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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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We Keep Going, That’s All

@whimpers-and-whumpers , this is for you. Hope your surgery goes well today!

CW: Aftermath of near-death, hospital whump, recovery whump, survivor's guilt, alcohol use, referenced drug use

Ryan shows up to the hospital with Coke bottles full of liquid that absolutely is not Coke - or not much of it, anyway - and Nate doesn't refuse the gift.

He twists off the plastic cap and takes a drink, wincing at the burn down his throat. "Jesus, Ryan, this is m-m-more Jack than Coke."

"Yeah, well. Figured we could use some relaxing." Ryan gives him a slight smile, and the bruising that's been along his jaw - the obvious press of fingers - is finally starting to fade. Off-white bandages ring his neck, hiding from direct view the deep, slowly healing gashes rubbed in by the iron collar he'd worn for a year.

There are other wounds, Nate knows, underneath the lightly-draped black t-shirt Ryan wears, under his effortlessly casual, perfectly-on-trend jeans.

There are deeper wounds still entirely underneath his skin, inside his head. Nate knows those even better. He doesn't begrudge Ryan the need to find some way to fuzz out the edges of what must be written in stark, bright blood in his memory.

Nate spent a year and a half doing the same, after all, before Bram came back for Danny again.

"How is he?" Ryan asks, settling into a hard wooden chair with plastic back and cushion in a dull pastel mauve. "Any different?”

"Then y-yesterday?" Nate exhales, slowly, rubbing at his unshaven jaw. The stubble prickles his fingertips, itches a little as it grows in. There's a razor in the private room's little bathroom, but he doesn't have the energy to use it. All of Nate's energy now is focused entirely around staying right here, being right here, for the rare moments that Danny is both awake and himself.

"Yesterday wasn't... great.”

"No, it wasn't." Nate sighs, leaning over in the chair he sits in, next to Ryan, reaching out with his good left hand to gently nudge a bit of wavy red away from over Danny's face.

The love of his life - the man he's killed for, twice, and would kill for again - lays on his stomach with his head turned to one side. The hospital blanket is pulled up nearly to his chin, hiding from view the fact that nearly all of Danny seems made of bandages these days, bandages and tubes and wires. He breathes slowly, a drugged deep sleep to let his body rest and try desperately to heal itself around the nearly-fatal place the knife went into his back.

He sleeps, more than he's awake. But Nate makes sure that when his eyes open, someone is here for him, every single time.

"Today has been a little b-better, I think," Nate says after a moment's though. He brushes a crumb from the corner of Danny's mouth. "He ate a l-little, this morning. Just Jell-O and a little bit of cereal, but...”

"But something." Ryan nods, takes another drink, looks out the window. Outside, the day is bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky. The courtyard below is full of visiting families and patients taking walks through the landscaped flowers, all of them in brilliant bloom. "Have you even left this room since we got here?”

"No." Nate doesn't bother to lie.

Ryan looks over at him, and smiles very slightly. "Remind me to bring you by some multivitamins do you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency.”

"I'm f-fine." Nate takes another drink, feels the warmth slowly spreading through his shoulders, relaxing the knots and tension that have been slowly building day by day. The 'bed' he has here is just a visitor's couch built into the wall, lumpy and hard, with exactly one flat pillow with a scratchy pillowcase. But he'd rather be here than anywhere else. He'll be here for every single second Danny needs him. "I eat oranges for breakfast every d-d-day. No sc-... sc-... scurvy for me.”

"Didn't we joke about scurvy once?" Ryan asks, slightly faintly, looking up at the ceiling. "After Danny came home the first time?”

"M-Maybe. Don't remember. Why do you c-care if I feel good, anyway?”

“My brother can’t fuss over you right now,” Ryan says with a casual shrug. “So someone has to. He’ll never let me live it down if anything happened to you while he’s here. I’ll get chewed out if you get so much as a headcold and we both know it.”

“I d-doubt-”

Danny shifts a little and both men go silent, watching him move in the bed - just an inch or so to the right, his eyes tightly closed, body tensing as even the slightest movement brings a wash of pain.

"It's okay," Nate whispers, and Danny's eyelids flicker, slowly open. The blue in them is hazy and clouded, but not empty. This time, at least, it's Danny who is looking at him, and not the other one, the one that Nate knows only as someone else. The one who runs Danny's body when Danny can't do it any longer.

"Hey," Danny says, in a hoarse whisper. He tries for a smile, and it's faded and wobbly, but it's there. Then he lifts his head a little, looking over to see Ryan. "Oh, you're both... here. How long was I asleep?”

"Four hours or s-s-so," Nate says, standing up - ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad knee - and moving the pillow under Danny's head to still support him even as he moves. A hint of freckled shoulder shows, with its swirling trace of scars from Bram's knife. There's a star carved into the back of his left shoulder that Nate did, at Bram's command, once.

Ryan's gaze be damned, Nate leans over to kiss it, and to kiss one by one the carved letters that are still there, faded, in the back of Danny's neck. A. D. N.

He tries not to feel the guilt that twists in him at the ownership Bram had meant to make obvious, there. His own first initial with Bram's initials, his own... his own culpability.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, leaning over close to Danny.

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like a liquor store.”

“Yeah, well. When your big brother scares the shit out of you by getting himself stabbed almost to death because of you, maybe you need a little pick-me-up now and then.” Ryan manages a half-cocked smile, but it’s fragile, and they both know it.

With a hiss of pain, Danny moves his hand up the bed, offering it to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation, leaning over so his forehead rests gently against Danny’s.

“I’m okay,” Danny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan whispers back.

Nate moves to sit back in his chair, then stands again, restless. He doesn’t want to sit there but he doesn’t know where he does want to be... until he looks at Danny, thin and dwarfed even by a small hospital bed. He sets down the mostly-jack-and-a-little-coke and climbs into the bed without hesitating, laying down behind Danny on his side, letting his good hand rest just next to a swirl of Danny’s hair on the pillow.

Danny’s smile widens - not that Nate can see that, from his vantage point. Although Ryan can. “I’ll be okay,” He corrects himself, watching his brother. “They said there’s no sign of paralysis. I’ll walk, I’ll probably even run after a while.” He tries moving and hisses again. “A long while. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.”

“You always were way more optimistic when you were high as balls,” Ryan whispers, and he and Danny laugh, until the action makes Danny whimper at a new spike of pain. “What do we do now, Dan, huh?”

“Keep going,” Danny says, voice low, barely audible even to the two men on either side of him. “That’s all. We keep going.”

“I keep thinking I should’ve died back there, ten times over,” Ryan murmurs. “But every single time, you took the pain for me. I should’ve died-”

“Nah. You’re my little brother. I need you here.” Danny manages to keep the smile, then, and his blue eyes are warm. “If you feel so bad about it, sneak me some of that booze next time, yeah?”

"Dan, I am not going to help you mix IV drugs and alcohol-”

“Just leave it in a really easy-to-reach place and I’ll help myself.”

“Danny. No.”

“Danny yes.”

“Daniel Michaelson-”

“Ryan Niall Michaelson-”

Nate’s rumbling laughter interrupts them. It’s such a rare sound that both of them go immediately silent when they hear it, and Danny even tries to look over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the ache to see the smile on Nate’s face. It’s slight, nearly private - a smile barely noticeable by anyone who isn’t looking for it.

