaz are all in the living room with his wife, Theo asleep in his dad’s arms, cheeks squished together, sweet baby lashes laying softly on his face. Price taps his cigar once, twice, before clearing his throat.

“If you wanted too, Sassy, I could pull some strings. You could come to Las Almas.”

“Thanks, Price but uh. I wouldn’t pass the psych eval for field action? And I’m probably not able to be medically cleared either.” You point to your shoulder, the one that has the nerve damage in it, and he nods. “But, I appreciate the offer.” You sigh, turning around and pinning your hands against the railing, kicking your shoes together before blowing out a deep breath. “I never thanked you.” You say softly. “For taking care of him… during the- when I was- when we were separated. I know… I know he was in a bad place and you both really supported him.” Price nods, cigar pulling free from his lips. “And… I know we never really… talked it out but… I do forgive you.” His head tilts, eyes heavy with full of a world of things you can only imagine.

“What I did, what Simon and I did… it was a mistake. I made a judgement call based on the situation I was put in and… it was the wrong one.” He says lowly and you nod.

“It was, but I consider us square.” You close your eyes. “I remember you, that day. When you guys came for me. I remember… hearing you talk to Simon when the heli landed. When he thought I was already dead. When he-“ Your voice breaks, because it’s too much to try to remember, too much to pull to the forefront of your mind. The memory of Simon’s hoarse screams, his pleas, his hands stained with blood. Your own vision blurred red, Soap holding pressure against two of your wounds, Gaz wrestling a pistol from Simon’s iron grip, Simon trying to die alongside of you, refusing to exist in a world where you don't and Price’s shout, his command for Simon to stand down ringing out above it all. “You kept him alive, kept reminding him he had Theo at home, waiting for him, and I owe you for that.”

“You don’ owe me anything, Sassy.”

“Well, I like to think we’re even at least.” You smile and he nods, blue eyes twinkling under the porch lamp, cigar burning a red hole in the darkness.

“We’re even then.” He agrees, and you turn to look through the living room window, where Simon’s hand is resting gently on Theo’s back, rubbing a soft circle to soothe him as he sleeps fitfully.

“I gotta get them home.” You jerk your head in their direction, and he smiles.

“Goodnight Sassy.”

“Night, Captain.”

You are nervous as hell when you climb into bed that night. Theo’s asleep, locks triple and quadruple checked, water bottle filled and stationed next to your side of the bed. You’re half laying, half sitting up in a mound of pillows, wearing one of Simon’s too big t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, tucked under the blankets and staring at the ceiling when the bed dips beneath his weight, his body sliding under the sheet next to you. He’s warm, so warm, like he usually is, and you’re yearning to sidle over and tuck yourself into him, the feeling so strong it nearly saws a hole through your heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. 

“Sass?” His voice is even, gentle, calming, and you turn to face him a little more than eagerly.

“Hi.” You breathe. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t do anything stupid, or rash, or say the wrong thing, be cool, you can do it, you’re fine, you’re okay now, you’re-

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.” you blurt, partially mortified, even though you can hear your therapist in the back of your mind telling you ‘It’s okay to ask Simon for what you want, if he’s okay with that’. “Sorry. I want- I want… you to hold me? If… you want to. Only if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay.” You frown, fingers twisted together. His gaze grows soft, softer than it was ten minutes ago or an hour ago, and he nods, opening his arm to lift the blankets so you can scoot closer.

When you do, he brings you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck and folding his arm along your back, heavy palm sliding up and down your spine.

Home. It feels like home. It feels like happiness, and being whole, and feeling like yourself. It feels like your bed, your husband, your son, sleeping peacefully within these walls. It feels like everything’s okay, feels like you’re safe, feels like you’re going to be alright. It feels like home, for the first time in almost a year and it shocks you, the emotional swell of your feelings pulling tears to your eyes because you realize, you finally see, that it was Simon all along. Simon is your home, Simon is your anchor, Simon is your sanity. The father of your child, the man you married, the love of your life. It’s always been him. How could you have been so blind?

You’re crying now, tears soaking his skin, the neck of his t shirt and he’s holding you tight, trying to soothe you, his hand now brushing away the rapid tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“You’re okay, Sass. It’s alright.” He tries to calm you, but it only makes you cry harder into him.

“I know!” you sob. “I know it’s okay.” You sound nonsensical, breaths coming in shorter bursts, and you can feel his muscles tightening, his own panic starting to build over the state you’re working yourself into. “I’m s-sorry.” You sputter. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I ru-ruined us.”

“You didn’t, I promise.” He’s lying. He’s lying. He has to be, because how could that be true? After everything. After the hell you put him through. After the way you reacted the other night. After it all, how could he still be here, still want you? It didn’t make sense. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve anything.

“I don’t deserve you.” you cry, and he goes completely still, hand freezing on your skin, body frozen in the bed. You feel it, the stiffness, like he’s gone to stone, and it makes your heart race, makes you so nervous that your head spins until he speaks.

“I didn’t deserve you, for a long time.” He croaks. “I didn’t deserve to be in your life, didn’t deserve to be a father to Theo. Didn’t feel like I deserved to marry ya either. Could hardly believe it was happening, standin’ up there. Felt like I was in a bloody dream.” He leans back, tilting your chin upwards so he can look in your eyes, his own holding tears that match yours. “You gave me another chance. You forgave me. You showed me grace. Don’t you think you deserve a little bit o’ that yourself?” You take a shaky breath and consider his words. Do you? Do you think you deserve some grace? You close your eyes and count to ten in your mind.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. 

You are loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you intently, his eyes full of hope, full of love and understanding, carrying the weight of decades of pain, the strength of survival, the burden of everything. The burden that you too, carry alongside him. The burden that the two of you have always shared, even before this year, last year, before Theo was even born. A burden born out of trauma and broken homes and bloodshed; a weight that doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s by your side.

Two knuckles stroke along the apple of your cheek, and you turn your lips towards his palm, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his skin.

“I love you.” you whisper it, eyes wide open, looking up at him through blurry and tearful vision.

“I love you.” He says back, pulling your hand into his, kissing your pulse point tenderly, and then folds you back into his arms, your own limbs tangling with his until all you can feel, all you can see, or smell is him. Simon, your person. Simon, Theo’s dad. Simon, your husband.

Simon, your home.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 8

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

My appetite had betrayed me. I tried to enjoy being on a formal date with Dr. Miller, if that's what it was. I knew I should have been more grateful. I was. I was flattered that he wanted to take me out properly. No, not flattered. Honored. My mind, however, had fallen victim to the honeymoon phase - an element so excitingly unfamiliar and barely explored.

“You want to get out of here,” he said matter-of-factly, cutting through the last piece of steak on his plate.

“I love it here,” I said honestly, toying with a sliced potato and glancing at the fire a few feet away.

“You've barely touched your chicken.” Dr. Miller motioned with the knife. He then forked the last bite from his plate and extended an arm across the table. “Maybe the steak is more up your alley.”

I leaned forward and let him serve me the bite of meat. My teeth grazed over the metal fork and I saw him watching the movements of my lips as I pulled it completely into my mouth.

“Mmm..” came his one syllable response as if he was the one enjoying it. I echoed the noise and drew my hand across my lips as I began to chew.

“How is it?” He asked.

I smirked when his Adam's Apple rose and fell in his throat as I took a small sip from my wine glass. “Delicious.”

Dr. Miller winked and I made the bold move to snake my foot just a few inches up the leg of his pants. The expression on his face suddenly changed and he swallowed hard again.

“You're going to get us kicked out of here,” he growled quietly. “I have a difficult time controlling myself.. especially around you.”

His tone was playful but I could see that he was serious about the lack of control thing. A part of me wanted to push his limits; to see just how much he could take.

“Well, so much for taking my napkin off my lap.” His eyebrows lifted with playful accusation and I couldn't help but giggle.

“I'm sorry.”

“You're fuckin’ gunna be.” He drank down the rest of his bourbon like a shooter and smacked his lips, waving down the waitress as he did. “Check please.”

The two words made me weak in the knees. What was to come next? I couldn't wait. Since meeting Dr. Miller my life felt like one giant wild ride; and I couldn't get enough.

When I offered to pay he laughed and kept the check to himself before leading the two of us out of the little restaurant. It was then that it dawned on me that it might have come across as rude for not eating much of the meal he had bought for me.

The Mercedes quickly came into view on the street and I sighed. “I'm sorry I didn't eat. It's just-” Dr. Miller cut me off, pulling me to him with the force of ten men and our lips connected in a hard, needy kiss. It left me breathless when he finally released me.

My eyes were still closed and I felt his hand on my face. When they reopened he was still there in close proximity. Our noses almost touched and his touch was so soft - a drastic contrast to the red hot kiss he had just initiated.

“Don't apologize for not eating when you're not hungry,” Dr. Miller instructed and then added, “Get in the car.”

I couldn't move from the spot until he made the separation first. I craved his touch, his comfort, his closeness. I craved his praise, his lips, his demands..

The ride back to his house left me constantly adjusting in my seat. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to touch him. With every turn onto a new street I knew we were closer but I didn't know how close.. until we pulled up to a set of steel gates at the dead end of an uninhabited back road.

Dr. Miller rolled his car to a halt and turned to look at me in the darkness. “I'll be right back.”

I nodded and watched as he vacated the vehicle. Every horrific scene from the horror movies I’d seen over the years played in my head like some fanmade TikTok or YouTube video. Doubt began its rapid descent into my brain as I sat there alone in the dark.

I barely know him. Is this his house? Where are we? Could he be dangerous? He said I would be sorry. Did I completely misread what he meant by that?

A loud, heavy clunk made me jump and my already-surging adrenaline went into overdrive. Dr. Miller reentered the car and closed the door. His presence simultaneously made me feel safer and more uneasy.

“Is, uh.. is this your house?”

“Yes.” He motioned to where the headlights illuminated the gates as they had begun to ease open. “I just had to unlock the gate.”

I gave a nod. It didn't give way to the angst that had suddenly made my body feel tense and every other part of me feel vulnerable. No one I had ever known personally had steel gates blocking the entrance to their house. Dr. Miller's suddenly strained posture contributed to the subtle glance I made over my shoulder. 

The gates closed behind us, much to my dismay. I didn't even know where we were. If there was an emergency of some kind I didn't even know how I would begin my getaway.

What are you branding him as? You were ready to marry the guy ten minutes ago.

My own erratic ways of thinking had me worried. Nothing about my actions were rational and here I was breaking every single rule in the history of lectures given to women.

Strange man. Check. Telling no one where you would be. Check. Middle of nowhere. Check.

I glanced down at my cell phone, partially expecting there to be no service but I was pleased to see that I had full bars and plenty of battery.

“You enjoy your privacy huh?” I asked with a nervous laugh as we drove slowly up a windy driveway. It felt like we were climbing a mountain.

Dr. Miller laughed. “That I do.” He glanced in my direction now and looked me up-and-down. “The code to get out is 2003.”

“Oh..” I toyed with the hair on the side of my head. “Umm.. okay.” Did I look that tense?

The short ride to the top felt like a twelve-second panic attack. When the oversized dwelling came into view, however, my jaw dropped. “This is your house?” I couldn't hide my state of astonishment.

The house was made of stone and had two stories with a third, smaller level that sat at the very top. An unattached garage sat tucked away under a collection of tall oaks and maples. Everything about the property was extravagant.

Dr. Miller gave a modest nod and used a clicker from the visor to lift one of the oversized garage doors. My eyes drank it all in. His garage was nicer than my house.. and probably comparable in size.

There were two flatscreens on the left and right walls, a bar, a loft that went to places I could only imagine, not to mention two other lavish cars and an oversized truck.

What did he do to get all this money? I knew salaries for professors weren't at all adding up to what the estate was worth - not even close.

Inheritance?

When Dr. Miller killed the engine I raised my eyebrows at him. “Are you.. are you Batman or something?” There was a nervousness in my voice and in my attempt at a laugh.

He smirked but didn't say anything and exited the vehicle. “Come on.”

I took a deep breath and exited the Mercedes with one, swift movement as if I was ‘ripping off the band-aid’, so to speak. My eyes danced over the lavish nature of the garage’s interior though Dr. Miller's hand quickly found mine as he towed me out into the darkness.

The questions I had were piling up in my head, though as a new one entered it was as if another disappeared. By the time we reached the front steps my mind was blank.

There was no turning back when the heavy, oversized door swung open, making way to a magnificent interior; again, the type of thing you would see in a magazine. I was waiting to turn the corner and find a waterfall full of money with models sitting around sipping champagne.

“I can take your coat,” he offered, extending an arm as we stood by a coat rack a step inside the front door. With a fine click seemed to echo off the walls we were left alone inside.

“Thanks.” I slipped my arms out of the jacket and those same warm, fuzzy feelings finally returned when his hands grazed my shoulders. My imagination had temporarily taken the fun out of my fantasy evening.

Enjoy it, I instructed myself, stop thinking so negatively! I then quietly added, and dark.

Dr. Miller shrugged out of his own coat and took me by the hand. “Not to be cliche but do you enjoy champagne?”

I nodded. “We have Asti at every family holiday party.”

He turned and gave a genuine smile as we entered the kitchen. It was up to par with the rest of the house. “What are your family gatherings like?”

The question made me feel more at ease. It was light; genuine.

“Umm..” I grinned as he carefully removed a bottle of champagne from the stainless steel refrigerator and then reached for a pair of glasses from a cabinet above. “It's very low key most of the time.. well, all of the time. We usually have appetizers, a drink or two.. then the main course. There's lots of laughing and bringing up old, embarrassing memories.”

I could feel myself beaming as I spoke of my family. “Then there's usually dessert and coffee.. a night cap and some type of card game or board game.”

Dr. Miller popped the champagne and smiled again. “Sounds nice.” It was a simple reply but I could tell he was being honest.

“It is,” I agreed. “I just wish we got to see each other more, ya know?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Do you live alone?”

“I do,” he repeated.

I watched the bubbly beverage fill the glasses, nearly to the brim, and could tell he wasn't going to elaborate. Maybe there was nothing to elaborate on.

“Thank you.” I accepted the glass and was pleased when he towed the bottle to a cozy living room. The lights were dim. A fireplace sat waiting to be lit in front of an oversized, espresso sofa. The only thing that separated the two was an industrial, wooden coffee table. It felt.. romantic.

Dr. Miller set the bottle and his glass down on the coffee table, sliding a coaster in front of me. I sat down on the very edge of the couch as he got the fire started.

When he turned he let out a chuckle and reached for his glass before slinking in beside me. “You can get more comfortable than that,” he motioned to my stiffened posture as he sat all the way back on the couch. One foot rested on his knee and his arm extended across the back of the couch.

I took the most subtle deep breath that I could manage and leaned all the way back, feeling his forearm against my shoulder blades.

Dr. Miller raised his glass. “What do you want to toast to?”

I was speechless. All of my feelings for him had returned in full force. If it was even possible, he looked even better in the dim light with the fire’s dancing flames casting shadows on his face. I couldn't think of anything.

Cat got your tongue? I taunted myself in my mind.

“How about to.. trust.” He suggested when I didn't respond. It was a rather serious, abstract request; but I thought it was rather fitting.

“To trust.” There wasn't a thing he said I could disagree with.

Our glasses touched with a gentle clank and neither of us looked away from the other as we indulged in our first sip of the Dom Pérignon Rosé.

The evening felt far more romantic than the encounter within the university classroom’s walls. Still, the images, the sounds, the physical nature of that night were still fresh in my mind as we sat so close together in the firelight.

“Tell me about yourself.” Dr. Miller encouraged. He sipped from his glass again and held my gaze.

I couldn't keep a wide smile from my face as I turned more directly toward him. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he went on, “What's important to you? What do you like to do?”

“My family.” That was an easy one, “I have a brother and a sister. I'm close with my parents. I have a nice circle of friends. A good job.” When he continued to stare at me as if waiting for more I fished through my brain for more, “I enjoy watching sports. I.. “ I gave a shrug and his dimples made home on his face again as he freed me with a smile.

“Does your family live nearby?”

“About an hour away. My brother is still living at home. He graduates from Ithaca this year. My sister is a cop.”

“No shit.” He huffed a laugh.

“No shit.” I nodded. “I got out of a ticket two years ago thanks to her.”

“Wow.” Dr. Miller scratched the bridge of his nose and glanced at the fire before our eyes found one another's again.

“What about your family?” I sipped on my champagne and waited eagerly for his response.

“Father was a welder. My mother worked in a tile factory and as a lunch monitor some days.” He shrugged. “And I have an older sister.”

Welder and a lunch monitor. Well, I thought I could rule out inheritance with regard to the miniature castle we were sitting in. His response, however, made me feel at ease; like at least our families were on the same playing field.

“What's your sister’s name?” I asked.

“Carol.” He gave a fleeting smile.

I smiled back. “Are you close with her?”

“I am.” Dr. Miller continued to smile. He then nodded his head just slightly. “Why did you agree to come here tonight?”

“So I could spend more time alone with you.” The sentence rolled off my tongue with above-average speed and grace - at least for me. I thought the one-sentence synopsis covered the book that was going through my mind of all the reasons I was sitting there beside him.

Goosebumps traveled down my extremities when Dr. Miller's fingertips came in contact with my shoulder while he enjoyed more of his champagne. “My first impressions are usually correct. And if I'm going with my best judgment, I'd say you and I could really have a good thing.”

That same heat filled my cheeks. Adrenaline and dopamine shot an eight-ball of warmth through my veins and I was certain I was glowing. “I do too.”

“Well, alright then.” The swig of champagne he took went down easily and he set it back down on the coffee table. 

I did the same. Our hands were empty; bodies close. Could I touch him now?

“What did you think of the other night?” Dr. Miller asked.

My cheeks couldn't blush any harder than they already were. In that sense I felt camouflaged. “I was hoping something like that would happen,” I confessed. “And then when Trevor showed up-”

His laugh suddenly cut me off and I smiled wide. I was sure I knew of Dr. Miller's thoughts of Trevor, though he didn't elaborate after the hearty bout of laughter.

“I wouldn't mind doing something like that again,”I added. He appeared amused by the timid way that left my mouth from the Cheshire-cat like grin that was plastered across his face.

His eyes traveled the length of my body as I sat comfortably beside him on the sofa. I acted quickly when his hand snaked up from my shoulder to my face and his thumb danced on my lips.

This was like the beginning of every Dr. Miller-infused fantasy I’d had as of late. I accepted the tip of his thumb into my mouth and swirled my tongue in slow, calculated patterns.

My eyes focused on his and I was pleased to see that intense, eager look on his face. Everything about the man oozed sex. I wanted to rip my clothes off and jump on top of him - or rather have him do the first part for me. 

“At dinner you told me I'd be sorry,” I muttered silently, partially hoping he hadn't heard me. It wasn't in my nature to be straightforward and I certainly didn't view myself as sexy. Still, I wanted to entice him. I wanted to draw out every intense, deep, dark part of him to unleash onto me.

Dr. Miller's four fingers tightened around my jaw and his thumb popped out from between my lips. It was quickly replaced by his own lips that mine welcomed to embrace like an old friend.

The fireworks returned. My body felt hot; all senses went numb except for touch. A bomb could have exploded outside and I wouldn't have heard it.

I let a moan out into his mouth, less embarrassed this time. There was no sense in holding back. We both knew what we did to the other. We both knew what we wanted. The feelings, the understanding, the primal need.. it was all a mutual concoction of lust.

When he pulled away I felt needy; I craved more. It was like just a nibble of my favorite candy. My entire oral cavity felt deserted; betrayed.

“We should take this someplace else.” 

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 5

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

PART 5.

“I really hate this building,” he grouses as you push through the security door without challenge. He sounds grumpy, and it’s almost…cute. You’re not used to having anyone worrying after you like this.

“I’ve never had a problem here,” you try to assure him.

He gives one last hostile look over the street like he expects a horde of marauders to come charging after you. But there’s just streetlights, and the few harmless hipsters who are still out and about on a Friday night. This city never really sleeps.

“Do you at least have protection in your apartment?”

You reckon he doesn’t mean condoms.

“What, like a gun?”

“Yes.”

“No,” you laugh. “I have a bat under my bed?”

He makes a sound through his teeth that indicates that is not the answer he wanted to hear. Again, you stumble on that stupid odd riser, and again he grabs for you, holding your waist with an arm that feels like steel, practically carrying you up the next three steps. He is tense, on edge after the fight, his eyes sweeping the shadows of your stairwell.

You hope that once you get him inside your apartment, he might calm down. For once the tumblers yield without a fight, and you pull him inside, locking the deadbolt again behind you. “Come sit down. Let me look at you.”

Instead he strides to the window, looking out over the street with a suspicious glare. He is manic, going to every window that faces the street and closing blinds and curtains. Then he stands vigil again, looking out through a crack in the blinds, his jaw clenched. He stands like that for a good minute before you insist, “John.”

He reminds you of a hawk, the way he turns his head to look at you without moving the rest of his body.

“It’s ok, honey. Do you want a drink?”

He lets out a deep breath, maybe relaxing a tad, though he’s still grinding his bottom teeth. “Sure.”

You know his poison of choice now. It’s possible you picked up a nicer bottle of bourbon than what you had on offer last time, a small batch vintage.

“Sit,” you insist, pointing at one of your chairs in the living room. You know it sounds like a command, but it seems like the only way to get through to him in this hyper-fixated state. After a long moment he finally obeys, lowering himself down into the cushioned seat with the weariness of a man ten years his elder. He seems as though he has done this all before—and he doesn’t like it anymore.

“You’re taking all this rather well,” he remarks, gratefully accepting the cut crystal glass from you, slugging back half of it.

“Well...that guy was an asshole.” You shudder as your think about what Sasha intended to do to you, and how he’d undoubtedly treated other women before you who didn’t have someone like John on their side. “A knife in the leg was the least he deserved. You taught him a lesson he won't forget.”

“Yeah. Too bad these guys aren't big on self-reflection. They prefer revenge.”

“You think they’ll come after you?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

You digest this, chewing on your bottom lip. “I can’t imagine how they could even find me,” you try to assure him. “It’s a huge city.”

The look he pays you isn’t exactly condescending, but it definitely makes you feel like he finds you naïve.

“Did you pay for your first round of drinks with cash?”

“No, credit card.”

He nods, like that’s all they would need.

“Seriously?”

“They have their ways.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“I feel like it would be better if you didn’t know.”

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” you say with your hands on your hips. “If someone’s coming after me, you’re going to tell me who.”

The wistful smile that twists his lips unexpected. “What?” you ask, unable to mask your annoyance.

“It’s just…I feel like I’ve had this conversation before.”

You realize you must remind him of Helen, with your no-male-bullshit attitude. It makes your heart ache at the same time it fills with pride. “Well, I learned from the best.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, and you feel your annoyance melt away as you study this man, so forbidding and yet beneath it all, a little fragile. You see it in his eyes, and there’s still blood on his brow, and you decide you want to patch him up more than you want to argue with him.