But Danny is, and through the fog of the painkillers still coursing through his system, he sees it.

“What?” Ryan says. “What’re you laughing at?”

Nate lays a hand over the star he once carved into Danny’s skin, and moves to rest his nose, just lightly, against the warmth of Danny’s neck, breathing in the scent of him under the hospital-smell that surrounds them. “Nothing,” He says, and Danny shivers a little as his lips move against the curve of the D at the back of his neck. “I’m j-j-just... realizing I’m g-going to listen to you two do this for the r-rest of my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryan’s voice is dry.

“No,” Nate says, eyes closed. He can almost feel them in the cabin, like this, just the two of them on days Bram was gone. Lying in the bed wasting the whole morning being warm, just them together. Warm and safe. It feels like being in Danny’s apartment during their year and a half of freedom, the way sometimes when Nate couldn’t get out of bed Danny would just stay with him, holding him, until the pain inside of Nate had lessened enough to let him stand.

Now it’s his turn to hold Danny.

@tiddiroki @whump-it @bleeding-demon-teeth @finder-of-rings @whumpywhumper @endless-whump @18-toe-beans @pumpkinthefangirl @goneuntil @swordkallya @astrobly @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @card-games-and-pain @raigash @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @wildfaewhump @doveotions @eatyourdamnpears

#daniel michaelson's story #hospital whump #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #referenced stabbing #referenced drug use #alcohol use #caretakers #caretaker and whumpee #whump #aftermath whump #the bad arc #injured whumpee #survivor's guilt tw

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delaber · 4 years ago

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Can’t Have Your Cake and Another Cake Too

Rafael Casal x Reader

Note: Okay, I’ll stop breaking Rafa’s heart now... Last time, I swear! Thanks for the prompts to these lovely anons. Alhough this is not a prequel to Poetic Justice (Rafa x ER Nurse), poor Rafa’s facing some of the same issues. I very loosely based this story on J. Cole’s Kevin’s Heart (don’t know why I’m always incorporating J. Cole into my fics, but apparently he’s always lurking in the back of my mind) and Phlake’s So Faded. Let me know what you think!

Words: 4.7K

Warnings: Cocaine addiction! Does not have a happy ending (nobody ODs and nobody’s dying ...Only on the inside lol)

Tagging: No one! This might not be for everybody and I don’t want anybody to feel forced to read it 😌

It was supposed to be a great night out. The entire gang was there, and at the instigation of Diggs, Rafa was supposed to be on the prowl to get laid so he could take his mind off of his broken heart.

From his seat in the booth, Rafa had a fairly good view of the dance floor and he had already spotted a few honeys who likewise had acknowledged him by smiling and sending him a couple of long looks. One of them had even twirled her hair between her fingers while blowing him a kiss. He had the green light, all systems were go!

However, of all the things that could've thrown him off his game, Rafa would not have placed a single bet on a phone call. But the minute he pulled out his vibrating phone and checked the caller ID, both the group of honeys on the dance floor and his friends occupying the seats all around him were completely forgotten. Nothing else mattered anymore.

He stared at the screen for a while, reading the name over and over again. What the fuck was Morris calling him for? Rafa had told him to stop. Morris knew he was too weak to say no even though he had promised his girl that he'd stop for good.

...Or, you weren't his girl. Not anymore.

But Rafa was still determined to win you back no matter if you had stopped answering his phone calls or not, so he took a tough decision and pressed the decline button beneath Morris' name. He even contemplated putting his phone on flight-mode to remove all unwelcome temptations - he knew you'd never take him back if he fell back in - yet, for some reason taking himself off the grid was easier said than done, and before he had pulled himself together to actually press the little airplane button, a text from Morris had ticked in. It only consisted of two words but Rafa understood perfectly.

'New candy.'

Fuck... Rafa considered the pros and cons of accepting for a few milliseconds before he came to his senses. No, no, no. The only way he'd ever win you back would be by showing you that he could stay sober even after your break-up. Morris could fuck off! As if awaking from a trance, Rafa hurriedly put his phone back in his pocket and desperately tried to forget about Morris' enticing offer by telling himself that he was strong enough to shake it.

...although deep down, he was aware that it was already too late. That no matter what, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it now. And no matter how hard he tried to re-focus on the honeys on the dance floor and tell himself how stupid it was to hit Morris up, it was no use, the damage was done; he was desperate to get high!

Deeply, horribly ashamed of himself, Rafa texted Morris the address of the club and impatiently waited a couple of minutes before he walked outside with heavy footsteps. It felt as if he was walking to the gallows, the shame eating him up from the inside. You'd be so disappointed in him!

However, in order to make himself accept what he was about to do, he reminded himself that apparently, you didn't care if he was high or not. If you did, you would've returned his phone calls, and you would've reacted to the fact that he had been sober for three weeks now - but you hadn't. And with that in mind, Rafa managed to push away most of the shame as he laid eyes on Morris' sketchy Subaru parked by the curb on the other side of the road. He walked across the street with determined footsteps, carefully looking over his shoulder to check if anybody he knew were watching him approach what was clearly a dealer's car.

"What's up, bruh!" Morris called as he rolled down his window. He was wearing sunglasses, looking like an absolute turd in the dark night.

Rafa put his arms on the car's beltline and shot Morris a bro handshake through the open window, "what the fuck are you wearing sunglasses at night for? You look like a dick."

"Nah, man, it looks cool," Morris laughed, "do you like them? Hell, you should like them - you paid for them."

"What do you mean I paid for them?"

"With the amount of money you spend in my shop, I think it's safe to assume that you paid for these sunglasses and the rims on the ride too," Morris snorted.

"Yeah, about that," Rafa looked away, the embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine again, "you gotta stop calling me."

"You said that last time as well but look at you now," Morris laughed.

"Come on man, it's important that I stop."

"You don't wanna stop though."

Rafa let out a sigh, "look, I'm trying to prove something to my girlf- ...ex-girlfriend."

"A'ight, I respect that," Morris nodded slowly but then he quickly continued, "so did you just call me here to pin your lady troubles on me? Cause I have a customer waiting up on Seventh Ave."

Rafa blew out some air, embarrassed by the decision he was about to make.

"...Or do you wanna buy?" Morris continued as he read Rafa's body language.

"...you're not gonna tell Diggs are you?"

"Do I look like a fucking snitch?" Morris looked offended, "and you know me and Diggs don't talk no more."

"Yeah, alright. This stays between us, okay? If word gets out, I'm fucked."

"A'ight bruh," Morris laughed, "Now, how much do you need?"

"Just... just give me an eightball," Rafa mumbled.

Morris let out a small laugh, "an eightball? Man, you're not about to quit," he chuckled and handed Rafa a zip-lock bag with white powder in it.

"Shut up," Rafa mumbled and pocketed the baggie, "how much?"

"Rafa, you're my man, so I'mma give you a discount because I feel bad for you and your girl. Three hundo."

"Three hundred?! Last time it was two-eighty without the discount."

"Times are changing. I haven't seen you in three weeks, man. Plus, this is a good batch," Morris poked Rafa in the chest, "my contact got it shipped in directly from Medellín. Look, it got fish scale and everything!"