For now.

Maybe he feels some obligation to take care of you because of Helen, but it goes both ways. You know Helen would want you to make sure he’s taken care of too. You feel a little guilty that it’s taken this long.

“I’m going to go get my first aid kit. We’ll clean you up, then you can decide what you want to tell me. FYI, the less you know the better is not acceptable tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You cannot tell if he is amused, exasperated, or maybe both.

You return from the bathroom with your medicine chest, thunking it down on the coffee table. “Want another?” you ask, gesturing at his empty glass.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t. Good stuff.” You smile to yourself, wondering if your previous offering had been closer on the scale to paint thinner, remembering how he’d drank it anyway because he was a sweetheart. He was a conundrum, was what he was. This man was dangerous, and after what you’d seen earlier, you suspected he was possibly a killer. And yet, he was sweet. So sweet, at least to you, and those he considered friends. The warmth that bloomed in your chest for him was alarmingly not exactly—or not exclusively—lust related.

“Ouch,” you sigh, inspecting his brow. It’s a deep cut, and might actually require a butterfly. You won’t know until you clean it up.

You actually possess a passable first aid kit. Sometimes, art projects involving blades go awry, and you are in the habit of taking care of your ailments yourself. The cost of healthcare is utterly obscene, and until recently, out of your budget.

John lets you fuss over him, sitting still as a statue as you cleanse his wounds with saline solution then slather him with some antibacterial goop. Though you still feel a bit sick, and a bit giddy from the adrenaline, luckily your hands have stopped shaking. You do affix one butterfly closure to his noble brow, just in case. His eyes are closed, almost as though he is enjoying your ministrations, even though you know it can’t actually feel good.

“I’m not sure what else to do for this,” you say, touching his split lip lightly with a gauze pad, dabbing away the blood.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” you say.

This could be an excellent window for him to really tell you what’s going on. You suspect he’s purposely distracting you when he reaches for you, tracing the line of your waist before his large hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer between his manspread legs.  

“I’m feeling better now.” He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes, and goddammit they should be considered an illegal weapon.

You know you should insist on answers before giving in, but your resolve utterly dissolves under his touch and that longing look, replaced with heady desire. This thing between you is a force to be reckoned with; it obliterates your good sense, your sense of propriety, your loyalty to your late sister. Anything that might have stopped you with anyone else ceased to matter with this beautiful man.

You are not sure if he pulls you, or if you just melt down into his lap, straddling him. His long fingers splay on your legs, pushing your skirts up your thighs, sliding higher and higher until he cups your ass with only your panties between you.

“My knight in shining black armor,” you sigh, touching his cheek lightly, wary of causing him pain. You think you see a bruise forming beneath the scruff of his beard.

“Hmm. It’s nice to be the hero, for once.” 

“Are you usually the bad guy, John?”

His touch is feather light down your legs again, then up your spine and the backs of your arms, causing you to shudder uncontrollably. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

“I think I’m forming an idea,” you admit breathily.

“My clever girl. What ever shall I do with you?” You’re not sure why his praise makes heat and slick pool between your legs, as though you are melting from the inside for this man. His hands are in your hair now, his touch still so gentle, but oh so maddening. Your skin feels like its on fire.

You kiss him gently, because of the split lip. He is the one who deepens it, with a growing desperation and a disregard for his own pain that you find insanely titillating. His mouth travels down your neck, trailing kisses and grazing with teeth as though he means to eat you alive.

You would let him, gladly, and you writhe against him, grinding on the length of his hard cock beneath you. You didn’t even get to see it last time. Tonight, you determine you will remedy that.

Fingers hooked in the straps of your dress pull down, down and down until you are bared before him. His hand in your hair pulls, gentle but exacting, guiding you to arch your back, offering up your breasts for his delectation. His mouth on your nipples is pure magic, sucking and biting and flicks of tongue that drive you to the absolute brink. He could make you cum just like this, you think, with his mouth on your tits and riding his rock-hard cock through his pants.

It hardly seems fair, considering last time, you somehow manage to think through the fog of desire that has you so tied up in knots. You push against him, sliding down his body until you are on your knees before him. He watches you with such blatantly raw hunger it makes your legs weak; he knows exactly what you’re doing, and doesn’t have the will to tell you no. He watches you intensely as you reach for his belt, flipping it open. There is a weight on the belt that confuses you for a moment, until his hand goes behind his back, catching something.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, and you can’t think straight enough to even entertain it. He pulls out a small black blocky object—it takes you a moment to realize it’s a gun. You've never really seen one in real life until tonight, just in the movies. You are more curious than fearful as he sets it gingerly on the table. The possibility does not even register that he could be a threat to you. After everything you’ve seen tonight, this is just par for the course, and you return to your task with gusto, whipping his belt from their loops with a satisfying snap.

You cannot hide the fact that you are utterly pleased with yourself, and the corners of his mouth twitch, his hand caressing your cheek. You finish undoing his pants with your eyes half closed, so entranced by his light touch, until his manhood springs free into your hand, hot and velvety and oh my he is large. You roll your eyes up to meet his before descending upon him, slowly taking his swollen glans between your lips, swirling him with your tongue.

“Fuck, baby…”

The hand in your hair is not so gentle now; you don’t think he realizes he’s pulling, as you slowly take his length into the back of your throat, toying with the vein with your tongue. You slide more of him into your mouth, knowing you'll never be able to fit it all, but so willing to try. You bob up and down slowly, grazing him very carefully with your teeth, winning the most delicious moan from this man who is usually such a bastion of self-control. 

His fingers comb through your hair, sending chills all down your body as you work him up and down. The tips of your bare breasts brushing his tautly muscled thighs sends spears of longing to your loins, and you press your legs for some relief.

It doesn’t work, but you are enjoying this, and you want to treat him, the way he treated you so generously before. He’s taken a beating for you, fought and bled for you, protected you, and you want to thank him in the most primal way you know how. You take him deeper into the back of your throat, as deep as you can go, savoring every thick inch of this magnificent cock. What a thing of beauty. He groans, and you would have smiled if not for the mouthful.

“Baby...so good to me.” His hips rock against you of their own volition, his grip tightening in your hair. “Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you cum with your mouth sucking my cock.”

He doesn't have to invite you twice. Your fingers find your weeping slit, toying with your clit while you go down on him. You find a rhythm like this, sucking him in time to touching yourself. Maybe it’s a little self serving, but then again...there is something cosmic in this. Something timeless and primal and he seems to be enjoying it all the more with your participation, the vibration of your moans teasing his hard shaft.

You feel that scintillating pleasure gathering in your loins, know you are close. Your pleasure almost takes you by surprise, it is so swift and violent, your body spasming with the mindnumbing explosion inside you. After last time, it’s almost the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. You take him into your throat fully and he cums with you, no warning, just the hot spill of his seed down your throat, filling your mouth. You swallow it greedily, only withdrawing when he stills beneath you.

You nearly collapse against his lean legs, your cheek resting on his lean thigh. This man is made of muscle and sinew. Through hooded eyes he caresses your face, toying with your hair. You shudder with aftershocks that are almost as pleasurable as the orgasm itself. You feel triumph as those burning dark eyes slide closed, overcome by afterglow, and maybe something else you don't care to name now.

“My sweet girl. You...are a marvel."

Something inside you blooms at hearing those soft words from him.

Slowly you sit up, stretching against him, using his hard body to help push you to your feet. Without a word you step out of your lacy pink panties and stick them in his jacket like a pocket square. He glances down with a lifted eyebrow, a small smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.

He’s so beautiful you could scream. 

“Something to add to your collection,” you quip, alluding to the fact that even though he practically fled last time, you know he took your undies with him.

“I will treasure them as much as the last pair,” he admits with a woebegone smile that crushes your heart.

Your legs are trembling beneath you, and you hold out a hand to him, inviting him to follow you. “Snuggle with me?”

A few long moments pass, until you think he might reject the idea, but then he takes your smaller mitt in his and tugs you down into his lap. It is silly, how secure you feel curled up in this man’s arms, your head finding the warm crook of his neck. His masculine smell is utterly divine, and you could fall asleep there, with his long fingers stroking your hair. You snuggle in the quiet aftermath, spent and ever so content.

This might be what heaven feels like.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, when he brushes his lips against the top of your head and asks, “What would you say to packing a bag and coming to my place for the weekend?”

The suggestion takes you aback. Heat floods you as you think about just what you would get up to on a long weekend away at Casa Wick.

It certainly wouldn't be innocent.

Your little bubble of carnal pleasure bursts when you think of everything that happened outside your apartment, before you pleasured each other into a mind-numbed stupor.

“I would say I feel like you have an ulterior motive besides enjoying my company.”

“I do enjoy your company.”

“And I think you think I'm in danger. Are you ready to talk about that?”

“Am I allowed to say no?”

“No.”

He huffs with laughter, clearly amused with you. But behind it all, you see the shadow of worry in his eyes, a tension at the corners of his mouth. “Come home with me, and we can talk about there.”

You tilt your head, wondering if he would be so diabolical as to fuck you into a blissfully complacent stupor so he didn’t have to answer your questions the whole weekend. You’ve never been good at taking orders—or hell, even advice—at face value. You like to make decisions—read mistakes—for yourself. But maybe, just this once, you could have faith that someone has your best interests at heart. He’s older than you, maybe wiser, and seems to know a little something you don’t about the workings of the underworld of New York City. As surreal as it seems...you could actually be in serious danger.

Seeing that you are still thinking, he sweetens the pot, nuzzling the shell of your ear with his nose. “I will cook for you and spoil you rotten.”

You can only imagine what carnal delights spoiling implies with this man.  

Well…fuck.

“Fine. I’ll pack a bag. But we are just postponing this Q & A.”

“Fair enough.” You extricate yourself from his lap with a stretch, and he gives you a light smack on your rear as you make your way for your bedroom. When you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow he pays you a panty-melting (if you’d been wearing any) smirk that turns your brain to mush.

This man.

It occurs to you that this man is, in fact, dangerous to you. Not in terms of violence, but…you sense in yourself that if he asked nicely, you just might give him anything. You understand more than ever how and why Helen fell so quickly for John Wick, as you find yourself surrendering to your addiction to him with a secret smile.

<<PART 4 PART 6>>

[ficsnroses]

❆ —𝑻𝒐𝒚. 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

— 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 (𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆) —

prompt: you didn’t know it then. that you’d become his favourite toy.

summary: your new neighbour john is quiet, kind, and very handsome. you two hit it off at a christmas party, but...you accidentally give him the wrong secret santa present. a sex toy, of all things. (4k words)

warnings: consensual sex. x f! reader.

notes: heywhoopwhoopskskdfkjl idek what i did here honestly pls enjoy!!!! (please leave comments and take the time to interact! its the only thing that drives me to keep sharing my writing with you.) 

Damn him for lighting a fire inside you, with just a few well-placed words.

…

It didn’t begin with easy smiles or a gentle bump into each other.

Him.

Your move to New York hadn’t been easy on you.

You only wanted to fit in with the neighbourhood. Get to know your mutuals, browse the town.

Mill Neck is quieter, and the people that surround it seem to be, too. There are little to no kids in this neighbourhood. Older people; cultured couples and sophisticated characters. Some your age, some older.

He, seems older too. Perhaps one…no. Two decades your senior, maybe.

The way his muscles ripple down his back say otherwise, nonetheless. He, looks not a day over 30.

You’ve seen him around. Mill Neck falls slightly on the outskirts of town.

Its not tough to graze a familiar face in public. You remember it fading into the grey of the cold, rainy day. Beige café walls and brown leather jacket hung on his shoulders. An Americano; triple shot, Sumatra grown.

Robust, daring.

He takes it black, if you recall correctly.

Bold. Quiet, yet so loud it cuts right through you. A man of statement; undaunted. Straight through your chest, twisting something inside you far too close to the shell of your heart.

It didn’t begin with easy smiles or gentle bumps into each other.

A secret Santa exchange with the neighbourhood was quite possibly the most vanilla thing you’d heard of at the ripe age of your 20s. It’s the perfect gateway to seamlessly melt into the social circles, carve out a place for yourself in this abode far too away from the familiar streets and corners of your hometown.

Be still your beating heart, indeed. Oh, what joy and what surprise.

You drew him.

You’re subtly surprised he had even taken part in the gift exchange. He’s quieter, mysterious, but that oh so sweet smile of his…based on his vibe you can feel little pulses of a yearn spring off him. You think you feel it in his aura, too. A yearn for something…more. Something real, something to feel.

As if he wants to feel deeper.

You’ve seen him working on his car. Polishing wheels, oiling engines. A Mustang 69— very classy, indeed.

You can’t tell if he wants to be noticed.

But notice him, you do. You always do.

You’ve seen him walk his dog, too. He resembles a silent hunter; always sure of his next move, well aware and observant, yet so nonchalant all at once. He’s like a quiet embrace of the dark, following in the shadows. And he wasn’t in the shadows tonight.

It didn’t begin with shy introductions and careful graze of each other’s hands.

It began with a simple smile across a well lit room, pulsing with the life of a party. Merry and bright, muffled Christmas tunes and aged red wine. You stand alone at the open bar, a half empty glass of cabernet in your grip. You’re not quiet one for drinks, it almost felt merely like a prop in your hand to blend into the shadows. Pencil black heels below and a short, long sleeved black dress.

You’re not one to draw much attention to yourself, subtle and dewy with your makeup. A few guys had taken a second look your way, however.

You only looked at him.

And he, looked at you too. On the other side of the room, something amber swilling in his short glass. Whiskey…Scotch…Bourbon, perhaps?

He looks unfairly handsome tonight.

He has no business looking this good at a neighbourhood Christmas party, of all places.

A cable stitch sweater and dark jeans. It fits him in all the right places, titan shoulders and rippling biceps toned to perfection. They bulge when he lifts his arm to take a sip of his drink, and something about the way his lengthy, dark brown hair brushes lovingly along the sides of face causes a pulse of ache inside you…a longing so deep to hear the voice that pairs with the delicacy that is him.

He surely must be taken. What fool could pass on h i m?

You’ve never seem him with a woman, though.

What if he doesn’t like girls?

Ouch.

His eyes find you from across the room and he smiles.

He notices you, too.

A pause.

Then, a shaky breath that only you feel bubbling inside. A few small steps, and the marble below your heels clicks with each small pace. You cut across the distance easily, Red in hand and a smile you wear proudly; you hope he doesn’t notice the way you crumble, just a little bit as he watches you, rising off his seat on a high stool.

“Hi, John.” Was your smiling greet, and you clutch the seam of your purse diligently when he moves in close to you— close, but friendly close. The type of close that sends a warmth shooting down your spine and the feeling of good simmering in your veins.

His voice is rich, deep with a subtle gavel and you find yourself unravel within it as it melts against the shell of your ear. He draws in proximate; a small, friendly kiss to the side of your cheek and a loose one arm hug, with his spare that lacks hold of a drink. “Hey, Y/N.”

He knows your name.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

Word gets around Mill Neck. Surely he’d noticed you, too, when you’d moved here. Asked around, inquired of the new girl with dewy skin and a smile that could bring the sun itself to it’s knees.

The warmth of his body leaves you cold when he pulls his light embrace away, and you swear you feel a simmering fire left in the wake of his friendly kiss. “Thank you.” was your smiling return.

John is a gentleman, you expected a greeting of no less.

You didn’t however, expect to miss him this quick, even if your conversation had not yet even begun.

Your voice is silky, smooth and full of comfort as it slips through his ears. He ushers for you to take seat beside him, confident and inviting in his demeanour. He is charming. “I don’t think we’ve formally met before this?” was his answering chuckle, and you admire the way his dark brown eyes sink into you so warmly. He offers his hand, and you feel a zing of surprise erupt inside you to the larger hand that holds out for yours. It’s big, warm, and slightly callous. You see a few blue veins protrude to his palm, and the girth of his fingers should not have you quietly ruin the way it does. “Jonathan Wick. But I go by John.”

Jonathan. It suits him.

John looks good on him.

“(y/n) (y/l/n).” was your kind return, and the way your hand feels so insignificantly small in his unyielding grip makes your heart flutter with ease.

He sits there with you in low light. Messy, long brown hair and ardent brown eyes.

Handsome.

Breathtaking, even.

A slight twitch of his lips, and a warm smile that creeps over each inch of your skin. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

A pause.

The quiet ring of merry tunes brewing off the stereo, muffled by the sound of glasses clinking and people mingling.

He seems to drink you in carefully, and you both smile tenderly each other’s way. There’s a brief pause of silence, and you two stare at each other as time moves around you. Not speaking, not moving. Simply sipping each other in.

You weren’t sure how long you two stared.

But you were, the first to look away. Suddenly feeling exposed under the weight of his sincere gaze. As if eyes as perfect as his deserved to look at nothing less than gold, and you were not that.

Clearing your throat audibly, you place your glass down, a gentle giggle as you draw open your small side purse. With a twitch of nimble fingers and an easy pull, you reveal a beautifully wrapped, small box.

The gift is trivial, perfectly wrapped in white gift wrap with jute twine and a vibrant red bow.

Your voice is oh so sweet, and he savours the sound of it here and now, knowing well that it wasn’t one he could hear often after tonight. “Merry Christmas.” you offer amiably, extending the gift his way. “I was puzzled on what to get when I drew your name. But I hope you like it!” you allow gingerly, watching the way a pleasant smile curls delicately upwards on his lips. “I’m sure it’s not something you need, but I think it could come in handy.” you tell keenly and he graciously accepts.

You were talking about cologne. You bought him a very nice cologne.

Cologne, cologne, cologne.

   Cologne, that now you know, would never see the light of day.

His answering chuckle is rich in it’s build, like a cup of hot cocoa that warms you to the bone.

And suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how handsome his perfectly aligned, groomed beard looks on his face.

“Thank you.” he allows, sincerely. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.” There’s a flicker of something in his expression before he cups the side of his glass, securing it in his grip. “So,” his lips part to speak, and you almost shiver when he asks warmly about you. “What brought you to New York?”

It’s startling. How smooth and focused John’s speech is. How words seem to simply roll off his tongue like scoops of rolled gelato.

There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he listens so indulgently. It feels as if being pushed head first into the deep blue ocean and drowning down, willingly.

You talk for the rest of the evening.

You talk for what feels like hours.

You didn’t know it then, but that evening, something buried deep inside him had scratched its way to the surface. For the very first time in a long, long time.

Your best friend finds you the next day.

Woes on her tongue, a vacant dull in her soul.

She’d told you about her husband who had been away for work for far too long now. A month or two pass, she sips wine alone on weekday nights, dressed in silk for no one but herself.

The idea struck you with a mischievous smiles bloom and a curl of your lips upward. Had someone seen your browse history, they’d surely consider you a sex-starved siren.

A couple hours of cruising behind, and you’d finally found it.

The perfect vibrator for your unfulfilled friend.

A perfect little Christmas present, surely a joke that would erupt electrifying laughs and remembrance for years to come.

The gift is small, perfectly wrapped in white gift wrap with jute twine and a vibrant red bow.

You place it in her hands, and she regards it silently. A flicker of confusion in her eyes, fingertips tracing over the light paper. You watch her critically, a roll of eyes and easy smile curling within seconds. Your expression twists in annoyance and you usher it closer. “Open it!” you urge, impatient, lip bitten with an excitement to her pose.

The anticipation washes over you so forcefully, it nearly crumbles your spine to dust. Her giggle finds you in an piqued frenzy, frail fingers unravelling the pretty rouge bow that sits to the crown of the gift. “Why are you making me open this so early? Christmas isn’t for another few days, babe.”

Your eyes narrow with a smirk and your neatly fold your arms around your chest, eyeing her slow working hands. “Ooooo trust me, you wanna open this now.” Was your chortle, voice low and startlingly dark with its give.

The sound of tearing paper almost soothes you, strangely. It reminds you of how espresso milk sounds when steamed at the local coffee shop, beige walls and quiet comfort on grey days. It reminds you of triple shot Americanos, and a brown leather jacket you only wish you could crumble beneath. It reminds you of…

John—

It’s a sound you won’t forget.

It’s a sight you won’t forget.

The quiet thud of her nails against expensive cardboard. A cardboard box that smelled of cedar wood, bergamot and smoky sage.

Her tone was home to subtle irritation. The last of what you were expecting, but it was well due under the circumstance, nonetheless. “Are you trying to make me miss him more? You got me men’s fucking cologne for Christmas?”

And just like that, the world goes quiet.

There’s silence around, but a loudness inside you. A bang that dwells through you, a heavy drop so startling that for a second, it feels like someone has detached a limb so quickly that the pain had yet to register. But you know. And any second now, any second, any second….

The mortification slowly collects inside. Little by little, blazing through you as it forges a destructive path straight through each crevice inside. The heaviest perhaps, searing in your heart.

Oh,

Oh,

Oh my.

Fuck.

The realization sinks into you. Straight through your ribs, right to your heart. A blade turning inside. Sink. Twist. Twist. And twist.

You feel a searing heat crawl up your spine, to your nape and overwhelmed over your head. Straight to your head and it pierces there and it spins. As if the ground below has tilted off it’s axis.

Her voice had barely registered in your ears. You remember it, though. Drowning in and out, her voice of pry. “Y/N?’” Heavy. “Y/N.” Pounding. “What happened?” Dull.

Fuck.

It was a dangerous play to wrap both boxes, both small, similarly sized boxes in duplicate wrapping.

You don’t remember if an answering phase parted your lips.

You only remember the sear.

The build of a gaping hole inside that seemed to burn through your very chest, and the sound of jingling keys. The sound of keys and a quick pace out the door, your light winter coat barely shrugged on with the trivial weight of that darn cologne in your hand as you made pace to John’s home.

How do you tell your unfairly handsome, kind, stupidly charming neighbour that you didn’t intend to give him a vibrator for Christmas?

You find yourself at his doorstep not long thereafter.

Hands in his dark jean pockets, a fitted white Henley dressed deliciously to his frame. Your words almost die in your throat when you see him. The thin cotton melts along his skin, moulding perfectly to all his flawless dips and toned muscles.

His brown eyes are as warm as the very earth that surrounds.

And you feel a dread so suffocating, you want to run and never look back.

He observes you with an unnerving stare and maybe, just maybe—his eyes are…darker than you previously thought?

He smiles for you, and you feel the very breath in your lungs halt with a hitch. You get lost in those eyes for a moment and just stare. Only until you realize suddenly that he’s still waiting for you to speak.

A shy, unnerved croak. You cannot even lock eyes with him.

“Hi…” a pause. Then, a low, slow pour of following syllables. “This is…embarrassing.” There’s an edge to your tone, and you feel yourself burn with each wearily strung word.

Surrounded in winter cold, you burn. “I wrapped two gifts very similarly…” nervously, you hold to him the cologne. “What you got was not intended for you.”

He only allows a rich chuckle, and it soothes you to the bone. Its reassuring, one you savour as it flows through the winter chill.