"You better not fuck me over," Rafa muttered and threw Morris three hundred-dollar bills before he turned away from him with an annoyed huff.

"Pleasure doing business as always, Casal! See you next weekend!" Morris yelled after Rafa with a small laugh, apparently not a care in the world for who knew about their illegal transaction.

"Fucking idiot," Rafa muttered to himself without turning around. He had more important things to do than to scold Morris about his indiscretion.

Rafa hurried to the restroom and carefully locked the door behind him before he frantically pulled out the zip-lock bag. He examined its contents and saw the pearl-like surface that Morris had talked about - Fuck it looked good! He opened the bag carefully but froze when he caught his own reflection in the bathroom mirror; the loving look he was sending the bag of coke was sickening. It made his stomach plummet. Had he really been reduced to snorting coke alone in a dirty bathroom of a sketchy club? He remembered when it had been a group activity. Before he couldn't control it.

Shake it off! He told himself. He had every intention of stopping after tonight. This would be the last time.

You said that last time as well, a small voice rang in the back of his head, but he ignored his guilty conscience and instead poured out a small pile of the pearl-like coke on top of the hand dryer. Quickly, he pulled out a random card from his wallet and used it to form two heavy lines. Before his guilty conscience could interfere again, he also grabbed a one-dollar bill that he neatly rolled into a small tube and put between his right nostril and one of the white lines, ready for the rush. His gaze, however, lingered on the random card he had used to break the coke into lines; it was his fucking rewards card for the small organic, artisan shit coffee house that you liked. What wouldn't you say if you knew what he was doing? In his mind's eye, he could see the disappointed look you always sent him whenever he'd come home all hyped up, rambling his mouth off. You never got angry with him and his love of coke, but somehow your disappointed demeanour was way worse. He would've taken screaming and yelling over the disappointed stare and the slow shake of your head any day.

Slowly, he removed the dollar-bill from his nostril, stood up straight and met his own eyes in the mirror again - and for a moment, he could truly see how pathetic he was. What the hell was he doing? He was throwing away his last shot at getting you back - and for what? A few hours of euphoria and confidence?

But she doesn't want you back, a small voice rang inside his head, you called, and you called, and you called. You declared yourself clean to her voicemail and she still didn't reach out. Fuck her!

"Yeah, fuck her," Rafa mumbled before he put the dollar-bill back to his nostril. Quickly, he snorted both lines of coke, shooting his head back afterwards, sniffling a bit as he cleaned his nose with the back of his hand. He knew he only had a couple of minutes before the euphoria kicked in, so he quickly brushed off the dollar-bill and the rewards card and tugged them both back in his wallet. The remainder of the coke was stowed away in his shirt's breast pocket for safe keeping.

Ready for the rush, Rafa was impatiently staring at himself in the mirror. He was thinking about how to avoid Diggs and his condescending looks for the duration of his high, when he was finally overwhelmed by the familiar fuzzy feeling. It came out of nowhere and started behind his eyeballs and continued all the way down to his toenails. It felt as if someone had pulled a large, fluffy blanket down over him, and it was slowly heating up his body, making him feel safe and secure. His pulse quickened in time with his breathing, and he had to close his eyes to get himself under control. He felt fucking powerful! Morris had not lied about this coming from a good batch. "Shit, Morris," he laughed.

There was a knock on the door, and Rafa remembered that he had occupied the men's room for a good five minutes now. He took a last look at his suddenly hazed eyes, aware that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, anyone could see that he was high as a kite. He contemplated riding out his high alone in the bathroom but also knew that with the amount of energy present in his body, he couldn't stay in the small restroom all night. He had to dance! To fuck! To fight!

With a suddenly confident bounce in his step, he opened the door, and sent the guy in line what he hoped was an apologetic nod before he confidently strode towards the honeys on the dance floor.

"Hey Rafa!" he heard someone yell behind him.

Hoping it was someone who wanted to fight, Rafa quickly turned around but was slightly disappointed to see Diggs coming towards him with a huge grin on his face. Shit! Rafa realised that he had to act nonchalant around his best friend. Diggs absolutely couldn't know about the coke in his breast pocket, or he'd be all up in Rafa's face about it.

"Diiiiiggs! My man!" Rafa yelled overly excited, clearly very, very high.

Diggs shot him a look at his weird behaviour before he continued, "where've you been, man? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"R-r-r-r-r-r-r-rrrrrrrestroom," Rafa laughed, he was too happy to pretend otherwise.

"Why are you saying it like th-" the huge grin was slowly slipping from Diggs' face, "...hey, Rafa - look at me," Diggs suddenly sounded all serious as he took Rafa's face in his hands, carefully examining his features, "Rafa, look at me."

Rafa let out a low chuckle, "Diggs, you know I think you're handsome and all that, but I don't like you that way," he joked.

"You're being weird," Diggs furrowed his eyebrows, "- and your pupils are huge. Have you been doing lines in the bathroom?"

"Maybe," Rafa laughed, unable to stop himself from revealing his dirty little secret, "why? You want some? I still have a few hits left," he padded his breast pocket.

"You know I don't do that shit anymore..." Diggs let go of Rafa with a sigh and looked away from him.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're a fucking saint now," Rafa said a bit more harshly than he had intended to. Ever since Diggs had met Emmy, he had been boring as hell.

Diggs chose not to comment on Rafa's low blow, and managed to keep his calm, "I thought you'd stopped, bruh."

"Morris made me an offer I couldn't refuse," Rafa laughed in an accent halfway between Tony Montana and Vito Corleone.

"Yeah well, I'm not the only one who thought you were done fucking around," Diggs said seriously. He was having none of Rafa's jokes, "I just saw your girl downstairs. She wants to talk to you."

It took a few seconds before Rafa understood, but when he finally grasped Diggs' words, he felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth run dry, "what? No, you're kidding me..."

"Nope," Diggs sighed, "I've been running around trying to find you for fifteen minutes..."

"Shit! What the fuck do I do?" Rafa said in a panicked voice, licking his lips frantically, "I told her I was sober! If she sees me like this, she'll never take me back."

"Yeah, well you better pray that you don't run into her."

Rafa ran his hand through his hair, "fuck I'm screwed. She's downstairs?"

"Was fifteen minutes ago."

"Alright, I'm jumping out this window. You stall her, tell her that I got sick or something."

"You can't jump out this window?" Diggs said incredulously, "we're 50 feet up, if you do that, you die! Just walk out the doo- ...oh shit, dude, we're blown. She's here. She's coming over."

"Fuck! Can I still bolt?"

"Of course not!"

"Well how do I look? Alright?"

"You look-" Diggs cut himself off, "...maybe just try and avoid her looking into your eyes, okay?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?"

"The light in here's paying you a favour but apart from that you're gonna have to pull yourself together. You brought this upon yourself," Diggs said harshly before his demeanour changed completely as his eyes interlocked with yours over Rafa's shoulder, "heeeeey," he smiled broadly, "look who I found."

Rafa slowly turned around and met you. Your stunning beauty - as always - immediately knocking him to the ground. He couldn't believe that it had been four weeks since the last time he'd seen you. He'd do anything to get you back!

"Rafa," you nodded formally with a stiff face. Rafa couldn't help but make a mental note on how weird it was to see you without a smile on your lips. You were normally always so happy. He had done this, he reminded himself.

"Hey baby," he whispered, the words weirdly familiar in his throat.

You briefly raised your eyebrows while looking away from him, clearly uncomfortable by the sound of your old pet name.

"Sorry," he continued, "force of habit. ...I'm just happy to see you."

Your gaze slowly found his face, and Rafa prayed that you couldn't see his coke-eyes from where you were standing.

"Well..." you said and clicked your tongue, "I'd like to talk to you."

"I'd like to talk to you too," Rafa said quietly.

"And you're sober? Like you said on my voicemail?"

"Yes," Rafa breathed, "completely sober," he lied thickly, hyper-aware of how awkward it was with Diggs shuffling nervously beside him. He was uncomfortably rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Good," you finally let out a small smile, "do you want to sit down?"

"Yeah," Rafa nodded.

"Yeah, I'll - uh - I'll leave you to it," Diggs cleared his throat and padded Rafa between the shoulder blades as a way of wishing him good luck.

"Thanks man," Rafa muttered before he followed you down to a vacant booth in the corner of the room. Instead of sitting down opposite you, he made sure to occupy the seat next to you, hoping that it would minimise the risk of you looking into his eyes. He just had to pretend that he was sober until the high quieted down. Fourty-five more minutes - Less if he was lucky.

"So, how've you been?" You said quietly as you were both overlooking the dance floor, avoiding looking directly at each other.

"Not good," Rafa said quietly, "like shit, actually... how about you?"

"Yeah, well I guess 'shit' sums it up neatly... How's sober life?"

"Oh, it's - yeah - it's - it's great!" He said, the lie thick in his throat, "I feel so much better now." He knew how much he had hurt you, and he knew how difficult it must be for you to face him after you'd said that you never wanted to see him again - which just really only made his lying so much worse. Fuck, how he hated himself for what he had done. What he was still doing.

Your eyes darted across his face before your gaze settled on a spot just below his chin. He was relieved that you weren't staring him square in the eyes. "I was so happy to hear your voicemail," you whispered, "you really flushed your stash?"

"Yes," he croaked.

"I'm glad that you're finally taking care of yourself," he couldn't make out your face in the dark but he could hear a hint of happiness to your voice that you were clearly trying to suppress. It made him feel horrible.

"Yeah, I want to stay sober for you," he said slowly. At least that wasn't a lie.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," you said quietly, the happiness definitely shining through now.

Rafa's heart was fluttering in his chest, and he felt the coke-induced euphoria run amok in his brain, "...does that mean you'll forgive me?" All his senses were heightened.

"It's a step in the right direction" you said quietly, still not looking directly at him, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too baby," Rafa said quietly and boldly took your hand in his.

Finally, you looked up at him, and to avoid you noticing his bloodshot eyes with the dilated pupils, he took a quick decision, leaned in and crashed his lips against yours.

Luckily, you mistook his desperation for passion and fiercely kissed him back, your hand releasing itself from his, and instead caressing his neck. In-between kisses you managed to mumble, "I'm still... mad... at you."

"I know," Rafa mumbled, enjoying the familiar feeling of your lips against his. Your hands switched to caressing his torso, and your small fingers travelled over his stomach and up his chest, coming to a halt over his heart. It was racing against his ribcage and he had no idea whether it was due to the coke or due to the heap of emotions he felt in his chest. He couldn't believe he was kissing you again. He had completely written it off no more than half an hour ago.

Your right hand moved away from his heart but came to a sudden halt when you felt a small bump in Rafa's breast pocket. Still kissing him, you ran your fingers over the bump a few times before you remembered that it was where he always kept his coke. Quickly, you pulled your lips away from his.

"Wait, no, don't take kissing away from me," he hummed, completely unaware of the discovery you'd just done.

You were looking at his euphoric face with the closed eyes and the swollen lips as you moved your hand over his breast pocket once more.

When Rafa realised what was going on his eyes flew open and he spluttered, "it isn't what you think!"

But he was too slow to react, and before he had had the chance to move away, your fingers went inside his breast pocket and grabbed the small bag from there. "You've got to be kidding me!" You said angrily as you held his coke between your fingertips.

"Baby, I can explain," Rafa said quickly while desperately grabbing your wrist.

"Rafa, you fucking idiot! Don't touch me!" You wrestled yourself out of his grip, got up from your seat, and fast-paced towards the door.

"Baby! Baby!" Rafa yelled out as he ran after you.

"Don't touch me!" You cried, attracting the attention of everyone in your path.

You stormed out the door, Rafa at your heel desperately clinging to every inch of you that he could reach. When you reached the curb outside, he finally managed to run up in front of you, stopping you in your tracks, "baby, I can explain!" He said desperately.

"You said you'd flushed it all!" You were screaming at him now, the tears running down your face.

"It was a mistake, baby, I swear I didn't mean to. I flushed it all, I promise. It's just a setback."

"When did you buy this, Rafa?" You said through gritted teeth, "how long did you manage to stay sober before you decided you wanted to throw it all away?"

Rafa looked away from you, he was so embarrassed by himself, "Morris called and I tried to say no, I really did! Baby, I tried so hard to resist it. But he was persistent."

"Well, did he force you to buy?" You hissed. You were having none of his excuses.

"...No." Rafa admitted.

"When did you buy it?" You emphasised every word, "before or after you called me last weekend?"

"After..."

"When? How long after? When did you have your setback?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! I need to know if you did it because you were physically craving it, because you just felt like getting high, or if you did it because you’d thrown the thought of us away when I didn’t answer you.”

"I tried to fight it, I swear I tried to fight it," he was getting choked up.

"Rafa, tell me when you bought it."

He considered shooting you a lie but he didn't want to fuck up any more. "I bought it tonight..." he finally muttered under his breath, avoiding your gaze.

"You're not serious!! You bought it tonight?" You bellowed, "are you trying to tell me that you planned on throwing away your soberness tonight? That if I hadn't shown up, you'd be high as balls right now?"

Rafa didn't say anything, he just looked at you with huge eyes, the embarrassment evident on his face - and first then did you notice his blood-shot eyeballs with the abnormally large pupils that had taken over most of the green that was normally present.

"No..." you whispered when you realised, "no, no, no..." you groaned quietly, clutching your chest, "you're high right now?" The heartbreak was evident in your voice.

Rafa sent you a pained look. He fucking hated himself.

"You're high..." You stated in a whisper, the tears were streaming down your face, "you lied."

He had broken your heart. Again.

"I - I didn't mean to," he croaked, "I was just so happy to see you. I knew you wouldn't want to talk to me if I told you the truth."

"So you planned on telling me when?"

"I don't know," he croaked, "I didn't think it through. I've been sober for three weeks. Tonight's just a small setback. Baby, I swear, I'll block Morris and I'll flush this baggie right now if I can just get you back," Rafa was begging, “I’ll stop if you tell me to!”

"Rafa, how many times do I have to tell you," you cried, "You have to stop because you want to. Not because I tell you to stop! I don't care about the snorting! I don't care that you party and get high! You've done lines of my tits several times for God's sake! But I can't live with the constant lying that has become part of it!"

Fuck, Rafa knew what you were building to. His life's biggest mistake. He had it coming, he knew it. He deserved it. He was a fucking cheating coke-head and he hated it. "Please don't bring it up," he sobbed.