His eyes spark with mirth, lips curling upwards and stocky fingers trail through his own messily strewn, mocha hair and he gestures you in with a quiet smile. That same kindness, that special warmth and genuine charm he holds dearly.

Which in hindsight, is the only thing that kept you from leaving right then and there.

You never thought you’d end up there.

You never—

Many people need someone.

Many people have a fuck buddy, too.  

You never thought. That yours, would become the merciless John Wick.

You don’t remember the remainder of that night all too well. Just his answering smile, sharp as a knife. His beautiful eyes burning with need, with want. He’d bared it to you so plainly that it left you breathless. Never forced, never asked. Simply allowed the thought to creep into your mind, too.

Desire coated both your words.

You never thought you’d spend the night there. With him. And that damn vibrator—, curled in his grip as he held it to the pearl of your clit,

His cock buried inside as he worked in sync with the god damn toy.

You don’t remember who made the first move. You only remember the feeling of him.

His sweet lips on yours as you moaned into the kiss, his curious hands traversed over each inch of your body hurriedly, as if he had been trying to map every inch of you as quickly as he could. You remember his heavy stubble scratching against your jaw, glossed over your neck and his nose pressing your pulse as he kisses down the sensitive skin.

You remember the tremble of your fingers as they tightened in his hair, tugging the deliciously silky locks as you pulled him closer.

This darkness is familiar now.

longingly familiar, even.

From darkness comes the presence that is becoming achingly familiar.

The pleasure that is becoming painfully necessary.

In the dark is where John fucks you. raw, tight; forgiving, quiet darkness.

Sometimes in the darkness, it feels like you aren’t even you anymore. He isn’t him, and you are not the two strangers who shyly hit it off at a boring Christmas party only so little time ago.

In the dark you’re only two bare souls. Aching desperately, selfishly for each other. Devouring more and more and more. Chipping away at each other piece by piece. Indulgently, greedily.

He’s catalogued every inch of you—each pleasure point, each curve, each dip.

John invites you over often. And sometimes, you still don’t quite even understand why you go every.single.time. Without thought, without reason. The husk of your limbs simply moves, he seems to conjure you up with a single sinful thought.

     Oh how you love to be Mr. Wick’s sinful little secret.

You’re certain neighbouring faces have seen you slip into John’s home on late nights and far too early mornings.

You think one of them might have seen you and John at the supermarket, too. Not with fresh produce or charismatic coffee origins in your hand, however.

—but with a Morning-After pill quietly tucked away in your grip, and John’s hand comforted to the small of your back intermittently.

He paid for it, too. And, treated you to brunch after; an expensive bottle of red shared between you.

Mr. Wick has a taste for splurge. And, he certainly doesn’t skimp when it comes to you. John buys you gifts often. Gifts he delicately peels off you not long after you wear them for his eyes to see; pry as his hands indulge over each curve and dip of your exquisite body.

He has shown you exactly how he likes it. He has taught you many things.

Mr. Wick, is your favourite teacher.

“Deeper, sweetheart.” His rich voice illuminates the hot air around, punctuated by your choked gags and littered, breathy exhales. “I know you can fit all of it.”

His hand is curled in your fluttered locks, messily strewn with burning tears singing the corners of your eyelids. The hardwood floor digs into your knees below, and the weight of his heavy cock hitting the back of your throat causes a gravelly moan to brew in his throat.

His cock leaves you breathless, no matter which part of you it was slid inside.

You feel him bulging inside your throat, big warm and beautiful; and you feel every fucking inch of him along your tongue, swollen in your significantly smaller mouth that has been trained to accommodate him. You feel each familiar vein, each familiar curve of his shaft along your tongue.

“My pretty little girl.” was his tender whisper against the warm skin of your forehead, and his hand fondled to the swell of your naked breasts on display for him. “Beautiful with my cock in that pretty little mouth.”

His praise makes your breath hitch. And you seem to crumble, when his lips indulge in yours, not long after.

John has taught you exactly how he likes it; exactly how he wants you on him.

With the hardwood burning on your knees, you feel the ache of him between your legs, too, from the night prior. John had been leaving a never ending ache inside you for countless nights a week now. Delicious burns and delicious aches that remind you of him even when he wasn’t around.

You are burning, and there is no relief. Not for a long time.

Not until he finally fucks you like you crave him to; raw, hard, and

heavy.

—

The neighbourhood held a New Years Eve party later in the month.

Neither of you went.

He was, however, your New Years kiss. You rung in the new year with him buried between the sheets, his manhood curled between your legs and his robust hips snapping in and out of you like a fucking dream.

Tight. Sloppy. Loud.

Warm and wet.

His girth is one like no other, and you make him ruin with the way your tight pussy has learned to cocoon him so well. He’d bound your hands to the bedframe above with one of his lavish silk ties that night, and part of you curses to no one but yourself under the rugged mutter of your breath as he drills into you from above.

Had the binding not restricted your free hands from roaming, you’d surely have clawed your way through the rosy flesh on his skin by now. Through breathy grunts and savouring praises, you unravel under him piece by piece as he pounds into you, with a hasty demand for your cunt. Your feeble legs curl around his waist in attempt to draw him closer, and the way he leaves a wetness sprawled to the inners of your thighs makes you whine for him even more, skin glistening under muted bedroom light.

John Wick likes it pornographic.

A string of needy moans slip pasts your lips unwarranted, and you find yourself whimpering; breath stifling with each thrust he rams into you. The chase for relief is strong, and you feel him pounding your pussy sore with each passing second, your own relief building, bubbling inside your mid.

Its in that very moment that you realize the dire truth. An epiphany; a wicked, sinful, immoral one at that.

You wouldn’t care if he ruined you right then and there.

Left you a jumbled mess of limbs.

       He is the type of ruin you’d never mind.

With your hands tied and his shaft savouring the petals of your cunt, you realize your urge to simply allow your arms to crumble around his neck. To hold him, to feel his skin sticking to yours and the pulse of his heartbeat against your skin.

Mr. Wick is warm, and you want more of it.

More and more and more, of him.

Under his touch, you shiver. You shudder, you moan, and you ruin.

He feels warm. Beautiful, and so triumphantly alive when he’s in your arms. It wasn’t often, yet sometimes, as he’s expertly working your body with his thrusts controlled and rough, you find yourself cupping his cheeks with a deep stare into those now familiar brown eyes.

And they make you sigh.

The violent measure of his movements is slow yet so powerful; the sound of skin slapping against skin is one that brings a searing comfort nowadays. Bed frames creak, and his hands plant firmly to the swell of your hips as he makes you his own for the night, your breasts recklessly bouncing to the steady roll he’s conjured up.

The pleasure he gives is always hypnotizing; sickening, heaven and it feels as if he’s poured gasoline all over your body and lit a match.

The wicked smell of sex seems to cloud around you effortlessly, and you feel him in the deepest points of you. A rigid jaw, and grit of his teeth. The feel of his hot breath sizzling in the nape of your neck, and his heavy balls slapping against your sore pussy as if a prayer. “Say it loud, baby. Let everyone know who’s fucking you good.”

His name is one that has begun to roll off your tongue without conscious thought. It is simply a desperate cry, a plead for him to never make another woman his if it wasn’t you.

Your body is his now.

You’ve tattooed him over each inch of it.

John, John, John—

You know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. 

He is your secret, and you are his. He needs you, and you need him. Once upon a time, you locked eyes with a beautiful stranger in the midst of a dull Christmas party. Sex was never supposed to become part of it. 

But it did. 

And you can’t stop.

Not when he feels this good. Not when fucks you like he’s dreamt of you and only you for a million years. Not when he touches you—as if you are the only thing worth touching in the entire universe.

You didn’t know it then.

That you’d become John Wick’s favourite toy.

     You’re simply burning, and there is no relief.

     Not for a long time.

Damn him for lighting a fire inside you, with just a few well-placed words.

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 16) - Drowning

Summary: The reader’s night goes from bad to awful fast but thankfully Jensen shows up at the last second to stop things from getting any worse. But the guilt the reader feels over trying to end things with Jensen to protect him starts to become too much...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 5,600ish

Warnings: language, being drunk, minor violence, scary situations, angst, fighting, fluff, offscreen death of minor character, anxiety, panic attack, minor injury

A/N: This chapter is a whirlwind! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

It was a close to an hour later and you were halfway through a bottle of bourbon, laying on the back porch of your mom’s house, staring at the rafters and debating finishing off the whole thing.

“Y/N?” you heard. Your skin crawled as you sat up, spotting your father at the other end of the wrap around. “Are you drunk?”

“This would be an appropriate time to tell you that yes, I am and I also have this,” you said, reaching behind your and picking up a hunting rifle. “I might be plastered but I think that’ll only improve my aim. I’ll be nice and shoot for your balls first.”

“You got so much wrong about me kid.”

You fired a shot near his feet and he held up his hands.

“Why don’t you go jump off a bridge or some shit,” you said.

“Y/N.”

You pulled the trigger as he took a step forward and he jumped when it hit the window nearby. You pulled again but it just clicked as he walked closer. 

“Your new momma never taught you that kind of rifle only has two shots, did she,” he said. You tried to stand but got way too dizzy and fell down. 

“Well I can still tear you apart with my teeth,” you said. 

“You’re drunk and judging by your face, very upset. What happened to that boy you were with? I didn’t see him when I looked around.”

“Touch me and that boy will rip your head off.”

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he said, stepping far too close for your liking. You swung the rifle at him but he caught it and kicked the bottle away before you could get at it. “All grown up. Probably enjoy it now.”

You crawled back as far as you could, eyes darting behind him when you saw movement. You barely caught the brown hair and green eyes before your father was face first on the porch. You tried to stand but he yanked on your ankle and pulled you down hard. It took a long time to peel open your eyes again, your father now at Jensen’s feet. Jensen pushed down on his back while he talked on the phone to someone and it didn’t take long to hear sirens in the distance.

“For the record,” said Jensen as he walked over to you and crouched down, his belt around your father’s wrists, “I didn’t believe you for a second. Oh and you’re a dumbass but you’re my dumbass. Forever. Got it?”

“I couldn’t…” you trailed off. He nodded and took off his flannel, wrapping it over your shoulders. “I knew he would do something and I couldn’t have him near the kids or know they exist. I couldn’t-”

“I know, honey,” he said. “But don’t you dare ever do anything like that again.”

You put your head down sniffled, dizzy still as he rubbed your back before going back to watching your dad.

It took an hour or so before you could go home and you were sober enough to stand on your own. 

“Can I ask why you made the executive decision that you did?” asked Jensen, holding your arm loosely as you got into his car to head back.

“Because I’m stupid,” you said dryly from the passenger seat as he turned on his SUV.

“I mean more so why didn’t you come to me if you were scared? Why make up a lie?”

“You did let me go. You must have believed me at least for a few seconds,” you said.

“No, I actually didn’t.”

“You let me go.”

He was quiet until you got close to the brewery, Jensen pulling off onto the plot of land he owned next to it. You leaned your head against the cold window and he turned off the engine.

“This whole, tired, don’t talk to me attitude right now? Been there. Lived it. I know it’s bullshit.”

“You let me leave so you did believe me so-” you said, Jensen pressing a finger to your lips. 

“I am certain of very few things and you are one of them. I let you go so I could figure out what scared you so badly you’d lie, to me. There’s only one thing I can think of so before you even had a foot out of that house, I was calling people and I got put on with Detective Finn who worked your case as a kid and I find out that dick for brains sack of shit just moved practically down the street from us. It does not take a genius to put the pieces together.”

“Fine! I did it in some stupid attempt to protect you,” you said. You glared at him and he shook his head. “What?”

“I’m not gonna get mad at you.” You put your head back on the window and stared out to the dark trees, sniffling some. “Why do you want me to be angry with you?”

“Uh because I didn’t forget to turn on the washing machine or leave on a light. I lied. I lied so big that-”

“You lied to protect your family from a monster. Do I wish you had told me? Yes. But I fuck up so much and you’ve never once been angry with me for making a mistake and I’ll never be angry with you for making one either. I know you want me to be angry with you, feel like you should be punished for what you imagine is hurting me. But you didn’t hurt me, Y/N. You didn’t and I know you get that because so many times you’ve been on the other side of this and I know you’ve never once thought, oh yeah Jensen’s a piece of shit, let him really have it. No. Just no. So I’m not getting mad at you and I don’t know what to fucking say to make you feel better like you always do me and I’m so sorry he got so close to hurting you again. But I’m really good at fighting monsters in this family. So please next time, I don’t care if you’re scared of the bug on the wall or you think someone’s outside the house or what it is. If you’re scared, tell me and I’ll do my best to make it go away, I promise.”

“What do you do when you want to hate yourself for being an idiot?” you asked quietly. You heard him shift in his seat and you shut your eyes, the sound of a door opening and then another. Strong arms wrapped around you and you buried your face in his chest.

“I try to treat myself as kindly as she does. She would never hate me and she hates when I’m in pain. I see it all over her face. So I try to cut myself some slack and ask myself if she would hate me and when I realize no, I’m forced to forgive myself and it normally takes a few hours but it works pretty good. A lot of hugs and cuddling don’t hurt either.”

“Thank you for stopping him.”

“Don’t.”

“Thank you. I owe you so, so much.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing. We got each other’s backs and that’s all there is to it. I’m just sad I missed you trying to shoot his dick off.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Find my iPhone. Also I figured that was a good place to check,” he said. “I would have been here sooner if Jared didn’t drive like a tortoise over to the house to watch the kids.”

“I’m sorry I scared you...and you had to do that tonight.”

“Oh punching your father was a personal highlight for me. Trust me,” he said. He stroked your cheek and you turned into the touch, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re safe.”

“He’s going to get out on bail and-”

“And we have a very good lawyer. Oh, and I know the mayor so fuck his ass, he’s not getting bail.”

You buried your face once again and he put a finger under your chin, lifting it up.

“You’re still scared.”

“He’s gonna get arrested for what, trespassing? Attempted assault? I was drunk and shot at him. He can spin it. He can spin it and be out on the street like that.”

“I’m going to ask the lawyer to do something else, something that maybe can take care of that problem.”

“What?” 

“Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit. He’s been gone for fifteen years. I have this bad feeling you weren’t the only one. Or even before that.”

“Or maybe he just hates me.”

“You don’t have to be scared. I’m gonna take care of it.”

“Jensen, I know you don’t have to worry about the money but it might still not be enough.”

“It’s enough,” he said. “Or else next time I’ll be the one with the rifle.”

“You would kill him?”

“Honestly? Yeah if it came to it. I wish people like him died in car crashes, not innocent ones. We have every right to protect ourselves and our family and I’m not letting him touch the kids or you ever.”

“I should probably say that’s bad but I don’t disagree.”

“Money works a lot. A real lot. Maybe he did something super bad and he can rot in prison forever.”

“Maybe,” you said, spotting a cruiser pull up nearby. 

“Stay here, sweetie,” he said. He walked over while the officer got out. He spoke to Jensen for a moment, Jensen’s face a bit blank when he turned around. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Your dad had a heart attack in the backseat,” said Jensen quietly. You cocked your head and he shook his. “Your father. In the police cruiser that was taking him for booking. He was just pronounced.”

“He died?”

“He was really overweight and didn’t look to be in the best health. He probably got his heart rate up too high and...the officer said he’d escort us home, stay outside the house for the night, calm our nerves.”

“He’s really dead?” you asked. You looked over at the officer and he came over, giving you a quick smile. “He really died?”

“Yes mam.”

“What...happens now?” you asked.

“We’ll file the report but you don’t necessarily need to press charges anymore. You’re next of kin as far as we’re aware so the body…” he trailed off when he looked at you. “We can talk about this with your lawyer.”

“Thanks,” said Jensen. “We’ll be on the road in a minute.” 

The officer climbed back in his cruiser, Jensen leaning against the doorframe. He tucked your hair behind your ear, letting out a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he said. He stroked your cheek, your head turning up. “What is it, honey?”

“I don’t feel bad at all. I’m actually happy. That kinda is freaking me out a little. You shouldn’t be happy someone died.”

“Most people you’re right, you shouldn’t. But there are exceptions. He tormented you. He harassed you. He came after our family. I’m gonna sleep just fine tonight knowing he’s never coming back in our lives.”

“Were you scared of him?” He ducked his head down and you took hold of his hand. “Jensen.”

“Put it this way, I’d protect my family by any means necessary. What scares me was what if I was five minutes later tonight. Ten minutes. My job is to protect you and especially from monsters like that.”

“I’m a big girl Jensen. You don’t have to protect me from anything.”

“Yes I do, just like if it were me in your shoes I know you’d have done the same exact thing. We protect each other. It’s not because I’m the guy or I’m stronger. You’re my family and that’s what we do.”

“Thank you for protecting me and forgiving me for being stupid earlier,” you said. He smiled and nodded.

“You’re my dumbass and I’m yours,” he said. “Want to go home now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

“He’s really gonna spend the night?” you asked half an hour later in bed, Jensen shutting the door after himself. “He knows there’s a cop outside, right?”

“What can I say, Jared...he thinks of you like a little sister,” he said. “I can’t blame him for being protective.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said. You climbed out of bed and went downstairs, the light dim aside from where Jared was reading on the couch, a blanket over his legs. He looked over the top of the book and set it down, sitting up.

“Everything alright?” he asked. You smiled and took a seat on the edge of the couch, pulling him into a hug. 

“Thanks for staying,” you said, a pair of large arms wrapped around your back. 

“Of course.”

“You do know there’s nobody to bother us now, right?”

“I know. Some peace of mind never hurt anybody though,” he said. “Go on back to your fiance. You guys had a rough night.”

“Yeah,” you said, closing your eyes. “Thanks.”

He kissed your temple and you returned to your room, Jensen pulling you under the covers. You let out a deep breath, turning into his side. 

“Here,” he said. He started to take off his bracelet but you shook your head.

“It’s yours, Jensen. I feel safe, I promise.”

“You’re tense still, honey.”

“Still working on that not being so angry at myself thing,” you said. He smiled and kissed you quickly, laying an arm over your waist. “I know what you said but I still want you to be pissed at me for lying.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“But-”

“You didn’t hurt me, Y/N and you know what? Sometimes, you’re gonna hurt me and I’m gonna hurt you. We’ll have bad days and get annoyed with one another. I’ll leave dishes in the sink and make a mess of the closet. You’ll chew with your mouth open and never fill up your car with gas until it’s too low. We’re not perfect. But even if we do hurt each other, we forgive each other because that’s what you do. We’re not always gonna like each other and what we do but we’ll always love each other. I don’t want to be mad at you. I want you to feel safe and know that I understand why you did what you did. I do. Please try to let it go, for me.”

“I am trying,” you said quietly. You shut your eyes and turned away, his arm over you pulling you back against his chest. “You’re normal. I can’t just stop hating myself like that.”

“You think I’m normal?” he chuckled. “Me?”

“Did you ever have to punch Dee’s psycho father? Did you ever have to talk about protecting her? Did she ever put your family in danger? Did she ever-”

“Y/N.”

“Go away,” you said, pushing his arm off of you. You moved over farther on your side of the bed, tucking your covers under your chin. The bed shifted and you tried to move again but his arm pulled you straight back to his chest, fingers dipping under your ribcage and holding you in place. 

“I might not have had to have done those things for her but I would have. For the record, you didn’t put anyone in danger. That fucking asshole did. It is not your fault he was an evil and vile person. All you did was try to protect us because you were scared and I know, I know you didn’t tell me because you’re so scared of that man and I don’t blame you. He made my skin crawl and I interacted with him for all of five minutes. Get it out of your system however you need to but you are stuck with me forever. There is nothing you could do to make me want you gone so get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” you breathed out. You pulled your sheets over your head, taking deep heaving breaths. “You have so much to worry about already. You shouldn’t have to…”

“Did you think I couldn’t handle the news?” he asked. “That your father was so close by?”

“I thought you’d hate me,” you whispered. He tugged down your sheets and you squeezed your eyes shut as he turned you around.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Now you’re angry.”

“Look at me.” You forced them open, meeting a soft face and sad eyes. “Why would I ever hate you?”

“My shit’s supposed to stay in the past. You don’t…” you said, Jensen furrowing his brow. “See, you’re mad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Your shit stays in the past.”

“It means you’ve had the world’s worst fucking year and you’re in such a good place now and you need to focus on you and not have my shit come in and fuck that up.”

“Do you think I can’t take care of you?” he asked.

“No of course not.”

“It sounds like you’re saying that you think you can’t have problems cause I can’t handle it.”

“Well at least I got what I wanted with you pissed,” you said, glaring up at him, tears welling in your eyes. You tried to push away but he held his arm around you. “Jensen, let me up.” You pushed again and he glared right back. “Stop it. Let me out of bed.” He only glared and you tore your eyes away from his face. 

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“No,” you said, keeping your head low.

“Then why-”

“Because you need a fucking break. I dealt with this shit years and years ago. I understand needing a fucking break and people need to take care of you, help you. You’re a different man than the one I met way back in January. You’re so happy and healthy and you have a different outlook on life again and that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you for that. But you’re just, just out of the woods and I’m not gonna be the one that sends you back in because of my fucking problems.”

“They’re our fucking problems,” he said. “Our problems. There’s no your problems or my problems anymore. It’s us together. Why do you think I’d hate you?”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing on his chest. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“I said stop!”

“Tell me.”

“Because I’m scared,” you said. He let his hold go lax and you sat up, getting out of bed. You walked over to the balcony door and rested your forehead against the cool glass. The bed creaked and you felt his presence behind you. 

“You’re scared of me.” You scrunched up your face and nodded. “Why?”

“Because if you realized how fucked up I am, you wouldn’t come near me with a ten foot pole. I’m not supposed to cause you problems. I’m supposed to fix them, be there for you.”

“But I can’t be there for you. You assume I’m just a dick where it’s only me and my shit that we can work on right?” he said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Relationships go both ways, Y/N. I don’t expect you to take care of me for the rest of my life. You are allowed to need help too.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. He was frowning, his voice an octave higher if you didn’t know any better. “Do you honestly think I would have been angry at you if you told me about your father being in town? Do you?”

“I put the kids-”

“For the last time, you didn’t put anyone in danger,” he growled. “What is going on with you?”

“How many times do I have to say it, I’m not supposed to cause any problems!” you said.

“Yes you are! You, me, the kids. We’re all gonna have fucking problems sooner or later. Why do you think I’d hate you for telling me you had a problem, sweetheart?”

You fidgeted with the bottom of your shirt, looking past him.

“Something with your dad, isn’t it. Something got triggered in you after that phone call with the detective, didn’t it.”

“Call Ray. Tell him to come over,” you said quietly. He nodded and grabbed his phone, sending off a quick message before he was guiding you to sit on the bed.

“Honey,” he said when you pulled away from him. “Okay, no touching. Can I get you anything while we wait for Ray?”

“Probably should tell that cop that we’re expecting someone,” you said, rubbing your hands against your thighs. “Fuck, tell Ray it’s the help thing. He’ll understand.”

“Okay,” he said with a nod. You rubbed your legs harder and he stared at you. “Y/N.”

“I’m trying not to have a panic attack,” you grit out. “I haven’t had one since I was eight.”

Your head was turned and you felt his hands on your cheeks, Jensen forcing a smile. You stared for a long beat before you took a breath, his head nodding. 

“That feels better,” you said, your hands not rubbing so hard. You heard feet and the door open, glancing behind Jensen to catch Jared in the doorway. You could feel your heart rate pick up, Jared nodding.

“I get panic attacks too,” he said. You nodded and Jensen glanced over his shoulder. “I heard arguing.”

“Can you tell that cop outside Ray is coming by and to let him in?” said Jensen.

“Sure. Who’s Ray?” asked Jared.

“Her mom’s old boyfriend and foster dad. He was her therapist when she was little. Something’s not right,” said Jensen.

“I’ll send him up as soon as he gets here.”

You felt calmer by the time Ray was walking in fifteen minutes later in sweats and not much more. 

“Hey kiddo,” said Ray, giving you a quick hug before he squatted down in front of you. “Doing okay?”

You shook your head and shut your eyes, Jensen holding an arm around you. He explained what happened, Ray staying quiet. You eventually opened your eyes to stare at the floor, Ray standing and pulling over the bench from the end of the bed to sit on. 

“Y/N do you want Jensen to stay?” he asked. You nodded and he hummed. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you said dryly. “Can I have some water?”

Jensen got up and retrieved a glass from the bathroom, the pair of them watching you chug half of it down before you sat it on the nightstand.

“Y/N, does Jensen know what triggered you?” he asked.

“Not specifically. Asking for help he figured out but not the reason,” you said, looking away. 

“Well on the bright side, you didn’t have a panic attack, you worked through it, you trusted Jensen to help you through it even if he didn’t know why and some of your coping skills helped you out quite a bit. But this is something Jensen needs to know. You’ll need help in a relationship and I know this is the big one but he needs to know so this never happens again,” said Ray. 

“What if he thinks I overreacted?” you said.

“I won’t, trust me,” said Jensen. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“Go on, Y/N,” said Ray. You took a deep breath and Jensen held your hand, stroking his thumb over the back.

“So you kinda figured out that me having a problem was the trigger and that I didn’t ask for your help earlier and kinda assumed a bad reaction if I did.”

“Yup and that’s all okay,” he said softly. 

“It wasn’t because of you that I assumed you’d have a bad reaction. It was something that happened to me that sort of...default my head to react and anticipate things in a certain way in that particular situation.”

“So if you have a problem and ask for help, you assume the person you’re asking for help from will not take it in a good way?” he asked.

“Yeah, basically. If it’s a really big problem and if I anticipate that the problem would upset the person I’m asking then my head assumes this bad thing will happen. In that case, it assumes the much better option is to not reveal the problem at all and handle it myself because then the bad thing won’t happen,” you said.

“The bad thing. It’s bad isn’t it,” he said. “Really bad.”

“Y/N, remember you can share without the graphics involved,” said Ray. You nodded and leaned your head back.

“When I was six I broke something of my dad’s. A mug. His favorite mug. I picked up the pieces but I knew it was his favorite so I didn’t throw it out. I asked him for help putting it back together,” you said. “The amount of rage he had over a broken mug...I never experienced such a horrible day in all eight years as that one.”

He didn’t say anything and you tucked your feet up, holding one up to him and showing the bottom. He stared at it and cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. It took him a moment but you saw when he noticed the small little scars. His eyes flickered back to yours and you nodded.

“He hurt me badly,” you said. “All day long.” He stared at you and you told him exactly the way the scars came to be, Jensen shuddering and closing his eyes. “It wasn’t a good day.”

“Fuck,” he said, standing up and rubbing his arm. “You were six?”

He shook his head and went to the balcony door, taking a deep breath.

“Jensen. You alright?” asked Ray.

“No,” he said, turning around, looking to you. “That many times?”

“One for every broken piece,” you said. He ran his hands over his face and shut his eyes. “The worst thing was just that it went on all day. It was long enough for me to interpret it as conditioning for a result of an event rather than just a bad memory from everything me and Ray worked out back in the day. It hasn’t been a trigger for me ever really but we knew it could be someday for a big life problem potentially. I’m guessing with it involving my dad, it kinda sent me into overdrive earlier.”

“Jensen,” said Ray, shooting you a quick glance. “Y/N’s okay. I’m actually quite impressed with her behavior. There was no hesitancy or waiver in her voice. I don’t feel as though this will likely be an issue ever again now that it’s out in the open and her father is gone.”

“You’re the closest thing to a father she’s ever had,” said Jensen, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know every horrible thing that’s happened to her and, and you just...all you did was throw him out of the country for fifteen years?”

“First off, the law was different back then and it was a lifetime ban. Second of all, buddy, violence isn’t always the answer to violence,” said Ray, getting to his feet.

“You should have adopted her.”

“She didn’t want me to.”

“You were the damn adult. She was the kid. Act like one,” said Jensen. “I mean fuck, you adopted two other kids only a few years later.”

“If I had adopted her you wouldn’t even know she fucking exists,” shot back Ray. “Her father still would have come back and this would have happened regardless.”

“You should have done what you needed to the second he popped up again when she was a teenager.”

“I did not strike you as a violent man but I do not like it.”

“She was almost assaulted by that man again tonight,” growled Jensen. “He tortured her and tormented her and he got barely any time at all for that. I would have-”

“Why’d you call the police then?” he asked. Jensen swallowed and Ray shrugged. “Why back at the farmhouse did you call the police? You could have killed him, called it self-defense and been done with it. Why?”

Jensen looked down and Ray sighed.

“The price for being a good person is making hard decisions, Jensen. Would I have loved to have rid the world of that son of a bitch the second I learned all about him? Oh you don’t know the half of it. I’m a trauma therapist, Jensen. Mostly for kids and teenagers. Do you know how much fucked up shit I’ve heard in my life? The world has so much ugliness in it. But it’s got good too and that’s why you called the police like you were supposed to and that’s why she loves you. She needs a good man, not a violent one. I’m not saying don’t think about protecting your family. But don’t act on it unless you don’t have a fucking choice, kid. Understand me?”

Jensen nodded and Ray cleared his throat.

“Say it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jensen quietly.

“Ray, don’t get mad at him. He’s not used to this stuff,” you said. You stood and pulled Jensen back to the bed, Ray crossing his arms and nodding. “If I ever feel this happening again, what should I do?”

“You could work on reconditioning instead,” said Ray. “Work on saying I have a problem to Jensen and ask for help, even if there isn’t a problem. If Jensen responds positively or even neutrally and you two work at it maybe an hour or so a day for the next week or two, I don’t think you’ll ever have to be afraid of that trigger coming back. All of your triggers Y/N have involved your father. I know similarities can set you off but they’re small, manageable. You never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again.”

“I know. I should have trusted my partner to have my back,” you said.

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t before and I definitely don’t now,” said Jensen. Ray smiled and pulled the bench back over to the bed. 

“Get some rest you two,” he said. 

“Ray?” you said after he gave you a hug. “Why didn’t you adopt me?”

“Honestly?” he asked. You nodded, Jensen preening his ears. “You reminded me so much of your mother and I was devastated when we lost her. I should have been the adult and done what was right but after seeing her in pain for years...I didn’t have it in me to take on a grieving teenager that would have been just as angry back at me. She already was so angry then, I would have put fuel on the flames. I didn’t have it in me to be strong anymore and that’s my mistake for not trying.”

“You can adopt adults,” said Jensen. You both looked at him and he smiled. “Adults can be adopted.”

“Not sure if…” trailed off Ray as you smiled at him. “Y/N, we’ve only just started talking again.”

“Maybe if that keeps going well...maybe things could...work out…” you said. “If you wanted.”

“Yeah, maybe we can do that,” he said with a smile. “It’s getting late. Put her to bed. Don’t be surprised if there’s a nightmare or two tonight.”

“Okay. Thank you,” said Jensen as Ray started to leave.

“Take care of her kid,” he said. Jensen nodded and you lay back in bed, the house growing quiet. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Jensen, his head lowering after a few moments. “I should have realized…”

“You did realize,” you said, sitting up. “Even when my head couldn’t come out and say I trust you and I know I’m acting a certain way because of what my dad put me through, you stayed calm and figured it out. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry he hurt you. I got to pretend to be a cowboy and my dad read me stories when I was six. The worst thing I ever got was a few smacks but I know he regrets doing that,” he said. “Even then it was because I was acting out not…I just don’t understand why he would ever hurt you.”

“I stopped trying to understand him a long time ago,” you said, the door opening. You both turned, Arrow walking in with a pair of wet eyes. “You have a nightmare, sweetie?”

“I went…to the bathroom…” she said when you noticed her holding her wrist. Jensen hopped up and walked over, picking her up gently and setting her beside you. “I fell down off the step stool. It was wet.”

“Tell me what hurts,” he said.

“My hand,” she said. 

“Let daddy see,” you said. She moved her hand back and you both saw her wrist was swollen and bruised. Jensen swore under his breath and guided her hand back on it. “Okay, you hold it if it feels better that way, honey. Daddy, I think Arrow should go to urgent care.”

“Arrow, why don’t you go get your dolly and we’ll bring her with us. We might have to wait a minute,” he said. “Be careful okay? I’ll come get you in just a minute.”

“Mommy?” she asked, staring up at you. 

“Mommy’s really tired-” said Jensen when you stood up.

“Uncle Jared is staying over though, daddy. Go get your dolly and mommy and daddy will get dressed,” you said. She sniffled but climbed down okay, Jensen sighing when she left the room. “She wants me there and I want to be there. I’m going.”

“Alright but you’re going to try and get some sleep in the waiting room at least, please.”

“No promises.”

________

A/N: Read Part 17 here!

[babayagakeanu]

How Will I Know? -part two

Pairing: Jethro Gibbs/reader

Summary: In which the reader finds out that Gibbs is in fact, in love with her too

Warnings: smut, NSFW 18+, oral receiving(female)

It’s been three weeks since your discussion with Gibbs, and he’s been giving you the silent treatment all those 21 days. It was agony, and you felt so small whenever you were near him. His hard gaze towards you made you overthink and regret ever opening up to him like that, and it made it even harder to do your job with Abby. Forensics was hard enough, Gibbs made it even harder when he kept entering the office every hour. 

“Abs! What do ya got?” He says, entering your shared office in a swift motion. You watch the two as they interact, Abby sharing the details of the prints you two had found on the Vic’s jacket. 

“Great job, Abs. Y/n, I expect you to do the same.” Your blood boils at Gibbs’ remark, but you swallow your pride and continue to work on finding DNA matches. Abby looks over to you and grimaces. “He didn’t take it well, did he?” He didn’t at all, you think, acted like a big baby about it. 

You sigh, looking down at your sample and face her. “No he didn’t. He’s been giving me harder tasks and giving me the silent treatment for almost a month.” You swivel in your chair before getting up to continue your rant. “Abby, I thought  Gibbs and I were close. He opened up to me about more than he’s ever opened up to any of you guys, no offense.” 

“None taken!” She responds. “Maybe he’s processing it, giving it some time to swish around in his little noggin. If it gets to a point where you can’t take it anymore, talk to him, y/n. You deserve closure, at the least.” She hugs you, patting you on the crown of your head before getting back to work. The work day proceeds the same, catching the suspect before the two day period runs out. 

———-

It was midnight when you guys had finished, and you and Gibbs were the only ones left at your desks. It’s been hell working in silence; usually you two would find something to talk about, maybe you would ask him about his boat or he would ask you about your latest puzzle. Either way, it was awkward and uncomfortable. 

“Gibbs?” You ask, the waver in your voice instantly detectable. 

He doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “Yes, y/L/n?” He hasn’t said called you by your last name since you were a probie, and that was the last straw.

You shift in your seat, “I think it’s about high time you give me an explanation!” His head snaps up, a glare already storming in his steely blue eyes. “I’ve been honest with you on how I felt about you. Was it the perfect time and place? No. But I don’t regret it. The only thing that I regret about this is letting you leave without telling me the truth.” He’s silent for a moment, trying to call your bluff; only to be found with tears in your eyes and the devastation wreaking havoc on the color of them.

It’s not long until he gets up, reaching to your desk in a few long strides. You can feel your heart hammering in you chest, and the nervousness ate at the pit of your stomach.

“Jethro, are you-?” He yanks you up with one hand, not too rough, but enough to pull you flat to his chest , the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. You smell him; sawdust and bourbon. Smoky with just a hint of manliness.

“I have tried incredibly hard to keep my distance from you because all I want to do is kiss you.” You knew Gibbs wasn’t one for words but even the simplest of sentences behold the deepest meanings. You looked into his eyes, memorizing the image of yourself reflecting back at you, hoping that you will be for his eyes only now on.

“Then kiss me,” you say, craning your neck for him as he dips into your mouth, growling at the taste of your lips against his. His hands travel further, cupping both of your ass cheeks and pressing you into him. You gasp into his mouth, scratching at the base of Jethro’s neck.

“Jethro, please I-“ You whine, backing up into your computer desk, careful of knocking down the computer. “What do you need, babygirl?” You could feel the corner of something digging into your back but you didn’t care. 

“I want you. All of you.” You say, against his lips that were still currently attacking yours.Your hands found their way under his shirt, feeling the warmth and rigidness of his muscled back. His lips leaves yours, dragging a whine out of you from the loss of contact. 

“Meet me at my place, tomorrow evening. Dinner’s on me, you bring the bourbon.” He leaves you a sweet kiss, another following on the corner of your mouth. You pack up and are about to leave when he stops you. “By the way, you were never just a friend to me.”

You sigh, grinning up at him. “You sure you don’t want to come to my place? I can think of a few ways to prove myself to you. Well, more or less, show you.” He smirks, chuckling before playing with the strap of your bra, peeking out from underneath your short sleeve top. 

“Well, as much as I believe you can show me, I also believe in the art of suspense and surprise. So, tomorrow at eight.” 

——————————————————————————————————

The time to go over Gibbs’ place tonight was almost upon you, the hour hand reaching 6:30. You were in the shower, currently listening to every power-up song there was, and scrubbing your skin until it was red. Once you knew that you’ve been in the shower for way too long, you stepped out, wrapping a fluffy towel around you and hurried to your bedroom to pick out your outfit. You didn’t want to dress up to much, knowing that Jethro would most likely be wearing a button up t-shirt and jeans. You settled on a tight black shirt, paired with simple blue jeans. You had opted to curl your hair, letting it fall into loose waves and for your makeup, simple but with a bold red lip. It was 7:30 by the time you were done getting ready, so you packed up the bottle of wine and headed to his his house.

The phone rang a few times before he picked up. “Yeah, Gibbs.” 

“You still answer your phone like that with your significant others?” You say, smiling as you turn down his street. 

“Who said you were my girlfriend?” He asks, the joking evident in the way he chuckles at the end. 

“Well, what I’m wearing under my clothes and the way you kissed me last night said otherwise.” You park your car in his driveway. “Now open up Marine or I’m leavin’.” The phone call ends and the door opens, revealing Jethro, who actually looked like sex on legs. He donned a jean button up, and cargo pants. 

“Wow.” Is all he says, watching as your chest gleamed under the light of his kitchen. “Wow, yourself.” You respond, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “You looking like that makes me wanna skip dinner and get to the fun stuff.” He smiles, looking down at your smirking face. “Well, if you keep talkin’ like that, I might end up being hungry for somethin’ else.” He leads you to the kitchen were he made an excellent dinner of steak, potatoes, and some veggies. 

“Why did I known you were a meat and potatoes kind of guy?” You quip, watching as he smirks at you before cutting into his steak. 

“I’m a simple man, y/n. I know what I like.” You knew that his last sentence has a double entendres, and it makes the corners of your mouth quirk up a bit. 

“I don’t doubt that you do.” You say, and the two of you eat your dinner in a comfortable manner, it felt natural, like you knew that fate had brought you together, but you wouldn’t tell him that, not yet. You still had the fear of losing him, of him pushing you away like he did with his ex-wives, and you didn’t want to ever be referred to as Jethro’s ex-wife. 

“Something on your mind?” He asks, cutting through the silence and shaking you out of your head. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking.” You shrug, forking more veggies into your mouth. 

“Nothing is always something. What are you thinking about?” he puts his fork down and rest his elbows on the table, folding his hands. You sigh, putting your fork down.

“It’s gonna sound embarrassing if I tell you.” 

“No, it won’t.”

“Well,” you begin, the fear in your throat rising. “You know how I feel about you, and I’m just thinking about why I took this job in the first place. I love forensics and working with Abs is just one of the many perks of the job.”

He laughs, “ She is a character.” 

“But, I think the biggest perk there was, is you.” You look up at him, and find him walking up to your chair, and lifting you up from it. “Yeah, I think I’d agree too.” His hands ghost up your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips find your neck, leaving wet, hot kisses causing you to moan softly and grab his biceps in an attempt to stable yourself. 

“Jethro...” you mumble, watching as he stares down at you with his steely blue eyes, looking at how the icy blue ring deepens with lust. His lips are on yours in a flash, and something tells you he couldn’t handle not kissing you for long. You match his pace, a kiss full of gnashing teeth and hot breath. Your hands reach up to wrap around his neck. “God, you taste so good, J.” You feel his shit-eating grin on your lips before you pull away.

You grab the bottle of wine and two glasses. “Meet me upstairs in ten minutes.” You wink at him before walking off upstairs, not without adding an extra sway to your hips. 

———————-

The Marine had finished cleaning up dinner in record time, and you had finished putting lotion all over your body, brushing your teeth, and positioned yourself in just your panties on his bed; they were lace, of course. It was when you heard Jethro coming up the stairs that the excitement starts eating at the pit of your stomach. You’re sipping on your third glass of wine when he opens the door and stops in his tracks when he sees you.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He states, his eyebrows raised with a smirk. “you’re looking real pretty right about now.” He can tell your nipples are perked, and are in desperate need of attention. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open, come put it to good use, mister.” He smirks, his hands in his pockets as the tightness in his pants grew, he felt it as he was walking towards you. Shoving his socks and shoes off, he climbs on the bed, taking your wine glass and sipping it with once again, a smirk. Setting your wine glass on the bedside table, he envelops your lips in a fiery kiss, licking into your mouth and tasting the Cabernet on your tongue. His hands find your hips, squeezing as he breaks contact with your lips. He sits up as you climb into his lap, your arms ghosting over his broad shoulders meanwhile grinding into his bulge. 

“I love you,” you remind him, watching as his lips turn into this wide smile, as if the heavens opened up to him, and that would be alright because he could die a happy man right about now. 

“I love you, too.” He kisses you, and maybe you were just in a daze but you felt every emotion in his kiss. As if he was telling you something without actually telling you. His lips trail further down your collarbone, sending chills through your spine and when he reaches your taut nipples, it causes you to let out a high-pitched gasp. His tongue swirls around your teased bud, nipping it a little.

“For years, I’ve dreamt of knowing what was under these clothes of yours, and you know what? My imagination is nowhere close to the real thing.” He lays you down, watching as your hair cascades against his pillow. “I’m gonna show you what it’s like to be with a man, sweetheart.” You giggle at him, but it’s suppressed once he dives into your pussy. Licking and sucking at the small bundle of nerves you know most men can’t find. 

“Oh, Jethro!” You gasp, hands tangling themselves into his short silver locks. “Just like that... just like that” you mumble, his fingers working your tight hole, hot, wet, and tight. You were nearing your release when he releases his fingers and mouth, coming back up to kiss you before shedding off the rest of his clothes. “Wha-” he smirks down at you, before tugging at his cock, entering you  in a swift motion. Your gasp was swallowed by another kiss, but he didn’t move, allowing you to adjust to his larger size. Once you tap his shoulder, he moves, slowly but gradually picking up pace once he hears your tiny whimpers and mewls.

“So fucking tight,” he adds, his sharp and heavy thrusts causing your breasts to bounce, and his large hand moved from the pillow by your head to capture your breast. You left out a high-pitched moan as his thrust sends you into overdrive, nails scraping at his shoulders while you moan out his name like a mantra.

“Good girl,” he moans, getting close to his end as well. His thrusts start to sloppy and with a guttural groan, he comes, spilling his hot seed inside you.

——————————————————-

Your fingers were trailing his face, committing his looks to memory, as if one day you’d wake up and he wouldn’t be there. You’re figuring he’s doing the same since he’s looking at you like you’re the only one in the world who’s made him feel so strongly about someone. There were no need for words, because everything has already been said.

———————————————————————-

Taglist: @minninugget @bandgeek88

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Don't Leave Me This Way

Warnings- angst, marital spats, language, a hint of spice

A/N- After a decade together, Honey and Leon have come undone. But on the anniversary of the day their lives changed, Leon decides to mend that. For @forenschik

Part One:

Honey was, in a word, incensed. That Leon would even think about the two of them going out on a weekday bothered her. Then again, at this point in their busy lives going out on ANY day bothered her. But that, Leon told her, was the problem. It was eat, sleep, work, kids, eat, sleep, work, OCCASIONALLY have sex. Throw in Sunny’s growing powers and the odd alternate universe traveller for good measure. That was the rhythm of married life she responded rather dismissively.

Leon took the club scheduling book out of Honey’s hand and held it high above his head where he knew Honey couldn’t fathom reaching it. “How about fuck off with this rhythm of life.”

“LEON!” Honey both whined and raised her voice at her husband as she scrambled to her feet and attempted to climb him. When that didn’t work, and he simply laughed at her and held the book higher, she stood on the desk chair. “How about you go fuck yourself?”

Leon threw the date book. Honey jumped to go after it, but he blocked her move. He held her tight in his arms so she was made to stand still. “Fuck’s sake, I was asking for a date. Now I’m telling you. You’re gonna go upstairs and get ready and put on that sexy purple dress. I’ve packed up The Littles. We’re taking them to your parents, and then we are going to that Italian restaurant you love on Mulberry Street. Then we’re coming home, and you’re getting a right good seeing to.” Before she could protest Leon clamped his hand over her mouth, “Now.”

Honey shockingly obeyed her husband. Her face crimson with anger as she held her chin in the air, arms crossed in front of her chest before throwing up the double finger. In the shower she realized something. It had been so long, and their lives were so busy, that Honey couldn’t discern being mad from being turned on. A lump formed in her throat because she was ashamed. Or disappointed? When was she ever NOT enamored by Leon? Maybe this date was exactly what they needed.

---

“I don't know, I think we should maybe homeschool Sunny. He's not going to have a handle on anything until he's come to the end of what he can do. Maybe we can communally teach him? Selina is fine, she always will be. She could use other normal kids. I think she and Sun are too dependent on each other. They're only six and seven. Usually that level of codependency comes later in life. Like you and Jonathan. I don't know, what do you think?”