You didn't listen to him. You had to confront him with it because he clearly hadn't understood. "Rafa, you fucked another girl! And you were so high that you didn't even realise it! And when you woke up the next day and saw what you'd done, you lied about your whereabouts and the fact that you'd been high as fuck! I had to learn about it through her!" You were sobbing, "...and instead of staying home and comforting me, you lied about having to go to the studio, and you met up with Morris and you got high! Again! If knowing that you're breaking my heart with your constant lies doesn't make you want to quit, I'm not sure what will."

"I want to stop!" he sobbed. He had never felt so horrible before, "I love you, I want to be with you," he sniffled and took your hand, "please give me another chance! I'll stop snorting. I'll stop lying. I'll do anything for you."

It looked as if you were contemplating his words but the look in your eyes darkened suddenly and you let out a whisper, "no Rafa!" as you pulled your hand away from his.

"Baby, please!" He pleaded desperately, "I love you."

"You love coke more," you whispered.

"I have a problem," Rafa tried desperately, "I know. I can't stop. But I'll get help. I'll do whatever you want me to do!"

"Rafa, if you stop snorting because I tell you to stop, it will never last! You love getting high!"

"That's not true... it's pathetic," he cried.

"Rafa, honey,” you said quietly, “- ask yourself this; would you be throwing away this baggie and deleting Morris' number if I wasn't leaving you because of it?"

"Yes," he croaked immediately.

You took a deep breath of air, hurt written all over your face, "Love," you sighed desperately as a fresh wave of tears started streaming down your face, "you're lying again..." you sobbed, and put the baggie in the palm of his hand and folded his fingers around it.

"I'm flushing it," he croaked.

"Do whatever you want," you whispered and looked him in the eye, "We're not together anymore. I'm done - it's over,” you said as you slowly turned around and started walking away from him.

“No, no, no! Please come back!”

“No Rafa… This time I'm serious,” you said before you started walking again.

This time, Rafa didn't run after you. He just watched you walk further and further away from him as your hands dried the tears off of your face every two seconds. He imagined you stopping, imagined the hurt look you'd send him. How he'd run over to you and take you in his arms. Imagined how he'd apologise and you'd both hug and cry and kiss it out. But you didn't stop. You didn't send him any look at all. And he didn’t run to you, he was glued to the pavement.

He stood as if frozen in time and looked after you even long after you'd disappeared around the corner. Suddenly, however, he noticed that he was still clutching the baggie in his closed fist. Slowly, he opened the palm to reveal the beautiful mother-of-pearl-coloured powder. He contemplated dropping it down the gutter next to him. It would all be so easy.

But instead, he closed his fingers around it and pocketed it right above his broken heart. It would help relieve the terrible thunder that he felt rolling over him. It brought along a storm of emotions. A hurricane of regrets. And he was desperate to get high.

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys #heartbreak #drug addiction #please don't hate me lol

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surveysonfleek · 3 years ago

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1585.

Animated character that was your gay awakening? im not gay but aladdin def gave me my sexual awakening hahaha

Grilled cheese or PB&J? grilled cheese, always

What show/YouTube video(s) do you put on in the background when you don’t have anything to watch but you want something on? podcasts

Your go-to bar order, if you drink? bourbon and coke

What’s your favorite pair of shoes that you own? hmm my pink suede nike air maxes

What was your first word as a child (that wasn’t a variation of “Mom” or “Dad”)? i have no idea, i never asked lol im sure it was yes no or please

What’s a job that you’ve had that people might be surprised to find out you’ve had? ive been a casino dealer

Look up. What’s directly across from you? my wardrobe

Do you own any signed books/memorabilia in general? sadly not. that would be super cool though especially since i used to read a lot as a kid

Preferred way to spend a rainy day? in bed, under the covers, watching netflix

What do you get on your bagels? What WOULD you get if you had access to anything you wanted? id get cream cheese and lox, duh. if i had access to anything, id get the best bagel from nyc and make them add truffle

Brunch or midnight snacks? brunch tbh, i love brunch and cafe food

Fruity or herbal teas? fruity

What’s that one TV show that you’re a little bit embarrassed to watch but you still like nonetheless? big brother

That book you were forced to read for class but actually ended up enjoying? to kill a mockingbird. still one of my fave books til this day Do you match your socks? yes

Have you ever been horseback riding? yes

What was your “phase” when you were younger? (i.e., Mythology Nerd, Horse Girl, Space Geek, etc) i didnt really have one if im honest. i always followed trends but i never went through phases

Have you ever been to jail? no

What’s your opinion on Lazy Susan’s (the spinning tray in the middle of tables)? its great! better than asking everyone to pass dishes

Puzzles? i dont have the patience for them

You can only have one juice for the rest of your life, what is it? cloudy apple juice :)

What section do you immediately head for when you walk into a bookstore? i like going to the best selling shelf to find new books

What’s one thing you’re trying to learn/relearn in your downtime right now? nothing, im not doing anything productive in my free time. there was a week a worked out heaps then i just got over it lol

Where could someone find you in a museum? hmm i love the biology and artsy stuff

What’s that one outfit in your closet you never get the chance to wear but want to? i have this nice long floral dress that im saving for a wedding hahaa

Rainbows, stars, or sunset colored clouds? sunset of course!

How do you dress when you’re home alone? in old tees and pj shorts

Where do you sit in the living room (we all have a preferred spot, and you know it)? in the corner

Pick an old-school Disney Channel Original Movie camp rock

Are you a “Quote that relates to the photos” caption-er, an “explanation of where I took the photos” caption-er, or a no caption kinda person when you post pictures online? i suck at witty captions. i usually do unfunny one liners

Name a classic Vine tori kelly’s ‘i hope u have a really good day’ vine

What’s the freezer food that you stock up on when you go to the grocery store? dumplings

How do you top your ice cream? if i had all the toppings, id base it on a banana split. choc fudge syrup, nuts and banana

Do you like Jello? nah

How are you at climbing trees? i never did this as a kid lol

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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survivorwildwest · 4 years ago

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Episode 11 - You’re Never Alone in This Game

Lit by the full moon, a coyote howls in the distance as the surviving members of Cheyenne tie their horses up after voting Ben out at the last tribal council. Those on the outs congratulate those who executed the plan.

The next morning, Colby returns with tree mail. “It’s heavier than usual,” he tells them while opening the envelope. Inside, he finds nine smaller, sealed envelopes, each bearing one person’s name. He passes them out and they open them to find Five Hundred US Dollars.

“It’s the auction,” Wendy screams.

“We never got to do the auction,” Wardog says.

“It’s great,” Jerri says.

“You’re gonna love it,” Kass tells him.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a flame skimmer buzzes over some brush.

At high noon, the nine remaining survivors meet Jeff for the auction. Wendy hops up and down as they walk in.

“Welcome,” Jeff says, “to the Survivor Auction. In the recent iterations of the Survivor Auction, there have been opportunities to bid for advantages in the game. So, people would hoard their money, trying to game the auction, waiting for an advantage. That defeats the purpose of the auction. This is your money to do with what you choose. If an item looks good, bid on it. If not, let someone else bid on it. Simple as that. I am not going to present you with an advantage at the auction. Are you ready for the first item?”