Leon watched as his wife took her first breath since their dinners arrived. She swallowed most of her wine before chasing a tortellini around her plate. Her head in one hand like an insolent child instead of a woman in her thirties. Honey looked at Leon expectedly. He took a breath of his own, but she interjected just as he was about to speak.

“They might resent us if we separate though. Sunny needs to feel as normal as possible. They're in Montessori school, so all those kids are bound to be a little strange too. I guess if they were homeschooled you would have to cut back on your classes, and we would have to scale back on bookings.”

Leon clenched his jaw between sips of his bourbon. He stabbed at his dinner, chewed and swallowed while simmering. He sat back with the expectancy that Honey would continue, uninterrupted the same way she had for the last decade. He could feel the simmer start to boil just below the surface while, sure enough, she kept on.

“Punk is just taking off. I know CBGB is where it's at, but Hilly’s been a mensch sending us Patti, Debbie and The Ramones. I know we're still stuck in folk, but I REALLY think it can turn around into rock. There's this outrageous glam or metal or whatever band from LA. Oh! Did you get to hear that demo from the Irish band? Klaus said they're like, one of the biggest bands in the world. I don't know if that would be in our timeline too, but he's onto something. Get in while we can. But who wears sunglass-”

“αρκετά!!” Leon yelled. ENOUGH!

He banged a fist on the table which drew attention from nearby diners. His nostrils flared with anger and embarrassment. While the outburst mortified Leon, he also wouldn't take it back. It was his only means of getting Honey’s attention. And it did.

She sat back with her arms crossed. One eyebrow arched in challenge. Honey was no shrinking violet. She did tend to her grudges like a little garden. If she had to add Leon to it for a little while, so mote it be.

Leon’s face softened, his shoulders sank while he bit into his lip. Then he sat up straight, an air of defiance about him. Before she knew what was happening, Leon slid Honey around the booth with ease so that they sat side by side. He made a bold move when his wife turned away from him.

Leon snuck a hand inside of Honey’s bare thighs. He knew her. Knew she wouldn't be wearing any panties. It wasn't even meant as a tease. She just couldn't with this particular dress. He took advantage of that.

Letting two of his fingers delve inside of his wife, Leon slid them as painfully slow as possible. Her body reacted. It became instantaneously wet allowing him to slip in with ease. He continued in Italian.

“Tesoro mio, non stai zitto da dieci anni. Hai chiesto la mia opinione e io ne ho una.” His fingers pumped faster. One found her clit for a brief moment before abandoning it “Ora sii una brava moglie e lasciami dire la mia.”

My sweet, you haven't shut the fuck up in ten years. You asked for my opinion, and I have one. Now be a good wife and let me have my say.

Honey swallowed oxygen and choked on it. Her heart pounded in places she forgot carried a beat for the man beside her. Her hips shifted forward while she spread her legs to accommodate Leon.

“I'm.. sorry..” her breath came out choppy. “What.. what do you think?”

Leon removed his fingers and draped his arm along Honey’s shoulders. It curled around her neck but with a gentleness. All of the anger dissipated seeing his wife submit to him so easily. That sexual reminder he had as much agency in this marriage as she did.

“I think,” Leon lifted Honey’s chin so her face drew closer. Instead of her lips he kissed her forehead and caught her gaze, “It's time to send the Littles away without us.”

Honey inhaled ready to release a protest. Leon clamped a hand over her mouth. “For longer than a few days at the lake. Or a weekend down at the shore with your sister's kids. Or overnight at your parents place. It's time Yía Yía takes them to Greece.”

Leon felt his wife’s body start to tense. He knew she was processing what he had to say but was prepared to fight him every step of the way. He kept on, “We can take the kids to London, stay a day or two. Then the two of us are going away together for the first time. Not a weekend here. Or a day there. PROPER vacationing just us.”

“We-”

He cut Honey off with a kiss this time. “We can afford to close the club for a while. I love you, and I bloody love our kids. The three of you are my whole fucking world. Don’t you think we’ve gotten a bit lost? It hasn’t been just us since the 60s. You don’t even know what day it is, do you?”

Honey blanked. Her eyebrows knit together as her brain searched back through time to what she may have missed. Why a random day at the end of August was so important. Leon stared at his wife, willing her to remember. He knew she maybe just took it for granted that this instance had always been there. Neither could remember a time when it wasn’t.

Honey’s body deflated. “Oh, Leon.” Hot tears sprang to her eyes which she angrily wiped away. “When HAVEN’T I loved you? I don’t think I was ever able to boil it down to our last time away together. Has it really been ten years? I always thought the moment I saw you was the moment I fell in love. I held you at bay didn’t I?”

Leon used his thumbs to brush the tears away from her cheeks. One traced along her bottom lip before he pushed her hair off her shoulder to kiss it.

"Gracie, look at me." He lifted her chin again so their eyes met. She sniffled. "I think you know that little bits of me and you could scatter across the cosmos, and we would always find one another. It's why we need to get away, the two of us. C'mon, wanna go for a walk?

He stood, laid more money down than necessary, and reached for Honey's hand. She took it but rebuffed the rest, "Leon, it's midnight. It's the hottest summer on record. And someone is murdering women with dark hair and their lovers."

"So?!" She frowned. "Oh bugger off!" he teased. "Klaus said his name's David Berkowitz, and he never goes outside of Queens. I just want to hold my missus's hand and walk beside her a little while. That's all."

How could Honey resist?

Part 2 coming next week 💋

@elliethesuperfruitlover @magic-multicolored-miracle @maerenee930 @nightmonsters @neuroticpuppy @firstpersonnarrator @frogs--are--bitches @rob-private @bisexualnathanyoung @super-unpredictable98 @messengeronthemoon @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @vonkimmeren @duck-noises @feed-davis-and-steve @ghouls-buddy

[annebl4cksworld]

Blood and sugar

Word count: 1,100

Warnings: language / plagiarism from the originals! I do not own anything in regards to marvel or the originals I'm just a women with slight obsessions

A/N: To quote my main character "I'm the best parts of a vampire, werewolf and a witch" 

Avengers come to recruit Briar 

Asserting her dominance, Briar peers into Steve's mind and sees how hurt and depressed he is. 

Tony loses pepper and seeks comfort

(i’m slightly obsessed with the winter soldier rn sooo imma throw a wrench in here and add Bucky to the story cause i can muhahahhaha)

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

Tony, Nat and Steve walked into the bourbon bar off the main street,

Tony takes a quick look around "keep an eye out, she should be fairly easy to spot."

"Would be easier if we knew what she looked like, I can't believe there are no pictures of her. I thought that the interweb thing had photos of everyone?" Steve asked his seemingly innocent question. Tony rolled his eyes 

"I told you she has long dark hair, green eyes and looks like she wants to kill everyone." Stark walked up to the bar "what kind of bourbon you sell here?" He asked 

"the alcoholic kind" the bartender responded walking away. 

"Hmm, ok." Tony tapped the bar. 

Nat was searching the other side of the room when a loud group stumbled through the doors; there were 4 of them looking gangly and hungry.

"You smell that?" The tallest one cocked his head towards rogers "smells like new meat" low growls came from their chests. 

"You selling tickets to something or..?" Stark snapped at them 

"We're not looking for trouble," Steve assured them. The group stood in front of the entryway and bared their fangs, snarling. "Too late." 

"Stark, what the hell did you drag us into?" Nat pulled her pistols out aiming them, "we are looking for Briar. Old friends" Stark commented double tapping his watch and pulling part of his suit over his hand 

They launched at each other, fists, bullets and beams flying from one side that never found their targets, the group moved with blinding speed and already had hands on the team. One knocked Tony to the ground; another yanked Steve's head back and went to rip his throat out with his teeth; suddenly he was sent hurling into the wall. All fighting ceased at the action and a british accent poured out of the doorway "You're making a mess in my favorite bar." 

"Cutting it a little close aren't we?" Tony asked, pushing off his knee to stand. Briar stood in the doorway one arm raised holding the man against the wall. "Gentlemen, there better be an excellent explanation for this." Heels clicking on the floor as she walked into the bar; 

"It's Briar. Go, now!" the rest of the group ran off through the back exit. Briar directed her attention to the one she still held, gritting his teeth he strained to speak "let me go" he hissed 

"That looks like it hurts" she twisted her hand "that's what I was going for" the man let out a yell in pain "what're you doing to me?" Panic taking over his voice. 

"Stop it, let him go" Steve stepped forward, giving her a warning tone. Briar didn't blink, she watched her toy writhe in pain "Anthony, darling." She tilted her head in starks direction "it's been too long" 

Stark shifted his stance "Briar, you're looking ravishing as always. Thought maybe we could chat?" With that Briar turned back to the man against the wall "I'm feeling generous, so here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to let you live, so long as I never, ever, see your face in this town again. Yes?" Dropping her hand to her side the man fell from the wall and within seconds was out the door. 

Briar walked over to Tony and wrapped her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. "You brought me a boy scout and a ginger, I would have preferred chocolates and wine. The whole city will be buzzing over wonder boy here, dying to sink their teeth into him." Briar bit the air next to Tony’s ear.

Tony steps to the side holding an arm toward the two avengers "Oh I'm sorry, Briar this is Capsicle and romanoff and this is--"

"Briar Mikaelson; my, you are a tall glass of water" interrupting Tony, Briar eyed Steve up and down causing him to shift uncomfortably. Nat grinned "what are you?" Curiosity flashed in her eyes. "I'm a tribred. My father was an original vampire, my mother was a Crescent pack leader and my grandmother basically invented black magic. I'm all the best parts mixed into one" she gave them a wink. 

"Vampires?" Nat repeated, "Werewolves? Witches. This is the stuff of novels, fairy tales." 

"I mean you saw how they moved, you saw her throw someone into the air like she was Wanda, i'm sorry we have an alien coworker, a God and a raging green monster but you draw the line at vampires and werewolves?" Tony snorted.

“From what I’ve seen you don’t have very good control of them, how many casualties have you had from blood thirsty vampires?” Cap spoke to Briar but turned to face Tony “You want to recruit someone who would sooner tear a person’s throat out than listen to them? Absolutely not, she’s not welcome in this team. Spoiled princess beating fear into everyone"

"That’s fine, you're not welcome in New Orleans, captain. The serum that runs through your veins can be sniffed out by any vampire or werewolf from miles away and what the witches wouldn't do for some suped up blood. That shield you carry doubles as a target because they will come for you and I don't think I like you enough to deal with protecting you." Briar turned to the bar, every candle lighting around her. 

"This is my city. We don't live in the shadows like rats.”-- Briar poured herself some bourbon and turned back to face Steve “The locals know their place. They look the other way. The blood never stops flowing and the party never ends. This is my home, my family, my rules."

Nat glanced at cap who folded his arms over his chest "And if someone breaks those rules?"

A smile formed on her lips "Then they die. Mercy is for the weak." downing her drink she turned back to Tony "You wanna pass through? You wanna stay a while? Great. What's mine is yours, but it is mine. (Turning her head to face Steve) And I'm not princess of the quarter, I'm the Queen! Show me some respect." Black flooded her eyes and veins colored themselves purple and red beneath them.

[prettyandsarcastic]

when you have to be both.

herald/sidestep

1,997 words

"Can I ask you something?" 

Herald's question is whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, so quietly that January almost misses it. It's asked gently, softly, the way someone would speak to a spooked animal - and if that isn't just an apt description of January she doesn't know what else would be more fitting. 

His mind is a nervous, curious hum, almost vibrating against the walls of her mental shields. But there's a fear there as well, pawing plaintively behind the anxiety. 

She wants to tell him no. Because that's what got her into this situation, into Herald's bed, in the first place. A simple favor asked with too endearing, nerve-flushed cheeks and a bright, hopeful smile. 

She wants to tell him not right now. Because she wants to forget, just for a moment longer, about the world beyond the edges of this bed. Wants to curl up into the solid warmth of him and pretend they're just Daniel and January. 

Instead, January takes a breath and replies in the same way she doomed herself those months ago: "Asking's free."

The inhaling breath that Daniel takes is as much for courage as it is for time. His mind is now a flurry as possible reactionary scenarios to his question flit across his thoughts like a flip-comic. His best case scenario is that she'll have a similar breakdown to when January revealed her tattoos to him. His worst case is that she will leave and he'll never see her again. 

"Please," Daniel begins and January hears him lick his lips in the dark. "Don't… don't feel like you have to answer, but… how are you different… from the — others?" 

The others. 

She knows without clarification that he means the other ReGenes. The ones who could not possibly be mistaken for anything near human with their blue-grey skin and full bodied sickly orange tattoos. Meant to stand out, be seen and feared, used and recycled or discarded when they outlived their usefulness.

Not like you. 

The blanket pools at January's waist as she sits up. And the room begins to spin as she drops her head in her hand, tries to keep the panic from crumpling her lungs like tin foil. Sweat starts to dampen her hairline, is beading on her upper lip and she's terrifyingly aware of how heavily she's suddenly breathing. Her throat is achingly dry when she tries to swallow and desperately wishes she had a drink. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch, anything to burn out the bile she can already taste at the back of her tongue. 

January is desperately trying not to feel the chill of an exam table against her back. The sharp, biting pinprick of a needle at the bend of her elbow. White noise static loss of feeling in her fingers and toes from too tight restraints. The weight of sensors and their cords attached to her skin, itching with adhesive. The too clean scent of disinfectant, antiseptic overpowering the metallic tang of blood, the sour smell of sweat. Whirs and beeps and the humming of machinery drowning out the cacophony of detached, methodical thoughts — 

Daniel's hand is suddenly warm and real against her back, splayed across her shoulder blade, the tips of his fingers fitting between the notches of her spine. "Hey," he breathes. "It's okay. January, come back to me." 

She focuses on the weight of his hand on her, the navy tinted, apologetic concern of his thoughts. The ridges of certain scars beneath the pads of his fingers as he soothes his hand across her shoulders before he cups the back of her neck. If he can feel her trembling and the sweat slick on her skin, he doesn't acknowledge it. 

"I'm sorry," he says when she seems to, finally, calm. "I shouldn't have asked." 

January shakes her head, takes a deep fortifying breath. "Don't be, it's alright," she replies, and if her voice is a little wrecked, a little brittle, well...

And maybe she says it's alright because there's no malice in his thoughts. No disgust - no, never that and never because of her or anything she would ever tell him (and if that thought doesn't just make her want to laugh out loud because he has no idea). There's a definitive divide in Daniel's mind between her and the others even without January answering his question. Just as he had made the divide between Sidestep and January. 

ReGene. January. Sidestep. 

Three faces. Three masks. Three divides. She's not sure how much more Daniel can separate the pieces of her identity before the person he says he loves isn't even her. Before that person in his head becomes something he wants her to be rather than the person she is… 

Before he starts to look at you like Ortega does. With the weight of too many expectations.

She can’t even make the distinction between her masks that Daniel can. Not anymore. There are too many threads that she has to keep separate and they keep getting tangled and twisted into knots. And one day she’s going to get caught in her own spider’s web of lies and deception. ReGene. January. Sidestep. Jane. Enyo. She is all of those and more. And yet, perhaps, maybe none of them at all because she’s never had the true freedom to discover who or what she might really be.

January can't fault him for his curiosity even though she knows that she should. After all, it's not everyday the person you're in love with tells you that they're not even human. She also knows it would be better in the long run for them both if she shoved him away with all the violence trapped behind the prison of her ribcage. 

But you tried that already. 

"I'm… valuable," January finally says on an exhale. 

She sees Daniel shake his head out of the corner of her eye. "January, it’s okay you don't -"

Her fingers, gentle against the plush of his lips, cut him off. Her hand is a ruined mess compared to beauty of him. Long fingers that would be elegant were they not crooked from fractures that healed wrong or the scars on her knuckles and the jagged, chipped polish of her nails. 

"It's okay," she assures him. 

Daniel nods, his mind going soft and golden like sunrise so overwhelmingly relieved that she hasn’t run, hasn’t tried yet again to push him away. His expression remains neutral as he takes her hand, kisses the scar on her palm that itches when she’s stressed, then lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her wrist and the haggard scar there as well. He’s not certain he could bear to be parted from her now. 

“Okay,” he replies. “Tell me.” 

So she does, haltingly at first, then with more confidence if not with more detail. It’s more a bullet point summary because truthfully she can’t bring herself to give more details. There’s things Daniel doesn’t need to know, things January doesn’t want him to know. She doesn’t want to add even more fuel to the raging wildfire of anger his thoughts have become. 

Daniel never moves to comfort her, or try to reach out and touch her again as January speaks; just sits quietly, holding his rage softly inside himself even if she can see it hardening his eyes and tightening his jaw. And even though there’s a whirlwind of questions in his mind, he never asks them, never pushes her for more than she’s willing to give. 

Not like Ortega who asks and pushes and insists because he doesn’t know how to give up without a fight and everything he’s ever let go of has bruises from how hard he holds on. Because he wants everything to fit into the image he has in his head, wants to fix everything, fix her. And it doesn’t matter to Ortega how much he cuts himself on all her sharp edges trying to piece her back together. 

“And… that’s it,” January finishes rather inelegantly. 

“So I take it that January isn’t your real name?” 

The absurdness of the question startles a laugh out of her. All the things she had just told him and that was his first question. Relief trickles down her spine, something warm and comforting curls in the pit of her stomach like a content cat. And Daniel smiles, laughs with her, beautiful and so full of adoration for her that for just a moment she hates him. Why should he still love her even now? 

“No, it’s not. They never gave us names. It was January the first time I escaped.”

“And Moreno?” 

She shrugs. “Saw it on a highway sign.” 

“This is why you never officially joined the Rangers.” It’s not really a question. 

With a sigh, January lays back against the pillows, but turns to look at Daniel. “I wouldn’t submit myself to the background check because I knew I wouldn’t pass it.” Idly, she lifts her hand, contemplates the freckles and the scars, and her crooked fingers. “There are so many things that bear my fingerprints, things I don’t remember.”

And then there are things she does remember, like shattering Herald’s knee. 

“Not to mention,” she continues, “if I had done the background check they would have found me that much faster. If they catch me this time... I don’t think I’ll be able to escape again.”

And when it comes down to it, isn’t that why she’s doing this? Why she let Sidestep rot at the bottom of the grave they dug and rose up again as Enyo? Because January won’t let The Farm get a hold of her again and there are no limitations or rules to hold her back anymore. She’ll drag their dirty secrets through the streets with bloodied hands for everyone to see… 

And what are you willing to sacrifice to see it happen? 

Daniel’s hand finds hers, strong, warm fingers threading through hers. “They’ll have to go through me first,” he insists. 

“They will,” January answers, her voice flat. “They can and they will.” 

The bed shifts suddenly as Daniel moves and then he’s over her and January shifts until her knees bracket his hips. There’s that brief flash of instinct she has, the points on Daniel’s body she needs to hit to escape, but she forces it away and blinks up at him. His eyes are intense and so, so blue and his thoughts are all the metallic steel color of stubborn determination. 

“You don’t get it. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Daniel says. And he has that look on his face again, the hard set one that he sometimes gets when they spar. He means every single word. “I won’t let anyone or anything take you from me, January.” 

“Daniel -” 

This time it’s his fingers, soft against her lips that stop her. “No,” he tells her as his hand moves, fingertips caressing the angle of her cheekbone, brushing against the bruised circles under her eyes. “I love you.” 

January sighs, if only to keep herself from giving in to the stinging at the corners of her eyes. He’s ridiculous, but he loves her and he would do anything to keep her safe and in his arms. He won’t hear her tell him how he can’t protect her, can’t keep her safe, that he won’t have a choice when The Farm finally comes for her again. 

She rises up on an elbow, catches Daniel in a kiss that he eagerly returns with a soft sound. She’s not sure if she loves him, and if she does, how would she know what love feels like? Perhaps they made her incapable of it for all she knows. But she does know that her heart hurts, feels fit to burst when Daniel presses her back into the mattress and his hands start to roam. 

You are going to ruin him. 

… Maybe. Lover or enemy. Hero or villain. Human or monster. She has to be both.

what is more unfair than having to choose  between being a monster or being a hero?

(- when you have to be both.)

when you learn that the road to hell is paved with more than just good intentions. - you are not heads or tails; you are the coin

m.a.w 

[artswritings]

Red 1

Rebecca Solnit: Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas A few thoughts before beginning:

I remember when this book was on pretty much every coffee table I came across in San Francisco for some time after it came out (2014-2017?)

I swiped it from Piston -- a long-defunct tech startup where I briefly worked as the HR assistant / office manager. Very SF tech scene, my job was largely to process lunch receipts and make sure there was always Four Roses Bourbon in the board room. The 'aesthetic' of the company was old-timey library, so there were a ton of books everywhere. This appeared one day, no one touched it, so on my way out I swiped it. -shrug-

It's been a few years since I read it, but I remember a few things, especially the note about the bus that runs from preppy Marina through the historically Black Fillmore, down through the Mission, and off to oblivion -- how that one bus cuts through the city in a way that gives you an incredible look at many of its layers of flavors

It strikes me what a bold move it is to try to capture this (particularly?) ephemeral city in a book at any given time. I predict that even though it was written less than 10 years ago, I won't recognize most of the San Francisco inside.

What would I add to a San Francisco atlas? I'd like a map of notable murals/street art, arts venues, staircases, and 'urban hikes'

Thoughts while reading:

- I love this gloriously gloomy quote from page 3, "The bay is, in a haunting phrase, called a drowned river mouth. Once, its islands were only hilltops, for the river channel that still goes deep beneath the bridge was carved out when the sea was lower and the rivers stretched farther west."

time has drowned this valley continues to drown and we are the memories flashing by at the end of her life -pg. 5 "The poet-artist Genine Lentine of the San Francisco Zen Center..." Genine! I took a poetry workshop with her! I wonder if she still crawls these streets, what's happening at her Zen Center?

After binging the second half of it:

- Maybe I'm just in a bad mood today, but this book feels indulgent, inaccurate (over time) / outdated, incomplete

-But I suppose one could write a Section 23 in the book itself about ephemeralness and how it's an apt description that can be traced both through the book & through the city

Have I crossed paths with Guillermo Gomez Pena? Or Rebecca Solnit for that matter?

I have crossed paths with Genine Lentine. And then and now I've wondered about zen meditation and Buddhism and its possible place in my life. I left those passages feeling contemplative about futures yet to come for me.

Coffee shops, the mission, evictions, participating in its shifting economies, identities + tribes, the character and complexity of each neighborhood, yerba buena and its dreadful past ... subjects that resonate as I crest my 8th anniversary of living here.

Final Thoughts:

It was a pleasure tracing the maps. Looking at what was marked on each map near familiar intersections. Finding things I knew and recognized + finding things I still haven't yet. I last read this in 2014 or 2015, a couple years after landing here. The city has changed so much (more or less on the same trajectories outlined in the book), and I have gained many more relationships to the city + its past + my past.

I have left and come back (if moving to Berkeley for a year counts), I own property here now. I now have streets that mean several different selves to me.

I worked from my new office last week, and sat on the 22nd Floor. Perhaps the highest up in any building I've gone in San Francisco, certainly the highest I've ever spent much time in. I saw Yerba Buena Center from above, and Salesforce Park from above.

I walk by the noted Cafe Flore every day, it sits vacant now but unchanged from the outside. After years of living nearby, I finally consider Dolores Park part of my inner concentric circle of being.

I have known this city alone, and I now know it more as a couple.

I have gotten married on top of a hill alluded to in one of the stories (a story of hidden staircases).

Anyway, while I appreciated it last time I read the book, I am more familiar with its subjects now, and more grateful for the histories and hidden stories it illuminates. Having lived at 24th & Folsom, a new appreciation for the gang territories in the Mission. Having worked in and read poetry in several coffee shops and frequented many more, a new desire to go to the ones I love so much now before they're gone.

Some subjects I'd like to investigate of San Francisco:

- centers of poetry

- local artist collectives

- concert venues + art centers

- tree tour

- sidewalk scratchings

- how the sunset has evolved

I think I'll try the exercise Guillermo and Rebecca did in one of the maps -- for each part of the city, who am I? Who am I where? And maybe I'd do one similar to the Muybridge one, what are some of the important moments on my timeline and where did they occur? And perhaps I'd like to do a version of the Treasure Island map, choosing 49 treasures throughout the city and placing them on the map.

I think this book should be taken as it is. Admire the gorgeous maps, wonder how you might create similar maps of your city, your neighborhood. Let it inspire you to learn more about those who came before you, be it thousands, hundreds, or merely 5 years ago. Cherish the weird signs, persistent graffitti, seemingly timeless coffeeshops, and the particular sounds that surround you, for either they will change or you will, and you'll love to have a mark of them to look back on.

[chalkrevelations]

OK, so, episode reax of WoH Ep 4 is briefly delayed – may be out Sunday, but more likely post M-W workweek. It is coming. Meanwhile, have some more Street Dance of China? S3, Ep 2.

First of all, I have to say that if I had any way of figuring out what some of this music is, I’d have a new Spotify playlist 300 songs long.

ANYWAY, we get a recap of … Wang Yibo being incredulous about coming in last place in a dance competition. Wang Yibo vowing to get back the three colorful towels he lost by coming in last place in a dance competition and therefore can’t use to send three more of his team’s dancers on to the next round. Hip-hop freestyle battles for TOWELS. Wang Yibo getting his colorful towels back. Ridiculous unnecessary drama over whether Lay Zhang is going to win his battle and get EVEN MORE colorful towels, given his competition is Wallace Chung (oh dear. that was kind of blunt.). And that’s what you missed on Glee Street Dance of China 3 Ep 1.

 Snapshots of what’s coming up this week: Everyone has shot their wad on towels and is sweating the fact that they have 59 more dancers they want to send through to the next round and a single towel left. (I TOLD YOU SO. ALL OF YOU.) The only way to get more towels is to battle for them. A hip-hop battle has NEVER BEEN SO IMPORTANT.

Cutting here, I guess, for ridiculously detailed nattering. Hashtag long post (remorseful):

Team Lay Zhang: First of all, Lay Zhang, I just have to note that you’re getting an edit that doesn’t make you look like the brightest bulb in the box. I don’t know if this is just the edit, or if it’s … well. You. I guess we’ll see as the season goes on. Also, in the interim, I have found out that you also are Zhang Yixing, which a lot of your fandom seems to actually call you, so should I call you Yixing instead of Lay? You seem to be going by Lay for this show, so it seems polite to stick to that? Anyway. Gongsun Wu Ming & Hei Zai start us off this episode, and they get off to a little bit of a slow start, but once they pick up, they’ve got a lot of nice air in their moves, that effortless(-looking) almost anti-gravity effect that good breakers can get. Then we almost immediately get a series of ok, that’s fine, oh, wait, no, THAT is actually pretty mediocre poppers, none of whom gets a towel, thank god, because the supply has to be running low. And then Teng Zai appears, claiming to be the best popper, and … OK. OK, alright. Fine. He might be right. His technique and control are fantastic, but you want to know what really sells me, in the middle of this generally fantastic performance? It’s that series of chest pops followed by the little heart held out right on the fk’n music. It’s little details like that, that make or break a performance, and he pulled it off beautifully. I went back to re-watch, it was so slick, yet so charming. OK, maybe I went back to watch more than once. You can’t prove anything. (Also, he gets called their little “Ares” - in quotes, in the subs – by other contestants, more than once, but I can’t pick out the actual sound of that name, which makes me think the subbers have inserted “Ares” as something that will give the flavor of what he’s actually being called. My 1st level Duolingo Mandarin is absolutely not enough to figure out what people are actually calling him, so is there anyone who’s able to give me some insight, here?) Aaaand, Towel Battle 1 (see Footnote 1). Post-battle, we’ve reached the point when all the captains are sweating their lack of towels, so e’rybody is just going to have to battle for towels from here on out. Yuan Ye faces Momo, and a little bit, this is where I expect the knife fight to start (Momo’s bringing the knife). I’m honestly not that impressed with either of them and probably would have saved my towel for someone else, but Lay Zhang decides to send them both through, so what’s the point of a battle to begin with? BUT THEN (dun-dun-dun) some dude calling himself Bon shows up to really cut a bitch, waves away both Yuan Ye and Momo to the sidelines, describes himself as “a boom” and proceeds to give a performance that imo is kind of mushy and all over the place. Lay Zhang looks a little taken aback as Bon sort of grinds up on him but can’t even really commit to that, just before Lin Zi Jie shows up. Lay Zhang makes Zi Jie change his coat - thank god, because you can’t see half of what he’s doing and he actually seems like the most towel-worthy performance out of this whole cluster of flail – and asks for a freestyle battle, which turns out to not be that great on Bon’s or Zi Jie’s parts, actually. I feel like the dance vocabulary here is kind of limited, and we’re left with a bunch of hip-shaking, grinding, and supposedly seductive looks, which is NOT going to cut it in the battles we’ve seen already. Towels to Momo and Zi Jie, rather than putting them in reserve and waiting to see who else shows up, which I think is probably a mistake, but OK, I’m not a pop idol with the clout to star on this show, so. (I know what I like to watch, tho’, and none of that was it.) A promise to Yuan Ye that she gets a Battle Towel. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Wallace Chung: So, first off, there’s George, who dances before he’ll introduce himself, and I guess I have to respect a guy who’s going to let his performance be his introduction. And then we get a series of OK that’s fine but not really great poppers, and Wallace, unlike Lay, is handing out towels like candy. OK, my man. If that’s really what you want to do, I guess, but it doesn’t seem like the greatest idea to me. You’re also really fucking with the morale of the dancers who haven’t performed yet, who are gradually realizing that you’re going to run out of towels before you even get to them. Hilariously (for me, if not the contestants), I paused at this point to go refresh my bourbon and managed to freeze on a random contestant, identified as Wei Ming - who I don’t know if we’ll ever get to see actually perform, but he deserves the bolded name for this, alone – looking baffled and concerned, with the English subtitle on his comment reading “Sir, what are you thinking?” I suspect he is not using “Sir” in the sense that I use it when my cat (or Zhang Zhehan) has done something appallingly adorable, but rather when the cat has knocked yet another gd pen off my desk while I’m trying to take notes, just to be a bastard for attention. (OTOH, I guess if you weren’t one of the dancers bold enough to swarm up there in the first couple of hours, you take what you get. Fortuna fortes adiuvat.) We finally get to Lin Meng, whose reputation precedes him, but seriously, if Wallace is just handing out towels to every popper, what does it even mean? Wallace – Wallace – proceeds to basically call Lin Meng an old man before making him bargain for a towel, which is a shame, because Lin Meng deserves to get not only this towel but the four towels you just gave away to some guys who should still be holding Lin Meng’s jacket, Wallace. I mean, seriously, this guy’s technique is fantastic. Even if he does fumble his jacket lapel that one time. Aaaand, Towel Battle 1 (see Footnote 1). Post battle, we get A.K. Dong, who’s got some excellent musicality and a face that apparently resembles a variety show star (Hank Chen?). I mean, I guess it gets him noticed, but it sucks that it seems to overshadow his dancing, because he’s really good. Then we notice our towels are running low, and everybody is just going to have to battle it out. Wallace promises the Battle Towel to some dude who we don’t see perform and don’t get a name for, and with my prognisticatory skills, I’m going to say we won’t need to know his name, because this is the last we’ll see of him. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Wang Yibo: First up, we get Bing, whose reputation precedes him, prompting other teams to look around and wonder what all the commotion is about. Bing has a motorbike moment with Yibo, before giving a performance that starts off the tiniest bit mushy before he puts some fantastic technique on display. Yibo pulls out his Perpetual Student schtick and asks for some freestyle with some motorbike elements, which at first makes me suspect you might be fucking with this guy just a little bit, Yibo, but Bing is both game and versatile, and he eventually gets his towel, along with a wish from Yibo to ride together sometime, and oh. (As we say, in A Very Significant Tone, on AO3.) All of that was flirting. OK. On the heels of Yibo giving me yet another clue as to his taste in men, we roll into a seriously uncomfortable segment that stomps all over my embarrassment squick because they’ve cut together several women to look desperate and starstruck and comical and dumb, while Yibo looks increasingly uncomfortable, and I am super not down with this, show. I’ll admit that from what we can see, none of them are great dancers, but I suspect there were a lot of not-great male dancers, too, and I just. Ick. This was unnecessary, you haven’t done it to any of the other captains, and it frankly doesn’t make Yibo look that great, when you set his reactions here against the fact that not only have we not seen approval from him for any female contestants so far, but this segment is the only interaction we’ve seen from him with any female contestants so far. Hard on the heels of this segment, we get Chick, who is very good when he wants to be but also super-extra and annoying, and who fucks around more than he really dances, but the audience seems charmed with him, and Yibo doesn’t give him any of the smackdown he deserves, which doesn’t improve my impression of the previous segment, given the varied ways Yibo iced out some of the women. Meanwhile, Jackson Wang strolls over, and Yibo acts super weird about it, for a guy who was the first one to wander into someone else’s territory, which was – oh, yeah, I remember, Jackson’s – to watch his dancers, and Jackson says that he would give Chick a towel before heading back to his own street, and then Yibo does, even though he fucks with him a little bit first, and then there’s a bit of footage cut in of Yibo making dumbass excuses for this guy, so. I’m not entirely feeling you right now, Yibo. Also, all of this is certainly doing nothing to disabuse me of the notion that you’re about 1000000x more comfortable in homosocial situations, for whatever reason. Anyway, we then get a montage of Yibo handing out some towels to various dancers (including a woman, finally, although she’s intercut with some other people and doesn’t actually get a full segment of her own), and then we get Tao and Cici, who are both good, but Yibo now discovers that he only has three towels and there are two people standing in front of him, so he gives a towel to Tao and promises one to Cici after the next towel battle, which, yeah, Tao is probably better, but this is a hell of time to decide to be circumspect with your towels, Yibo, when you can leave a woman sitting on the sidelines but send her husband through to the next round. :hands: Anyway, it’s time for Towel Battle 2 (See Footnote 2), and I do have to give Yibo props, again, for his teambuilding, because he takes a minute to say, hey, there aren’t a lot of towels left, and there are quite a few of you, so what we’re going to do is all go over there together, and get another towel, as a team. Post-battle, Yibo is still concerned about his lack of towels, and everyone left is going to have to battle it out, although, frankly, the way Yibo’s been going on about how much he likes battles, I sort of think he might secretly be a tiny bit excited about this. He ends up putting person after person into reserve, waiting to see everyone, probably, and then Meng Di shows up, and she’s already got the rest of the group behind her. They know her, they know she has cochlear implants, they respond immediately when she shushes them so she can hear Yibo and the music, they call for the DJ to turn up the music for her, they clap together to emphasize the beat. She’s smart enough to keep six feet between her and Yibo while she dances, so that she doesn’t spook him like the fragile and shy homosocial forest creature he apparently is. She immediately gets her cha cha on when her battle partner holds out his hand to lead her out for her turn. Good technique, even though there are a few bobbles. None of these four performances in the final battle are the best we’ve seen so far, but they’re solid. Yibo is clearly torn about what to do with his one towel, although the audience starts getting kind of insistent that he needs a waacker, and a female waacker at that, and he ends up making Bullet and Meng Di battle again. She’s performing for the audience at this point – I mean, she’s not even pretending about it, she spends most of this round facing them, with her back to Yibo - and she’s also versatile, genre-wise, so I think we can all see where this is going. I think he really wanted to give that towel to Bullet, who definitely is very good, but he knew that he’s painted himself into a corner where he ought to give it to Meng Di, so that he’s got some genre-versatility on the team, if nothing else. Towel to Meng Di, and a promise to Bullet to win another Battle Towel for him. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Jackson Wang: First up is Bai, who apparently is a favorite from season one, but I haven’t seen season one – or season two - so I don’t have any history on any of these people. Bai is doing a bit, here, but he’s also generally got some good technique, so OK. Why are they blurring out his left wrist, though? Yang Yu Ting is really good, some more good technique, good musicality. And then we’re already on to Towel Battle 2 (See Footnote 2). Post-battle, we get Shen Kai Xiang, who apparently looks A LOT like Jack Ma, which seems to be little bit like if some Bill Gates-lookin’ mf’r showed up to audition for SYTYCD. Lyrical; good technique; much like Bai, appears to be doing a bit. And, then, as with all the captains, the dearth of towels sets in, and Jackson is going to put everyone in the gladiator ring and make them battle it out. Maybe we can win another Battle Towel. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

***

Footnote 1, AKA Towel Battle 1, Team Lay Zhang vs. Team Wallace Chung, 3v3: Team Lay Zhang is San Jin, who they throw up some B-roll on, since the show has spent no time on him so far although he seems to be in cahoots with Xiao Bao (see Ep 1 recap); Gongsun Wu Ming, who’s spoiling for a battle after no one would take him up on it during his initial performance; and Teng Zai, because I mean, come on. Team Wallace Chung is Lin Meng, which should be interesting, since he and Teng Zai are apparently from the same crew, George, and Qin Yu, who we not only haven’t seen before this, that I can remember, but don’t even get B-roll on while Wallace is talking strategy, unlike the other two. Qin Yu, this does not bode well for your future on the show, if they’re not even bothering to give you B-roll, let alone an edit. Both captains are very weird about introducing their dancers, like these guys are some big surprise and aren’t going to dance in front of everybody in a minute and half, anyway. Possibly this is some kind of attempt at a dominance display? I don’t know. It’s won by the host, anyway, who eventually enforces his will and gets some introductions out of the captains. Anyway, Gongsun is up first for Team Lay Zhang, and this dude is just fun to watch, with great musicality and flow, and Wallace’s face while watching him is a picture, let me tell you. He’s up on Qin Yu almost immediately, possibly sensing the weakest link of Team Wallace? Team Wallace counters with George, who’s not having any of that, and gets the first point for his team. Second round, Teng Zai is once again impeccable, so even though someone has lit a fire under George, who spends half his time upside down, he nevertheless loses the point to Teng Zai. Round three, Teng Zai and Lin Meng face off, and they’ve both got great technique, although I feel like Lin Meng has a slight edge there, but I also think Teng Zai did a better job of showcasing strength and control, so I’m not surprised when the judges go for another round, in which Teng Zai is still super-fun to watch and definitely on his game, but Lin Meng steps up with some incredible precision, so I’m a little surprised when the judges give it (unanimously) to Teng Zai and Team Lay Zhang. One more round, and Teng Zai … is maybe wearing down a little bit, coasting on this one, and oh, hey, we’re finally going to get to see Qin Yu, who has some nice fluidity but maybe doesn’t really match up to Teng Zai in the charisma department, which may be why we haven’t seen him before this, and also why he loses the round. Round, battle, and two towels to Team Lay Zhang, and we still haven’t seen more than 15 seconds of B-roll of San Jin. But wait! There’s still a moment to be had, in which Teng Zai suggests donating one of their towels to Team Wallace, namechecks love and peace as a vital part of street dance, and quite possibly cements his place in my – and everyone else’s - heart. Both sides go home with a towel.

Footnote 2, AKA Towel Battle 2, Team Wang Yibo vs. Team Jackson Wang, 3v3 captain-led battle: Oh, they get to choose a song for each other. This should be interesting. I feel like there’s some shit-talking going on here, although I’m not really equipped to catch it and am at the mercy of the subtitles. Does Jackson really ask Yibo, “You WERE a dancer when you were young?” because lol. And Yibo is all, “Eh, kind of?” I do love how neither of them can hold still for songs two and three. So, Team Yibo is also Bing and Tao, while Team Jackson is also Bai and Ting. The thing that strikes me immediately during the minute or so that they get to plan and quickly choreograph is that Team Yibo has everyone there – there’s no point during this planning stage that the entire crew isn’t involved. They’re all part of this. Meanwhile, Team Jackson is just the three of them, separate from everybody, working out their choreography. The whole-team approach IMMEDIATELY pays off, when Team Yibo slams out of the gate with an energy and power and fullness to their performance that Yibo will later comment is fueled by the atmosphere that the dancers at the back create, and he’s right, it’s just like a wave of pressure pushing them forward, not even getting into the fact that the three people actually in the battle are fucking good. Team Jackson is also good, but they don’t feel like a team, the crew in the back doesn’t seem to have it together, and the loss of that – it has an impact. No surprise that Round 1 goes to Team Yibo and their Attitude, which is like an entire fourth dancer on its own. Round two coming up, and the entire Team Yibo is still involved in the planning stages, Yibo’s flannel has come off and we’re down to T-shirt sleeves, and Tao is surprising me not only with his moves – I honestly didn’t expect him to come as hard as he does, given he and Cici were more lyrical in their initial performance – but in his killer instinct, because he’s the one who suggests getting up in Jackson’s face, lit. and fig., by yoinking one of his signature moves. Meanwhile, Yibo is playing gay chicken, and it is just as great an idea as it sounds like (and this is that performance that a clip of it was making the rounds a few months ago); meanwhile Jackson is going high (?) concept, and that is just as bad an idea as it sounds like, although he does attempt some charming self-deprecation when it’s all over (also, omg, one of the contestant reactions later is that he’s “short of brain trust.” I’m not actually sure what the most eloquent way to translate that comment would have been, but it certainly gets an idea across.) Chick actually earns his pay in one of the best moments of the battle that – as much as I hate to encourage it – actually does profit off his general air of douchery, Team Jackson continues to lack the kind of cohesive team feel that Team Yibo is bringing – and second round, battle, and towel to Team Yibo. THIS is the advantage of team-building from the very first minute. Also, fuck, Yibo and the dancers he’s collected are good. Technically, yes, but also, the auditions are getting kind of interminable, but after this battle, I’m excited again, and that kind of audience reaction is a good measure of whether your dancing is successful. (Towel goes to Cici, btw, which, yeah, Tao did fucking earn that for her, so I’m glad you came through on your promise to her, Yibo.)

Footnote 3, AKA Towel Battle 3, all four captains. Cypher. Four rounds. Everyone else’s face when the cypher is announced:  D:   Yibo’s face when the cypher is announced:  >:D  They each get to choose a style of music. Wallace chooses locking. Yibo and Jackson both choose hip-hop. Lay Zhang chooses krump. Yibo’s already moving before the music even starts, to whatever music lives inside his head. The music actually starts, and Yibo is in the center before anyone else gets the chance (probably before anyone else can get up their nerve …) My sound drops out right here, which, wtf, but I can still tell Yibo’s throwing down the gauntlet. He’s beatable, but not by anybody who’s going to coast. Also, goddam, he has legs for days. Lay Zhang is in next, with some good speed and power and crispness to his moves, although I’m having trouble taking that cap with the fake dreads seriously. It’s … actually super interfering with me getting on board with your vibe, my dude. Jackson’s up next, and he has somehow managed to bring my sound back, and he also lands, frankly, the best forward Salto we’ve seen from anyone so far this season, which I have to admit even though he is my inexplicable mortal enemy. Yibo and Wallace, ffs, ice him out in the follow-up, although he then does the same thing to Lay, so who tf knows what’s going on with the actual interpersonals between these guys and what’s for show, at this point. Wallace finally gets his turn and is super-game but horribly out-classed. Yibo gives him props anyway, which, good on you for respecting your elders and their efforts, I guess, baby, but let’s all admit that was an “E” for effort. Judges are frantically scribbling their points down as round 2/4 begins, and Yibo is the first one in the middle, again, and wtf gdi my sound really picks this point to drop out again? I feel like Youku may be fucking with me, at this point. ANYWAY, Yibo is finally, actually all in, and he’s got a fantastic Harlem shake, it’s like his joints are barely connected. I honestly could watch this boy dance all day, that’s how smooth he looks. Here’s the thing about Yibo, and it’s something the other captains haven’t yet achieved, or have only accomplished in slivers of time – he makes me want to dance, too. I watch him, and I want to be doing what he’s doing. You could say that he literally, not just figuratively or emotionally, moves me. And his ability to stoke that is something I really appreciate. Jackson Wang is up next and is pretty good, but I’m honestly more impressed with Lay Zhang, who manages to look almost like he’s being special-effected, that’s how staccato he gets at his best in this round. Wallace dances. The other captains are polite about it. More scribbling from the judges. Jackson’s the first one out there in round three, and he’s honestly looking the least tired of all of them. Stamina is maybe an issue, here. Even with Jackson, some of the finer control is gone. Y’all are maybe a little soft? How long has it been since any of you idols had to endure the workout of an entire concert? There’s a whole ‘nother round to go after this, so you better get your oxygen masks. Lay Zhang is still fairly crisp and pulls off a literal hat trick, although he’s doing a lot more upper body work that lets him stand in place than he is actually moving around. Jackson, with his baby boy enthusiasm and energy, is magnanimous enough to fill up some of Wallace’s time by “pulling” him into the center and then getting out there and dancing with him. I am old enough that I understand what Wallace is going through, but there’s just a noticeable difference in ability, here. Yibo is clearly waiting until last this time, to those of us paying scrupulous attention, although it’s nothing too obvious, and it does buy him enough time that he’s basically recovered by the time he gets back into the middle of the circle, although he’s a little less expansive than he’s been in the previous two rounds. So, strategic, then, too. Judges scribble as we move into the last round. No time for weakness, all of you. DID YOU HEAR ME, because most of you are looking, to be frank, just a little bit WEAK as you circle around and hang out on the edges and try to get your breath and energy back. I’m just sayin’. Lay takes the hit first, and he’s really trying, although he’s not as strong as he was back in the second round. I’m a little bit afraid he might fall over by the end of it. Yibo is sweating but pulls some random dude’s hat right off his head before … at least going all in, even if he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, krump-wise. He ends by falling on the ground, in a credible WWX-passing-the-fuck-out imitation, which is probably a relief, by that point. Jackson probably has the most energy left, although he’s reduced to pulling off his shirt and posing by the end of his time. Wallace does some dancing. Look. I’m just going to leave it at that. Jackson is still being polite enough to encourage his elder. It’s maybe a little bit endearing. Final result is that Lay Zhang wins, which. OK. I would have placed him second, after Yibo, but I also seem to remember that he won the initial captains’ performance, back in Ep 1, so I guess I can’t be too surprised at this, based on trends. Show director was apparently so impressed, he’s gonna give up four extra towels, one to each captain, which means Lay gets two towels. So I guess towels go to Yuan Ye on Team Lay Zhang and Bullet on team Wang Yibo, if they keep their promises, although don’t know who Wallace and Jackson are planning on giving their extra towels to.