Everyone nods their heads and cheers.

“First item is a classic, PB and J.”

“Twenty Dollars,” Jerri says.

“Forty,” Wardog says.

“Sixty,” Wendy exclaims.

“Eighty,” Wardog shouts, waving eighty dollars in the air.

“Going once, twice, sold to Wardog for eighty dollars.”

Wardog shouts and trots up to the sandwich and Jeff’s delighted smirk.

“Eighty dollars for a PB&J sandwich,” Jeff says.

“Worf evvy pehhy,” Wardog assures him with a mouth full of peanut butter.

“Next item, another American classic, a glass of Diet Coke, steak fries and a cheeseburger.”

“One hundred,” Bi shouts.

“One twenty,” Michaela says.

“One sixty,” Colby offers.

“Two Hundred,” Bi asserts.

“Going once, twice, three times! Sold to Bi for two hundred dollars,” Jeff says, pointing his gavel at Bi.

“Up next... I’m going to keep it covered,” Jeff says with a self-satisfied grin, “bidding starts at Twenty Dollars.”

“I’ll do 20,” Colby says.

“Forty,” Kass bids.

“Sixty,” Jerri says.

“Eighty,” Lauren bids.

“One hundred,” Colby says.

“Going once, twice… sold to Colby Donaldson for one hundred dollars.”

Colby makes his way to Jeff’s stand where he holds the cover over Colby’s item.

“What did I get Jeff?”

“A favorite,” he says, uncovering a warm bowl of beans.

“Beans?”

“Beans.”

“Alright,” Colby says as he returns to his seat with the overflowing bowl of beans.

“For our next item, if you need that extra little oomph, how about a protein shake?”

“Twenty dollars,” Wendy says.

“Forty,” Ken says.

“Sixty,” Lauren bids.

“Eighty,” Ken says.

“120,” Wendy says.

“140,” Ken ups.

“160,” Wendy bids.

“180,” Ken says without objection.

“Protein Shake sold to Ken for one hundred eighty dollars.”

Ken wraps his hand around the cold glass. The condensation evaporates away by the touch of his warm hands. As he walks, Ken wraps his lips around the straw and sucks slowly so he can savor what he holds. He lets out a satisfied moan after swallowing.

“The next item up for sale is another American Classic, Steak and Potatoes.”

Colby’s jaw drops when he sees the steak. Beans drip off his lips and splash back into the bowl.

“200,” Michaela bids.

“220,” Colby says, setting his beans aside.

“240,” Kass says.

“400,” Colby bids.

“420,” Wardog bids before giggling.

“440,” Jerri outbids him and everyone else.

“Going once, twice, Sold! to Jerri for 440,” Jeff says.

Jerri takes her steak and potatoes back to her seat. She cuts a big piece of steak and a scoop of potatoes, turns to Colby and, with a signature smirk says, “I’m so sorry I can’t share.”

“The next item... will remain covered.”

“20 dollars,” Kass starts.

“Forty,” Michaela says.

“Sixty,” Lauren says.

“Eighty,” Wendy bids.

“One hundred,” Kass says.

“One twenty,” Wardog bids.

“One forty,” Kass says.

“One sixty,” Michaela bids again.

“Two,” Jerri bids.

“Two twenty,” Kass says.

“Three hundred,” Lauren bids.

“Three hundred to Lauren going once, twice--

“Three twenty,” Kass bids.

“Three forty,” Lauren bids.

“Three sixty,” Colby bids.

“Four,” Kass says.

“Four twenty,” Wardog bids, snickering again.

“Four forty,” Kass bids.

“Going once, twice, sold to Kass for four forty.”

Kass proudly walks to Jeff. He unveils her item. Kass looks at the plate then back at him in disbelief, “Really?”

“For four hundred and forty dollars, you bought a glass of water and a bowl of rice.”

The disgruntled Kass returns to her seat.

“Up next is a nice, big, warm, tasty, greasy slice of cheese pizza.”

“Cheese??” Wendy asks.

“That’s right,” Jeff tells her.

“One hundred,” she bids.

“120,” Lauren says.

“Three hundred,” Michaela bids to a shocked Jeff Probst.

“Three twenty,” Lauren bids.

“Four,” Michaela says.

“420,” Wardog bids again but laughing less this time.

“440,” Michaela bids.

No one outbids her. Jeff bangs her gavel and Michaela walks up to Jeff’s stand.

“Now, you have a choice. For four hundred and forty dollars, you can take this piece of cheese pizza.”

“I heard it’s greasy and warm,” she says.

“Or,” Jeff continues, pulling out a covered item, “you can trade it for this.”

“Nah,” Michaela tells him.

“Won’t even consider it?”

“No way. You always put the bad shit under the covers.”

“Fair enough,” Jeff says as he hands Michaela her slice of pizza.

“Next item is what Michaela passed up.”

“What is it,” Wardog asks.

“Remaining covered,” Jeff tells him.

“One hundred,” Wardog bids.

“One twenty,” Colby says.

“One forty,” Lauren bids.

“One sixty,” Wendy bids.

“Three sixty,” Lauren says, trying to win as soon as possible.

“Three eighty,” Wendy says.

“Four forty,” Lauren bids

“Four sixty,” Wendy bids.

“Four eighty,” Lauren bids, looking over at Wendy.

Wendy doesn’t bid again.

“Sold to Lauren for four hundred and eighty dollars.”

Lauren makes her way to Jeff to retrieve the covered item.

“What do you think it is,” Jeff asks.

“Well, I hope it’s the rest of Michaela’s pizza.”

Jeff removes the cover to reveal exactly that.

“Are you gonna be able to eat all that,” Jeff asks as Lauren looks over the pizza.

“You’d be surprised how much I can fit inside me,” she tells him before returning to her seat next to Ken.

“Up next,” Jeff tells them, “A rich slice of chocolate cake, a bowl of ice cream and... a letter from home.”

“Five hundred,” Wendy shouts before anyone else can get in a lower bid and prolong the inevitable.

Jeff bangs his gavel and she runs down to him.

“Now, Wendy, you have a choice. You can take the desert and read the letter from home for as long as you like or you can volunteer to stay the night in jail and,” Jeff says, pulling something from behind his stand, “get more rice and beans for your tribe.”

“Oh, the rice and beans,” she tells him without hesitation.

“Just, like that. You’re willing to exile yourself from the rest of your tribe at Final Nine?”

With their sloppy fingers and full mouths, the whole tribe rallies Wendy to take the chocolate cake and treat herself. But, she protests.

“All this food here is nice, Jeff, but everybody’s gonna be hungry again soon. I don’t mind spending the night alone if it means my tribe gets to eat!”

“With that,” Jeff says, banging his gavel, “the auction is over.”

Everyone gets up from their seats and hugs Wendy, some of them giving her whatever leftovers they can. Jeff tells them Wendy will return for the next immunity challenge. They get back on their horses and ride off. Jerri holds the reins of Wendy’s quarter horse as it rides back to town without her.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a coyote runs up a rock.

The tribe returns to town without Wendy. They drop their things in the saloon and Jerri pours eight glasses of old whiskey.

“That was really nice of Wendy,” Lauren says.

“Yeah, she didn’t have to do that,” Wardog says as he takes a seat at the piano.

“I’m not complaining,” Kass comments.

Wardog starts playing a simple, familiar tune.

“Wardog,” Colby says, “What are you doing?”

“It’s the only song I know.”

“Taps is the only song you know,” Kass asks.

“I mean, yeah. It’s easy.”

“It’s a bummer,” Kass tells him.

In the sheriff’s office, Wendy has been locked in one of the two jail cells. She’s stuck in the same cell Wardog was, as the other’s bed was dismantled by Bi. Wendy spends the first couple hours just napping.

“When I got there,” she explains in a talking head, “I realized, I was all alone. You’re NEVER alone in this game. So... I took a nap! Then, when I woke up, I had all this ENERGY! So, I started looking for an advantage. And I found,” she lifts her hands, holding two screwdrivers and two rolls of twine, “screwdrivers and twine! That is not an advantage!!”

Wendy’s narration of her exile experience is played over a montage of her finding the same toolbox Bi did and its contents. Wendy looks at the screwdriver, then across to the other cell, then back at her own.

“And then,” her excited talking head continues, “I saw the other bed had been disassembled and turned into like an arm thingy.” She impersonates the wood slabs Bi had put together using her own human arms.

She unscrews the bed and ties the pieces together to make an arm as long as the one reaching from the other cell. She follows the other arm in the other cell to see that it reaches around the corner and to the front door. Wendy leans out of her cell as far as she can to see, next to the front door, a key hook with a key ring hanging from it.

“Oh!” Wendy exclaims.

She picks her own wooden pole from the ground with one arm and grips the other around one of the cell’s bars. She pulls herself up and rests her feet on the center bar of the cell. She slips one shoulder through the bars, then two. With a clearer vantage point, she aims the pole, hooks the keys, and slides them into her hand.

“Ahhh! Yaaay,” she yells. She looks at the ground, then the bar she’s standing atop, and asks herself, “Okay, how do I get down?”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a desert tortoise munches on a single flower growing from a small cactus.

Colby sits alone with his elbows on his knees and looks over the far reaching desert on the hills outside of town.

“This game has been a big part of my life,” he says in a talking head, “I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried. You’d think I would have had my fill, but something keeps pulling me back.” The hero music builds as he speaks of his twenty year journey.

“I thought I was done after last time,” he continues, “but I’m still fighting for something. Honestly, after all this time,” he fights back tears, “I just… I think I just need that win.”

The hero music slowly fades away when a long shadow finds its way next to Colby. Kass takes a seat next to him.

“Hey Colby,” she says in a friendly tone.

“Howdy,” he says.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Here I am,” he says, opening his arms and smiling.

“I know Jerri is becoming close with Wendy.”

“Yes.”

“You’re close with Michaela.”

“Sure.”

“We’re getting close to the end, as you know. Are you and Michaela closer or are you and Jerri?”

Colby thinks it over.

“And, if you think Jerri and Wendy are closer than you and Michaela, where does that leave you with Jerri?”

“Jerri’s been by my side for 20 years. Are you trying to make me suspicious of her?”

“Jerri doesn’t need you.”

“I know that.”

“Do you think Wendy needs Jerri?”

“No, I think she’s doing fine on her own. I don’t think Jerri is the reason she’s made it this far if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I think Wendy’s played a great game thus far,” she lets her words hang in the air, before climbing aboard her brown quarter horse and leaving Colby alone to think.

Back in town, Lauren finds Jerri and Michaela sitting around the campfire, roasting a rabbit.

“Hey y’all,” Lauren says.

“Sit, sista,” Michaela tells her and she does.

“I’m here to ask for your vote,” Lauren says, “You know how badly I want to get Wardog out. Between the three of us, Ken, Wendy and Colby, we’ve got the numbers, easy.”

“I can vote Wardog,” Michaela says.

“That works for me,” Jerri agrees.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a desert star grows through a pile of small rocks.

Wendy continues her journey in jail. She’s made her way down from the steel rods she had climbed to retrieve the keys. She’s found the key to unlock her cell, which she does with great elation. She looks over the key ring and determines one of the keys is for the other cell. But, the third, smaller key is still a mystery. She looks around the sheriff’s office for a lock that looks like it would fit the key. She tries the door to no avail. She then notices the fallen paper on the ground next to the front desk. Looking at the newspaper sprawled across the floor, her eyes come across a safe. She throws the chair out of the way and crawls under the desk, tries the key, and opens the safe.

“Oh my god,” she squeals.

Reaching inside the safe, Wendy pulls out a tube, sealed with a four digit combination lock.

“Dammit,” she groans, pressing the end of the tube into her forehead. She sits cross legged on the floor in the sheriff’s office. Feeling defeated, she slowly leans back until she’s laying on the ground. She drops her head to the side and starts reading the middle of a sentence in a random article.

“I was laying on the ground,” Wendy explains in a talking head, “and I started reading this article just, ya know, because what ELSE am I doing? And it was about something called the Nez Perce War. So, I started looking through the article for a date! I learned it happened between June and October, 1877. So, I put 1-8-7-7 into the combination and it worked!”

Wendy reaches into the now open compartment and pulls out an envelope sealed with wax. Wendy breaks it open and reads the contents. A single page reads, “Chief Joseph.”

“Wait, Chief Joseph,” she says, flipping through the newspaper again looking for a specific article.

Somewhere under the Mojave Desert sky, a tortoise lays to rest for the night.

The next morning, Colby makes his way to tree mail with Michaela and Ken. The long hike over the desert sand each morning is tiring but it gives Colby time to talk to people, so he doesn’t mind it.

“What do we think of Wendy,” Colby asks.

“She’s cool,” Ken says.

“Yeah, I like her,” Michaela agrees.

“I think Kass is targeting her.”

“Why,” Michaela asks.

“She thinks she’s a threat.”

“Everyone’s a threat,” Ken reminds him.

“She sacrificed herself for our benefit,” Colby reminds Ken.

“I don’t want to vote for Wendy,” Michaela informs them.

“Lauren’s targeting Wardog, I assume,” Colby asks.

“Yeah,” Ken says.

“Yeah, she came to me and Jerri yesterday asking for our votes.”

“You and Jerri?”

“Yeah.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, in the morning.”

“Jerri hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

Michaela looks at him with a confused, almost suspicious, raised eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

When they return to town, the whole tribe (minus Wendy) is gathered around the campfire. Colby breaks open the wax seal and reads the tribe tree mail.

“It’s gonna be Folklore,” Jerri says, “Didn’t you win that?”

“I did win that. In Australia, yes,” Colby proudly states. “You think they’ll put us in shackles again?”

“I hope not,” Wardog blurts.

As the sun set, the desert sky fades into a deep, dark blue. Then, more stars you could ever imagine populate the sky.

At midnight, with the moon lighting their way, the castaways meet Jeff in a cavern lit with oil lamps.

“Good evening,” Jeff says as they stand before him beneath the centuries-old stalactites. “We’ll now bring in Wendy, returning from Exile.”

Wendy is all smiles when she joins the tribe.

“Wendy,” Jeff starts, “when most people return from Exile, they look miserable, lethargic, upset. You look full of life, just your regular, ol bubbly self!”

“Yeah! I had a GREAT time at Exile!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I took a nap! And I got a lot of reading done!”