Next ep: Mystery Guest.

[riversofmars]

May I propose..River and Missy stumbling upon 13 and immediately both go to flirting w her

My lovely anon, I deeply apologise for how long it has taken me to do this. And I have to confess, this is only part one, it has turned out so long that I’m having to post it in two parts! Plus I’m not quite done with the ending and if I hadn’t split it up, it would have been another couple of days lol.

Anyway, I really hope you like this. As promised, probably not what you expected but I got slightly obsessed with the idea of doing a cyberpunk inspired piece so here you are! Read on AO3 or below :)

At The End Of The Universe

The Doctor locked up the TARDIS, just to be safe. At the end of time, one did not want to get stuck or have one’s means of escape stolen. She had often wondered what it actually was like. The very last day of the universe. She had visited once before, watching from Me’s reality bubble. Me had been watching the stars die and she had called it beautiful and the Doctor had found it sad. Me had insisted that it was both and that that wasn’t something the Doctor could ever understand… She had been right. The people around her always seem to know her better than she knew herself.

Now, she certainly couldn’t find any beauty in this place and, yet she was fascinated. This was it, the last straw, where the last people in the universe had gathered. Admittedly, she wasn't actually sure that was entirely true but these people seemed to think they were so who was she to argue? She was too exhausted to argue and at the end of everything, no-one had time to waste on such technicalities. In approximately twelves hours, death was coming for them all and there was nowhere to run.

The Doctor looked around, taking in the atmosphere. It was getting cold, probably because the nearby star was already dying. There was very little natural light now, not that it would have reached the ground through the thick smog anyway. The only light down here was from the garish neon advertisements and signs.

“I bet this has always been an awful place…“ The Doctor started saying but stopped herself. She was alone. There was no-one to talk to on this particular trip. Ryan, Yaz and Graham were still on Earth. They didn’t even know she had made it off Gallifrey in one piece, or that she had ended up in prison shortly after… And after her escape, she had felt no great need to seek them out. Not yet anyway. Her path had lead her here instead. To the end of the universe, with no companions to talk to, no-one to share the experience with. It was probably better that way, this wasn’t a trip she wanted to be sharing with anyone.

She looked around some more and decided, yes, this really must have been an awful place all along. The sort of world where only the rich and powerful flourish and everyone else cowers in the sewers. The sort of place where law and morality would break down in no time at all as the end of days drew near. The sort of place where people would want to see the universe out in delirium. And people around here have already started. They were singing in the streets, shouting, dancing, laughing, some people are crying whether with it was laughter or hysterical fear.

Those that didn’t have a time machine to escape crunch time were each facing up to the inevitable in their own way. They are incredibly brave, the Doctor thought, braver than she had ever been. She would be frantically searching for a way out and try to run away, she couldn’t deny that. She was so tired of running but she just couldn’t stop. She wished she could just stand still and face what was up ahead, head held high, just for once. But it was like a compulsion, she just had to keep going. It was always just one more adventure… maybe the next one will be the one. Maybe that would be the one that would finally give her some answers. Or closure. Or even some sort of happiness or contentment. Something, anything, to satisfy that urge to keep going. Sometimes, she forgot what she was searching for. She had been going for so long now. What purpose did this particular trip serve? By this point it was probably just to make sense of things. Of herself. Her own existence. Her life. The things that had been done to her. And the things that happened because of her. And to try and forget about them.

She could still see it. Every time she closed her eyes, she was right back in the ruins of Gallifrey. She would feel the burning heat from the flames. She would get a burning in her chest from the smoke. Her eyes would be burning from the dust. Gallifrey was burning her from the inside still. Her memories were eating at her, burning all the walls she’d built to protect myself, the structures that held her up and kept her going. She had no idea how to stop this wildfire. Maybe on her next trip, she’d find a way but now, she was here. At the edge of the universe, at the end of everything. This was not the place where she’d find her answers but maybe she could fight fire with fire for a time. Maybe she could gain a reprieve before the flames engulfed her.

She started to make her way down the street. The music was coming from somewhere up ahead. The bass was so deep, the vibrations were making her shake. She could smell alcohol now, the streets were literally drenched in it, this party had been going on for days. It wasn't just alcohol, there were chemicals, drugs, sweat, vomit, sex… At the end of everything, society, morals, inhibitions, right and wrong, disintegrated right before your eyes. There was no need for such human constructs now. Everyone here was going to die in twelve hours, the Doctor could see why they’d rather be enjoying themselves. The biggest, baddest party of the universe. The last party. On the last planet. In the last hours. No-one could charge and judge you now. What better place to drown one’s sorrows, get perspective and forget for a time?

“Alright lovely? Can we interest you in a good time?“ A young man yelled to her from across the street. There was a group of them, young people who still had so much of their life ahead of them, cut tragically short. Under normal circumstances, the Doctor, or anyone else for that matter, would have kept going, but the Doctor stepped closer.

“What’s your poison?“ She asked, eying the selection of drinks and other substances spread out over the hood of a burned out vehicle.

“By this point, does it really matter?“ One of the lads laughed taking a gulp from a half empty bottle of clear liquid.

“Suppose not.“ The Doctor chuckled and picked up a bottle she at least recognised the brand name of and took a swing. The alcohol burnt her throat. It was pure and disgusting but it was just what she needed. “Mind if I take this?“ She gave the bottle a little shake to indicate what she was talking about. Her question got swallowed up in the deafening noise of an explosion barely a block away. Some people probably got bored of waiting for the end. The Doctor took another swing from the bottle as her eyes fell on some colourful tablets. She picked up a couple, red and blue, turned them between her fingers as if they were smarties. “The red pill or the blue pill…“ She looked up to the group laughing to herself a little. “This would be funny and poignant if The Matrix was still a thing at the end of the universe…“

“You’re not even scared, are you.“ One of the boys grinned, clearly impressed, he stumbled a little, struggling to keep himself upright as he leant forward onto the hood of the vehicle.

“Scared of what?“ The Doctor raised her eyebrows without looking at him. She focused on the pills in her hand. What was the worst that could happen? These people weren’t trying to kill themselves, they were trying to have a good time so this was probably perfectly safe… and if it wasn’t?

“You know… the end. And doing drugs with people you’ve never met before.“ He grinned.

“I’m just here to have a good time.“ She shrugged as she threw both tablets into her mouth like candy and washed them down.

“I can show you a good time.“ He reached out to cup her cheek but misjudged the distance, reaching into nothingness. His friends laughed.

“Maybe later.“ The Doctor chuckled with a wink.

“Don’t keep me waiting all night, it’s not long now.“ He retorted trying his best to hide his disappointment.

“Thanks for this.“ She downed the rest of the bottle as the others cheered her finishing it. She placed the empty bottle back on the make shift table and waved goodbye to them. She only vaguely took notice of the sound of breaking glass as the youngsters smashed her empty bottle just because they could.

She followed the sound of the music as she made her way along the crowded streets, people bumped into her, unaware of their surroundings, in a drug induced haze. The Doctor was beginning to feel the effects herself. Her hearts picked up speed, she felt an indescribable rush, as her brain flooded with dopamine. The colours seemed more vivid, her skin tingled, as if she was seeing, experiencing more than ever before. Some remaining rational part of her brain insisted that these feelings weren’t real, that it was an illusion and that she would pay a price when they wore off but for now, she couldn’t care less.

She followed the sound of the music, the bass running trough her as she descended stairs to a make shift nightclub. It really just looked like a massive warehouse but people were dancing and drinking, jerking to the music, partying to their heart’s content. The Doctor steadied herself against the wall, feeling the effects of the drugs, allowing her senses to be flooded. She smiled to herself, her heart felt lighter, as if a burden was being lifted and only the here and now mattered.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor Song.“ Missy called over the loud music as she swirled a glass of bourbon. Even at the end of the universe, she insisted on some modicum of class as she watched River Song emerging from the flurry of dancing bodies. She felt a tingle in her hand as regenerative energy started oozing out of her fingertips and she balled her fist, forcing the process to a halt, yet again. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep it at bay but she intended to have a good time before giving in to inevitable. She pushed her hand into her pocket, hoping River hadn’t noticed as she returned her attention to her.

River wiped her brow, her tank top was sticking to her with sweat but she didn’t care, she was enjoying herself. She recognised Missy immediately, leaning against the counter set up along the side of the massive underground warehouse. She couldn’t help but smirk. Of course, of all the people she could possibly encounter at the end of the universe, it was the Master. Lightheaded and thirsty, her ears ringing with the sheer volume of the music, she made her way over to her.

“Well, this is the biggest party in the known universe.“ River winked at her as she came to a halt next to her and reached behind the makeshift bar. It astounded her that some people had actually gone through the trouble of providing these comforts, wasting what precious time they had left on setting up a bar. The counter top was covered in dirty glasses and half empty bottles, she decided it was safer to go for what was behind the bar instead. She couldn’t really expect anyone to bar tend at this point.

“Without the husband, I see?“ Missy raised her eyebrows.

“We’re not joined at the hip. We are modern like that.“ River retorted retrieving a bottle of whisky.

“Allow me.“ Missy offered her one of the few clean-ish glasses she had been able to find. “We don’t have to behave like animals, Timeladies such as ourselves.“

“I could’t agree more.“ River took the glass offered to her and poured a drink for herself. “So what brings you here?“ She eyed her over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“Where else would I go to kick back and soak up the atmosphere?“ Missy smirked as she looked around the makeshift nightclub, illuminated only by strobe lighting and neon.

She neglected to mention the fact that she was dying and wanted to enjoy one last night of chaos in this body. She had grown rather fond of this lady version. The annoying thing was that she didn’t even remember who or what had killed her. It was such a blur. The last thing she remembered was the Doctor wanting her to play a stupid game and for her to save some people, prove that she could be good. And now here she was without the Doctor and dying. He was bound to be responsible. Which was a real shame as she had actually enjoyed spending time with her childhood friend again… all this effort for nothing. All she remembered was lying in the middle of a forrest, her body starting to fizz with generation energy when she had almost believed it wouldn’t happen this time around. It brought her back from the brink of death and she had halted the process, keeping it at bay by sheer force of will. She wasn’t done being Miss just yet. One more adventure…

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and looked back at River. “I mean, just look around. The confusion, the chaos, the imminent death… isn't it exhilarating? You can smell the fear and the desperation on them…“ She grinned as she took a sip. “How about you?“

“I think I just saw my husband for the last time.“ River retorted, keeping her emotions out of her voice. She was determined not to overthink it too much. She had come here to lose herself in the here and now and stop her mind going in endless circles. She took a gulp of her drink, though it didn’t do much to quench her thirst from dancing.

“Is that so? What happened? Did you actually kill him at last fighting over the remote control in domestic bliss?“ Missy raised her eyebrows in amusement. She knew the last time the Doctor had been with his wife was enjoying domestic bliss on Darillium. That had been in the Doctor’s past when she had last been with him but apparently for River, that time had only just come to an end.

“Oh, he’s quite alive as far as I know. Sorry to disappoint.“ River chuckled. “But by some accounts that was the last night we spent together… who knows, we’ll see. Either way, I needed a distraction.“

“You know, I think you and I could have a great time together.“ Missy smirked leaning in closer. What was the harm really? It wasn’t like there would be any witnesses and there was a certain appeal in seducing her arch nemesis’s wife.

“Is that so.“ River took another sip of her drink.

“Absolutely.“ Missy twirled her fingers into River’s curls.

“Two psychopaths, that would not end well.“ River was drunk but not that drunk. Jumping into bed with the Master was a bad idea and she knew it. “Better not…“ She looked around the room and noticed a petite blonde making her way down the stairs into the club. She steadied herself against the wall, clearly intoxicated, but so was everyone else in this place. River instantly liked the look of her and she was probably a far safer bet than Missy. “You have yourself a good night.“ River downed the rest of her drink and placed the glass back on the counter before turning to leave.

“Oh, I see.“ Missy raised her eyebrows following River’s gaze. Most people in this place had turned into mindless junkies with poor body hygiene over the last few days, so the blonde stood out immediately. She was a pretty one too, innocent, soft features, she probably didn’t even know what she was doing here.

“Enjoy the end of the universe, I know I will.“ River shot Missy a grin over her shoulder as she headed straight for the new arrival. “Hello, lovely, looking for something in particular? Or someone?“ She stepped into her path, demanding her attention. The blonde jumped, clearly startled, she looked up at River with big eyes, struggling for a response.

“How original.“ Missy huffed at River and pushed past her, deciding there was no reason why she should just let River have her. “Are you lost, dear? Need someone to show you around?“

“Go away now.“ River gave Missy’s shoulder a shove.

“We could always, you know, share?“ Missy winked at River who rolled her eyes.

“I saw her first.“ River shot back, squabbling with Missy until the blonde finally found her voice.

“Of course, why the fuck not.“ The Doctor started giggling to herself looking in between the two women in front of her. Of course her brain would do this to her. Why not. The woman that betrayed her and the woman she had abandoned. Her brain was so cruel. She thought the drugs were meant to make her feel good, not give shape to her emotional trauma. “I haven’t got time for this…“ She walked past River and Missy who exchanged confused looks.

“Have we met?“ River asked catching up with her.

“That’s a great pick up line.“ Missy huffed sarcastically. “What better thing could you possibly have to do at the end of the universe?“ She stepped into the Doctor’s way, obviously not recognising her.

“I just want to have a good time, not to talk to myself.“ The Doctor snapped over the sound of the music. She looked around, wondering what to do next.

“Talk to yourself?“ River frowned confused. The girl was probably not thinking straight, her pupils were dilated and she was unsteady on her feet.

“That’s what you are, right? Manifestations of my subconscious? Hallucinations? Shitty street corner drugs…“ The Doctor huffed.

“I can assure you, dear, I’m very real.“ River gave it another go but was getting the impression that this might be a lost cause.

“You can’t be real, River, both of you are dead.“ The Doctor shot back in annoyance. Why was she even arguing with her?

“What…“ River felt her stomach lurch, her hearts skipped a beat. How did this woman know her name? A chance encounter at the end of time… how was that possible? And she knew Missy, too? There was only one person, apart from the Master, who would be capable of coming here and who would know her name…

“What is this? A guilt trip?“ The Doctor laughed bitterly. “I’m trying to run away from my bullshit, not confront it.“ She shook her head and made her way behind the bar searching for a bottle of something strong. Missy and River looked at each other and followed slowly. Neither of them wanted to say it but they both thought the same thing. But how was that possible?

“Doctor…“ River said softly stepping closer. It was becoming painfully obvious. It was the only plausible explanation and the random selection of clothes should have been a giveaway. If this was the Doctor, she had to be from their future… far, far into their future. River had never seen this regeneration of her husband - well, wife? And by the look on Missy’s face, neither had she. The thought turned River’s stomach. What had happened to her? For her to turn up here, drunk, high, utterly out of her mind, clearly thinking she was hallucinating. How far into their future was she for both of them to be dead to her?

“Don’t. Don’t even.“ The Doctor laughed and shook her head to herself. “Don’t even say my name like that.“ She confirmed their suspicion as she picked up the bottle of whiskey River had just poured from.

“Doctor, get ourself together.“ Missy said sternly, she wouldn’t admit to it but she was just as unsettled as River appeared to be. What had been fun and games a minute ago, suddenly turned very serious. What was she doing here? When had he - she - regenerated again? The last time she had seen the Doctor he had been perfectly fine then. This Doctor, however, seemed utterly broken.

[kaplanwrites]

02.6 Michael

Part1. Meeting.

For the last 40 hours Tim’s going only on caffeine and taurine from energetics, empty cans of which piles in trash bins +and that probably will go to the chapter where Kon calls Dick to take over the meeting because Tim sleeps exhausted after rehearsing his major defend+

He probably should sleep, but he just defended his minor, and he’s unable to move anywhere himself. He doesn’t want to try to resemble a human being right now, to be a responsible parent to his - beloved, but much too noisy - toddler, to check the fridge for milk and cupboards for cookies. Everyone coax him, so he tumbles down the street to the local bar which is surprisingly more fancy that any bar placed near campus ought to be, and crumples down at the nearest table, bracketed by fellow red-eyed caffeine-overdosed pre-grads and TAs.

After a couple of drinks (Irish coffee, don’t hold on whiskey, double sugar), he spots that one guy at the bar. The guy… he looks exactly like him; the buzz-cut, and wide shoulders, hair black in a yellowish light. He sits at a barstool, shapely legs clad in too-tight bootcuts, and sips on something creamy - is that a milkshake? He turns head to ask the barman something, and as light catches on a thick rim of glasses, so does Tim’s breath. He probably makes some sort of sound, because girls notice his attention, and one of them - Trish, probably - heard that The Guy’s name was Mike, and Mark, who actually lives at the campus, says that they heard that The Guy’s dishes out to cover his tuition.

And Tim’s wouldn’t do that just to relax, but then Mike turns to stand up, and his eyes glint blue, and he even has a slight curl in hair, and Tim _wants_.

It is convenient, really,  no strings attached as they say,  and nothing would happen if he’ll be covert,  and if Tim is capable of anything - it’s stealth.

So after Mike leaves to the bathroom, Tim drops his contact card on his barstool and makes sure to lock eyes, to flash trademarked Wayne’s smile at Mark, when he returns.

***

Part2. Sex.

Mike calls, and they meet at the hotel and they kiss, and Tim stops and starts to backpedal because “he shouldn't be here, he has kid, and Mike - it's Michael, actually, - probably has STD’s, and they argue a bit, and then laugh, because Michael is indignant and Tim’s nervous, and Michael make monthly checkups, and anyways his clients are improbable to carry something, and Tim wonders why he would do it, and Michael wonders why TIM would do it, he’s gorgeous and rich can probably pick up anybody anywhere.

Tim says that people on campus know Mike’s occupation, but no one knows his clients and that what Tim needs.

They kiss some more and gropes each other a little until Tim’s phone goes off, and he needs to go. He pays the whole, and for the room.

***

Second time they’re in a fancier hotel, with decent-sized bed, and it’s midday and Tim wants to watch him strip, and to touch himself, and they fumble on bed, Michael naked, and Tim fully clothed, and Tim fucks him from behind until both of them sated and spent, and kisses Michael shoulders before leaving cash on the table and leaving the room.

Michael’s eyes are actually hazel, but it doesn’t matter.

***

Michael offers to rub his back, or to get a long bath together,  when on a fourth or fifth time Tim actually chooses hotel near city center, fancy and with spacious bathroom - because Tim’s always dressed in at least one layer, and stiff and rigid underneath and Michael  begins to suspect some kind of disfigure under clothes.

They talk, well, Michael talk at Tim as Tim sucks him off while spreading him with fingers, that it will be okay to show anything he hides under clothes, that it will be good to let go, and suddenly Tim gets up with an obscene pop, and Michael’s eyes want to cross, but he soldiers on and holds Tim’s intense gaze as he begins to undress.

And then Michael just stares at the scars that appear with each discarded garment, pale skin crisscrossed with long gashes and peppered with barely visible burn marks, and Tim says it’s sort of fun to have father and two older brothers addicted to extreme, and then he chuckles when Michael's eyes slips to the puckered bullet-hole, and says that that’s the price for charity in Gotham.

And then Michael is too preoccupied with remembering watching on tv a shooting of a  philanthropist teenager,  who then spent two years on crutches,  with the thought of ‘how couldn’t I figured earlier that dark gotham and gorgeous was anyone but a Wayne’, and then he’s too busy getting properly fucked.

***

Tim’s careful not to meet Michael after visible injuries, but he makes sure to visit him every other week. He has ready stories about mountain bikes and rock climbing.

Afterward, he feels more focused, and he lashes out at people (at Kon) less, and, besides, he actually enjoys Michael’s presence.

***

Part3. Wrong name.

He holds a Wayne Tech Gala, and he gives a ticket to Kon, as a truce. He thinks, maybe Kon chooses to go with him.

Kon brings someone; she’s not even a name, she is blond and beautiful, like Cassie, and she is starry eyes, and happy to be here just because it’s luxurious - unlike Cassie.

Tim drowns his bourbon and prays that Ted will manage their little devil for one night. Kon doesn’t even have the decency to look smug, he just shakes hands, and smiles, and visibly relaxes when his plus-one leaves to gossip; and Tim isn't even jealous or disappointed, he’s just angry.

That night he makes Michael fuck him, and maybe he’s moaning the wrong name all the way through.

***

One morning Tim’s in the shower, and Michael’s barely awake, and there are Wayne tech blueprints scattered on the table, and those designs are awesome, and Michael cannot keep his eyes off them until Tim’s out of the shower. And:

‘I'm sorry, the designs of that power source, it’s beautiful, even more than I’ve anticipated’ - ‘You know what those are?’ - ‘You kidding me? I’m in electrical engineering, that’s all we talked about at campus after last ‘expo’’

They speak geek, and Tim tentatively proposes to get him an internship in the WayneTech. They visit once together, and Michael is absolutely enamored with the lead engineer, Cecil Walters.

At the first day of the internship, Michael comes up to him and asks him out to a date later, when he will be able to afford to take Cecil to a decent place. Everybody in the lab is scandalized, except for Tim (who is amused) and Cecil (who think it’s hilarious). Worse: Michael’s absolutely serious.

***

One time Michael comes with bruises in interesting places. Couple others he refuses to come at all. Tim sees him at the campus, with a split lip and marks on throat.

Tim makes Michael’s handsy client disappear, and Michael doesn’t ask questions about his dean sudden retirement.

***

Part 4. Truce.

They speak, mostly after sex, and Michael says that he’s going to lose this job. Tim frowns on this phrasing but keeps silent. Michael keeps explaining, that he was doing it to get through college, and it was nice and easy money and that once he’s finished, he wouldn’t need that anymore, especially with WT internship. And anyway he already got rid of most of his clientele, but Tim was always welcome to call, and is still, but only, like, a booty call. For free. Because Michael liked Tim’s dick that much, and also was somewhat addicted to this hotel’s jacuzzis’

‘So it’s not about Dr. Walters?’ Tim asks, after.

Michael looks up incredulously from where he’s pulling his socks on.

‘Huh, nah, it’s not about him yet. When I’ll finally get my hands on that genius of a man, no jacuzzi in the world would be able to separate us’

Tim shakes his head and actually laughs.

***

Tim calls him the next afternoon, and it’s unusual. Michael checks if he forgot something at the hotel, or in the car, but Tim’s frighteningly careful with that. They meet in the half-empty bar, and Tim says, that he wouldn’t be able to keep Michael’s company during long nights anymore.

Michael turns his smile away to the window, and Tim again astonished of the striking resemblance - the rounded jaw, thick neck - Michael’s bathed in the evening sun, haloed curly hair, and eyelashes golden in the slanted beams.

‘Tell me it’s not about you’re turned off by the free sex,’ he sips contentedly his latte, ‘And about your blind guy’.

Tim’s brow pitches, and then he pushes to put a smile on, cold and fake. ‘Why do you think he’s blind?’

‘One should be positively blind not to see a guy that hot under one’s nose. He’s that second dad to your kid, isn't he?’

Tim remembers a photo in his wallet, with two of them, Eli and Kon, and nods. ‘Yeah… and he... He basically forbade me to keep seeing you.’ He chuckles, the smile genuine now. ‘He actually caught me red-handed yesterday’.

‘Huh,’ Michael shakes his head. He wasn’t sure how those relationships worked; he was sure that Tim was too busy for anything between his kid and his job, and his mad brothers and this thing Michael and Tim has. Had. But apparently, Tim also managed to nurse this crush on the other dad - presumably the straight one. ‘So, did he got jealous?’

Tim nods, then shakes head ‘it’s not like that, it’s…’ He shrugs.

‘...complicated.’ Michael finished for him, taking cliche from his mouth. ‘Well he better be good for you in bed, or I will need to step up again, and you know, I was going to get serious with our department head.’ Michael huff's, pretending to be exasperated. Tim chuckles again, now mostly for the joke’s sake.

‘Tim, you know I would know that you’re not having any, we’re going to work in the same place in two months’

‘I’ll be fine, geez. And it will be Mr. Wayne two months from now, so you better get used to it’

Michael rolls his eyes and finishes his coffee in one gulp then hops from the barstool, leaves a tenner on a bar for their coffees. They shake hands, half-awkwardly, then Michael half-hugs Tim.

‘See you later, Mr. Wayne. And Good fuck.’

[ironwoman18]

We Found Love in a Hopeless Place part 21

Chapter 21: A Change did you good

Ethan's wedding was a week away and Spencer was really excited about it. The couple bought their clothes for that event together and the present for them.

Max picked a Christmas dinnerware set since it was that month and she thought someone could already give them an everyday set.

On Friday they decorate her apartment and at night lay on the couch with Tai food and a movie on.

She made him promise to watch a Christmas movie until the end of the month. And since she accepted the Halloween one, he accepted hers.

Then they fell asleep cuddling on the couch and spend the weekend making plans for New Orleans. They will have a whole week to check places.

Spencer was tempted to call Will but he knew JJ would ask and he did not wanted her to. So they decided to go to the art and WWII museum, do a turn around the Mississippi River, go to the French Quarter, Garden District and the Jackson Square.

"Max you know we will be there just for a week right?" Asked Spencer as he handed her a cup of coffee and sitting next to her.

"I know but there's a lot of things to see and according to this page we can walk the French Quarter and check the Jackson Square the same day since it's in the Quarter" she took a sip of coffee "and the other places we can select a day for each one"

"Ok... I hope we can do everything"

"We can always go back any other time" she smirked.

"I bet you would say that" he laughed and after they finished he left to his apartment to get everything ready because they will leave on Monday.

On Monday JJ walked in Emily's office "do you know where is Spence?" Asked the blonde woman sitting in front of her boss and best friend.

"He asked for a week off" said her with her eyes on a piece of paper.

"It's interesting how someone can change"

"What do you mean?" Emily looked up at her."

"Since Spencer joined the BAU he only took days off when Maeve was kill and during those months he was going to New Mexico to get the medicine for his mom and now he's asking for a week off?"

"He learned that he needs a life out of this... World we have to deal with"

"I'm happy for him but at the same time I'm worry because the last time he didn't tell us what's going on he ended up in jail"

"I know where he is, he had to"

"Really? Where?"

"I can't tell you. It's personal information and if he wants to tell you he will"

"Oh come on Em!" JJ used her puppy eyes on her knowing it will melt her heart.

"No JJ I can't. But all you need to know is that he is at a friend's wedding and he won't be doing anything against the rules" she laughed "now let's go, we have a case"

Back to Spencer and Max. They were arriving to the New Orleans' national terminal and walked to get their suitcases.

They were holding hands as he told her somethings he learned about the city thanks to Will, Henry and JJ.

"Why didn't you ask Will or JJ?" Asked Max.

"I know if I ask Will he will tell her and I still dont want JJ to know about us"

"And why is that?"

"Because since I got back to work she keeps treating me like a kid. She's worry because I made myself vulnerable to this crazy woman and it was easy for her to send me to jail' he sighed and Max squeezed his hand gently.

"I know its annoying to have someone like that. I have a friend who was like it after my ex and when I told her about you, she freaked out and started to say that you will hurt me and if that happen she won't be by my side" she rolled her eyes "but after I told her more about you, your personality and the things that we have in common she relaxed, so maybe you just need to talk to her and she will see that she's not your mom and she needs to relax about you"

He smiled and kisses her forehead "you are wonderful,  do you know that?" He smiled at her.

"I do but I like when you say it" they laughed as they arrived to the baggage claim area, they had the dinnerware set as carry-on bag so they just need the baggage with their clothes.

The couple waited with the rest of the passengers until they machine started to work and once they had everything they left. Outside was a man with a piece of paper with their names so it most be their transportation.

"Hey I'm Spencer Reid and this is Max Brenner"

The young man nodded "welcome to New Orleans,  I'm Brandon and I hope you enjoy the city while you are here" he smiled at them "I'm waiting for another couple that just arrived from New York so we will have to wait, is that ok?" They nodded.

"Yeah, I will get some coffee, do you want Spence?" Asked Max Max looking at him.

"Sure, and Brandon do you want one?"

"Yeah please, I need some. I couldn't sleep well. Ethan kept me up until midnight telling me who I will pick up today and tomorrow" he looked at Spencer "I'm his cousin by the way " he laughed.

Max nodded and went to a coffee shop and brought three coffees then she paid for them and returned to the two men.

"Here is your favorite Spence and I ordered an standard for you Brandon" he nodded and smiled.

"Thank you" he drank a sip "ok as I was telling you, you can visit a restaurant in the French Quarter were you can have the best creole meal ever"

"Really? I think when we visit the French Quarter we can stop by" said Max looking at Spencer.

"I was thinking that, and its perfect because it's close to the Jackson Square"

"Perfect" she smiled and after a couple of minutes later the other family arrived and they left the airport to go to the hotel.

They talked about themselves and what they wanted to see around the city.

When they arrived to the hotel they were in awe with the architecture of it. It looked like a old house from the south during civil war but inside it was modern with old fashioned stuffs. On the center they have a Christmas tree decorated with pictures of the city and images of their teams.

They check in and went to leave their baggage in the room then went down because Ethan wanted to see them.

"Hey Spencer!" He smiled as he saw his friend and hugged him "long time since we saw each other" then his eyes moved to Max "and you must be Max, they woman who won this man's heart" she laughed and blushed softly "nice to meet you" he said smiling.

"Nice to meet you" she said and they held hands "Spencer told me about you and said that you were really talented with the saxophone"

This time it was his turn to blushed "not as good as you could think but enough to pay the rent" he laughed "my future wife is the talent one. I met her in a bar. She has an amazing voice that can send you to heaven... she is a blues singer and right now she is working on an album. She asked me to play the saxophone in it"

"Well that's amazing. And it will be also your album" Ethan smiled "where is she?"

"Her mother took her to have lunch together so I'm on my own. So let's go to eat something and Max could tell me how you guys met and what she saw in you" they laughed and walked to the restaurant of the hotel.

They talked about everything he asked and what they asked him. Max told him about her job and Spencer said just to basic information of his job. He learned a long time ago to keep it simple when it comes to his job.

Then the future wife arrived and joined the conversation. They had a wonderful afternoon until night when both couples left to rest.

"He's really nice" said Max when they were in bed "why did you stop talking to him?"

"We were both busy. He was  busy with his music and I was busy with my job at the FBI. I wished to stay in contact but it wasn't easy" he looked at her "he helped me when I was considering to leave the FBI on my second year. I was returning from a tough situation for a 24 years old" she nodded "I always will regret not keeping in contact with him"

She nodded and lays her head on his chest "I understand and I hate that life gets in the way of a good friendship" he nodded and hugged her. Then they felt asleep.

The next day they had breakfast and decided to go to the museums because that night will be the bachelor and bachelorette parties so they left early to have time.

The art museum was amazing for Max because of all the French art, they were also American and African art but she was mesmerized by the French ones.

She even brought some souvenirs for herself and to some of her family members. Then they ate something and visit the WWII museum where Spencer had fun giving facts to her and she was less excited but loved to hear him talking excited.

After that the couple arrives in time to take a shower and get ready for both parties. She left with the bride and her friends and he left with groom and his friends.

The parties were at two different bars on Bourbon street. The women danced and had fun drinking and the man had fun and drink watching a concert of a jazz band.

At almost 5AM both groups returned home. The only sober was Spencer since he did not drink alcohol, at least not a lot and the mother of the bride.

They went to their room and slept until midday. Max was slightly hungover but nothing three cups of coffee and tylenol could not cure. They were invited for a New Orleans brunch by the hotel and they spent the rest of the day in the hotel.

The next day will be the wedding so they needed to be fresh.

When the next day arrived Max left to the salon to get ready while Spencer went to cut his hair just a little to not look to messy and he shaved his little facial hair.

When Max arrived they changed and he was drooling over how beautiful that dress looked on her. She picked it with her sister so he just saw it in her suitcase but did not imagine her wearing it.

"I love seeing you with normal clothes but you plus a suit it's like a match made in heaven" she smiled at him fixing his tie a little.

"And you look amazing with that dress" he said to her, making her blush. He just need to say a few words to make her blush and feel special. That's the magic of the doctor Spencer Reid "let's go" he whispered after kissed her softly.

The couple left with their present to the wedding which will be in that hotel. The wedding was beautiful, the bride walked to her soon to be husband with My Endless Love by Lionel Richie. All women were in tears and some men too. Spencer held Max closer to him the whole song.

Their vows were even more beautiful because they were poems written by them.

After the kiss everyone moved to the reception area were they left their presents and sat down. The could danced their first dance has husband and wife and after the food everyone started to dance and have fun. Spencer danced with Max a few songs,  he was not the best dancer but he did his best for her then they rested and drank water.

Later at night they newlyweds couple left after she threw the bouquet and fell in Max hands. Spencer and Max blushed and Ethan could not held a laugh before patting softly his shoulder "be prepared man" he laughed more and left.

The rest of the night was calmer for them. She made him dance a few more songs, slow ones they they left the their room and finished it making love.

The rest of the days were as they planned. They do the tours they planned and had fun in the city. He was happy to finally enjoying a city he was in instead of staying in the police station or around awful places looking for crazy men or women killing or kidnapping someone else.

They returned to Washington to get ready for Christmas which will be in a few days.

OOooOOooOO

I'm back and I want to apologize because it took me so much to post this. I had troubles finding places for them to visit and I had planned some others things that I decided to not include.

I hope you liked it and if you did leave a comment and if you didn't also leave a comment. I would love to hear from you.

If you read my Garvez Moments story, I'm having a writer block with their honeymoon to Peru so I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting.

Next chapter will begins with Christmas and we will move forward to the Linda Barnes plot. Read you soon.

[flipsideds]

it’s all run amuck.

a server’s dropped two trays of fresh-baked scones, and the confections litter the floor like fallen leaves, purple-pink icing making the banquet hall look less like the site of a charity benefit and more like the streets of chilham mid-fall. it lights nostalgia beneath his ribs, and flip finds his lips tugging into a wistful smile.

but then a penguin-prettied guest clears his throat and arches a bristly brow.

“ right then, ” flip says with a curt nod. he clasps his hands, gaze sweeping one final dance across the sugar speckled floor. “ i’ll see to some replacements for you. ”  he forces a gentle smile –– the chasm between the man’s brows only deepens.

amuck indeed.

flip glides toward the kitchen. he’s a smooth-sailing afternoon cloud; light. airy. bloody nervous.

oh, dear.

flip allan bell has a case of the collywobbles, theodore, his old assistant would tease whenever he’d drop a bowl, tray, or spoon. the best baker’s hand he’d been, that one. it’s a shame he ––

flip blinks. thinks of flames, of ink black smoke. then tries not to think about anything at all.

quick fingers collect ingredients, combine. get to kneading. in here, there’s no clammer. no crowd. just sugar, butter, flour. a baffled baker’s best friend. he’ll forget the chaos, for a little while. he’ll close his eyes as he brings cherry compote to a simmer, and think of home.

or, alternatively :  greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so lovely, ever so flighty phillip allan bell !

below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down of who he is, where he’s come from, and where he’s headed. i am so excited to write with all of you !!  he’s fresh out of the oven ( just ask nika ) so i am head over heels for watching him grow in the windy city !

toss on some nat king cole, julie london, billie holiday, chet baker & let’s get cookin’.

— && guests may mistake me as david corenswet, but really i am phillip "flip" allan bell + cis male + he/him/his  and my DOB is 02/29/1992. i am applying for the banquet manager position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite 201. i should be hired because i am + breezy, expressive, peaceable, but i can also be flighty, perplexed, vacillant at times. personally, i like to bake sweets, not hum along to nat king cole while dancing around my flat alone, and most certainly never wear trousers that are just a bit too short to show off my eccentric sock collection when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration! 

h i s t o r y .

born in the small english village of chilham, phillip allan bell never knew his parents––but they took great care in stapling a note with his name, birthday, and favorite color to the blanket he was found swaddled in on the steps of the local market. ( phillip allan. 29 february. needs green. ) or, at least, that’s how flip tells the story. it’s unclear whether or not his parents’ chicken scratch called for green the color, or green the currency.

when phillip started speaking, he couldn’t properly say his own name. hence the nickname flip was born. the other children in the group home took to it easily, so the single-syllable stuck.

he spent the majority of his childhood in and out of foster homes throughout kent, always returning to the same group home after intervals of six months to a year. he began helping in the kitchen early on, so he became known as flip baker –– whether in foster care or the care of group home supervisors, flip always came to dinner with a new sweet treat for the others to try. people wouldn’t want to end their time fostering him because they loved the food. but in the end, the poor boy wouldn’t be adopted. reasons tended to ring much the same, “ oh, he’s lovely, really. what a sweetheart. just a bit too nervous for us, we’re afraid. ”

in fact, nervousness colored most of flip’s young life. from loud noises to spiders to fitting in, his mind always spun about endless possibilities –– quite rarely the good ones. the kitchen was the only place he truly quieted this tendency. he baked and cooked with steady hand, when he was alone. other folks in the kitchen with him would disrupt that cadence, but flip was never one to complain. he’d just fumble a bit, laugh nervously, and move along. he’s a remarkable chef –– and the kitchen always has ample marks to prove it.

shortly after turning 16, flip relocated to london. an older couple agreed to foster and adopt him as their own, but that stability was short-lived. they perished in an apartment fire just two months later. their youngest son, theodore, agreed to take him under his wing. at only 18, the two boys became fast friends. when flip decided to open his own bakery, theodore offered to be his assistant. from then on, the sweet by & by was born.

the bakery quickly rose to fame in the london area. people traveled from far and wide to try the legendary fruit scones, fresh cakes, and scrumptious sourdough. the bbc did a feature on the bakery for one of their london food series, and the sweet by & by began attracting tourists for something more than its treats :  its adorably frenetic baker. the kitchen was always spotted, his cheeks always dotted with icing or sugar. but he’d always greet customers with a molten-honey smile. tender green eyes. for years, the bakery prospered. flip prospered. he rose early to bake. he and theodore experimented with new recipes, danced around the kitchen to billie holiday, nat king cole... things were brilliant. radiant. whole. and then came the fire.

( tw: fire, death ) it happened while on a morning that was... well. most unusual. typically, flip and theodore would open the bakery together––3am sharp. they’d start preparing the day’s fresh goods, oldies playing softly on the stereo around them. but this september day in particular started off like no other: with theodore opening. alone. flip had stayed the night at one of his friends’ flats, unplanned. they’d hosted a housewarming party, and broken out his kryptonite: good bourbon. he’d drank more than his fill, and shot a text to theodore asking if it’d be alright if he started out the next day on his own. theodore agreed with a cheeky reply, getting some, are you, flip? right! as if. both men thought nothing of it. the opening, the slight shift in daily pattern. flip would be in by noon and business would carry on as usual. except flip always handled the faulty oven. on this particular morning, the device’s... quirks... slipped theodore’s mind. it took twenty minutes for the wires to start smoking. thirty minutes before theodore, swirling about the countertops with earbuds in, realized something was burning. on september 30, 2020 the sweet by & by burnt to the ground. and three days later, by smoke inhalation, it took flip’s dearest friend with it.

and that’s how it goes, innit? the story? the heartache? standing on the corner of upland and darrell road dressed in his funeral tie, squinting through scorched brick and metal like maybe, maybe if he stared hard enough, theodore, alive and well, might rise from the ashes. he didn’t. he didn’t, and flip visited the property each day for a week until he realized... he never would. he sorted through theodore’s personal affects. finally started his adopted surname, bell, as his own. he appeased reporters, for a little while. told the story, expressed how much he’d miss his best friend. his brother. but what about the bakery?, they’d ask. what about the sweet by & by? in the last interview flip ever did for the local stations, he reckoned perhaps that chapter, however sweet, was now meant to close. somewhere, online, there’s footage of him blinking through tears. twisting theo’s favorite ring around his own middle finger. green –– tsavorite. it means compassion, theodore had explained one night, after closing up. after they’d snatched a pint at the local pub and meandered on home. benevolence. beauty. somewhere, online, a reporter asks flip about that very stone. somewhere, online, flip pretends he didn’t hear it.

then came the bubble wrapping. the cardboard, packing tape. fingers rubbed raw from crinkling tape around itself, tearing it off, starting again. after theodore’s services, after relinquishing the bakery property to dulwich, flip packs his bags. he buys himself a nap, a pack of werther’s originals, and flees across the sea.

to chicago. the windy city. it’s always been circled on theodore’s map of america. that’s one i’d like to see someday, he’d say over a glass of bourbon. reckon they’re as tough as they seem? flip would always shrug, take a sip of his own drink. he didn’t know. but now? now, he would. on the plane, he spins theodore’s ring around his middle finger. even when he falls asleep, his forefinger and thumb stay there, shielding.

his initial thought is... perhaps he’ll open a bakery. but with the financial losses from the blaze, flip knows better than to embark on such an undertaking. so he does the responsible thing –– he finds a respectable job, at a respectable inn. the american experience, he hears theodore croon in the back of his mind, as he fills out his application. he’s jet lagged, distracted –– he doesn’t realize he’s checked the wrong box until the material’s been sent. and then he gets it. a banquet manager. oh, dear –– he hasn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

d i s p o s i t i o n .

born on a leap year. meaning he’s 28. but also 7.

for real footage of how flip handles himself in the kitchen, or just in general, check out this video. do i watch it daily? yes. did it inspire the general framework for flip’s frenetic kitchen tendencies? ...maybe. the chief difference lies in the result. things may crash and burn. it might look like it’s about to fall apart. but he always, always pulls it into a beautiful success.

he’s got a very deep-seated fear of fire. he’ll light candles in his flat only to flinch and snuff them out. if someone in the kitchen cooks with wine or vinegar and the skillet bursts into flame, he’ll look as though he’s seen a ghost. and he believes he’s subtle about it; oh, he truly does. but anyone with two eyes and a brain can piece together this man is very uneasy around flames.

he’s moved here with truly no plan, beyond experiencing chicago in all its glory, to make good on theodore’s dream. but as glorious and exciting as that is, he’s petrified. please help him.

there’s... a lot of unresolved traumas and sadness regarding his childhood. the bell family was the first to truly see him and give him, in all his anxious entirety, a chance. losing his last link to them has been... difficult, to say the least.

he’s a sucker for oldie music. god. it transports him. you can frequently find him in the malnati kitchens after hours whipping up something beautiful to a background of billie holiday or french classics. humming along, eyes closed, swaying... he’s graceful, truly –– when he’s not thinking about anything.

very terrible about crushes. very terrible about crushes on him. flirting sends his brain into overdrive and... often, he short-circuits. ask him a question about himself he isn’t expecting and he’ll handle it kindly, but will look like a deer in headlights.

amendment: more often than not looks like a deer in headlights.

peaceful at his core. but with the ruckus and the world raging around him, there’s always something more to worry about. if he gives you winnie the pooh vibes, it typically means he’s spinning.

he has a very delightful way of managing, mostly because he’s scared shitless of people being mean. he handles every blip and bump with ease. but inside? he’s fretting.

amendment: most often, he’s fretting. very little quiets his mind. baking, maybe. you can tell he’s having a shit time if he shows up unannounced with endless supplies of new recipes.

adores poetry. he likes reading in public spaces, people watching. he’ll often mouth the words to himself, brow furrowed, eyes lighting like he’s seeing suns rise and fall for the first time.

he’s been in love once in his life. her name was georgie. she was the epitome of breathlessness, milky sunlight, espresso brewed on a crisp morning. she was... not who he thought she was. ( she cheated, after two years of time spent together. he found them out, on a date, on an impromptu trip to brixton market for fresh supplies. )

pansexual and very aware of it. he’s in denial about people fancying him. but he very frequently develops small admirations for people, from afar.

6′4, very tall. his pants are always a slight bit too short. if you tell him, he’ll act surprised, the beautifully eccentric socks peeking out from underneath will suggest otherwise.

he’s never had a s’more. he can’t tell if he’s more intrigued or scared by the thought of them.

doesn’t like birds, particularly ones that swoop low. ( there’ve been incidents. ) he also doesn’t take a great liking to men in tall hats. ( another incident. )

make fun of his accent please i beg you. he does not know how to handle it. he’ll stammer and chuckle and it’ll be bloody amazing, i promise you.

c o n n e c t i o n s .

MAGNOLIA BARNES –– friend. they met during her time in london. neither of them are aware they’re in the same city now, let alone the same hotel. i imagine flip hasn’t told her about the bakery yet. it hasn’t really made news outside of england, so that will certainly be... a story to tell.

FLIRTATIONSHIP / SOMETHING MORE –– just imagine this nervous little bean navigating a new love connection... please... he’ll be a mess.

TOUR GUIDES –– ever wanted to show someone your version of chicago? now’s your chance! flip is so bloody new to this place. he gets lost almost always.

CONFIDANT –– they talk about anything and everything. perhaps not all of it. but there’s an unspoken trust between them. they likely met in the most unlikely of ways, and here we are now.

literally anything under the sun? oh my WORD it has been an epoch since i’ve rped and i’m just. here for any of it. all of it. cute neighbor shit. mailroom mishaps. friends. enemies. someone who keeps sneaking the last of the lobby mints. i want anything you want to throw at me!!