“Hopefully that reading comes in handy because tonight’s immunity challenge is Folklore. Stationed throughout this cave system, there are ten multiple choice trivia questions. Each answer will provide you with a wrapped nugget. Return to this cave with your wrapped nugget. When you unwrap it, if you got the right answer, you’ll find gold. Drop the gold in and your scale will tick up one. If you’re wrong, it’ll be just any other rock you might find in this cave. You’ll have to return to that station and try again. First person with all ten gold nuggets on their scale wins immunity and has a one in EIGHT chance of winning the million dollars. Are you ready to hear the story of Chief Joseph?”

“Let’s do it,” Colby says. His booming voice echoes through the cave.

Jeff tells the story, “Hinmatóowyalahtq̓it was born in 1840 to his mother, Khapkhaponimi, and his father Tuekakas, also known as Joseph the Elder. While Chief Joseph's given name meant ‘Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain,’ he was known as Young Joseph in his youth. He became known as Chief Joseph after the passing of his father in 1871. Joseph the Elder warned on his deathbed, ‘Never sell the bones of your father and your mother.’ Chief Joseph led the Nez Perce people through non-violence, despite increasingly hostile attacks. In 1877, Chief Joseph led a group of 750 on a trek through the Rocky Mountains. The United States Military had fifteen hundred men after them. After twelve-hundred miles, countless casualties and a five-day battle on Snake Creek, Chief Joseph, on behalf of the surviving members of Nez Perce, surrendered to Brigadiers General Howard and Miles. Chief Joseph surrendered after being told the surviving Nez Perce people could return to their reservation in Idaho. Instead, they were sent to Fort Leavenworth in Kansas as prisoners. The New York Times went on to call the war ‘a gigantic blunder and a crime.’”

The Survivors grab their torches to light their way through the caves. Jeff calls, “Survivors ready? Go!”

Lauren strides through a narrow tunnel and comes up to the first station. She reads the question quickly under her breath, “Where did Chief Joseph lead 750 Nez Perce people? Rocky Mountains, Smoky Mountains, Saint Elias Mountains? Rocky, definitely.” She grabs the wrapped nugget and returns to the starting cave where Jeff announces, “Lauren’s back with one, Jerri’s back with one, Kass is back with one, Wardog is back with one, but the question is, are they right?”

All four of them answer unwrap the gold nuggets while Michaela, Wendy, Colby, Ken, and Bi return with gold nuggets of their own. “Everyone on the board with one right,” Jeff announces, his voice booming through the tunnels.

“Where did the final battle of the Nez Perce War happen,” Michaela reads, “Colorado River, Fort Leavenworth, Snake Creek, that one.” She grabs the wrapped nugget and runs back. Most everyone else has returned to their stations and has begun unwrapping. Jerri unwraps a rock and drops it on the ground, rolling her eyes before running back into the caves.

Kass runs into an empty station in a far off cave. She reads the question to herself, “What did the New York Times call the war? A. Bloody but Necessary, No. B. A gigantic blunder and a crime, yes? C. The right move for America, No.”

As Kass lifts the lid for the second answer, Wendy comes up from behind, reads the question aloud and says “oh!” before reading any of the answers. She reaches a hand into the bucket and as quickly as she arrived, she’s gone. Kass shakes her head and laughs as she grabs from the bucket. When she returns, she sees everyone has at least two correct answers, but most people have three. Kass unwraps her nugget and drops it onto her scale. The arrow in the scale overhead moves from 2 to 3.

Ken looks over the question in the cave he’s found himself in. He mumbles it loud enough only for air to exit his lips, “What was Chief Joseph’s father’s name? Joseph the Elder, of course.” He grabs the correct answer without checking the other two options. Ken passes Lauren in one of the tunnels. They give each other a big smile as they pass.

“Great job,” he tells her.

“You too,” she responds as they squeeze past one another in the small tunnel underground.

Lauren makes it to another cave where she sees Wendy is already there reading the question, “In what year was Chief Joseph born? 1840, 1871, 1877. Psh, 1877 was the year of the war and I don’t think he was Chief when he was SIX YEARS OLD! It’s 1840!”

“How do you know so much about Chief Joseph,” Lauren asks as they each grab the 1840 nugget.

“I listened to the story Jeff was telling!”

“Yeah, but you seem way more confident than anyone else with this.”

Wendy just shrugs her shoulders and smiles as she runs back to her station. Her scale now reads six and she’s mere steps behind Colby who also has six. Everyone else has five.

Wardog finds the next station and mutters the question to himself quickly in an attempt to save time, “What did Chief Joseph’s given name, Hinmatóowyalahtq̓it, mean in the Nez Perce language? A. Thunder Rolling Down the Mountain B. Looking Glass C. White Bird?” He looks over all three answers, assuming each had the same probability of being right. Any time he saved by reading the question quickly has been lost by his contemplation of each choice. He finally chooses A and runs back. Giving himself six.

Jerri, while behind in the challenge, hasn’t given up. She’s picked up the pace and reads herself the next question, “To whom did Chief Joseph surrender? Gibbon & Strugis, I don’t think so. Sitting Bull? That... doesn’t make sense. Howard and Miles, yes! That was it!” She runs back and unwraps the correct answer’s nugget, though she’s still one nugget behind the next person.

Colby, Bi and Wendy are all tied for first with nine on their scales. Bi reads her final question, “Where was the reservation Chief Joseph was told his people could return after his surrender? Kansas, Idaho, Nevada. That makes sense.”

Simultaneously, Colby reads his final question, “Where were the surviving Nez Perce people sent after their surrender and why? The South to Farm, no, Relocation Centers for Spycraft, that... doesn’t sound right, Fort Leavenworth, as Prisoners! Yes!!”

At the same time, Wendy finds herself in the same cave as Lauren. Lauren appears stumped. Wendy reads the question, “What did Joseph the Elder say to his son from his deathbed? A. It is Cold, and We Have No Blankets; B. From Where the Sun Now Stands, I Will Fight No More Forever; or C. Never Sell the Bones of Your Father and Your Mother. The last one. The first two are from Chief Joseph’s surrender speech.”

“That wasn’t a part of Jeff’s story,” Lauren says, “How do you know that?”

“I read it!” she explains before rushing back to Jeff.

Bi, Wendy and Colby come out of their respective caves at the same time. All three race to their stations. Bi starts unwrapping her nugget, sees its a rock and drops it on the ground before rushing back. Colby and Wendy start unwrapping their own to find two gold nuggets. Wendy’s a step and half ahead of Colby, drops it in her scale, and Jeff announces, “Wendy wins immunity!”

The tribe gathers round where Jeff tells them, “Great challenge today. Wendy, gettin it done! Twice in a row, Wendy cannot be voted out. Colby, what happened?”

“You know, Jeff,” Colby says, “This is the third or fourth time I’ve come so close to winning. I just don’t think I can keep up with these young kids anymore.”

“Alright, it’s late,” Jeff says, “You’ll have tomorrow to think over the vote. I’ll see you at tribal council, tomorrow at sundown.

The castaways get on their horses and ride back to town. Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a scorpion crawls up the skull of a coyote and pinches its pincers like tongs.

The next morning, Bi finds Lauren. She’s joined Ken in his workshop. Ken is building something.

“I understand you’ve been coming after Wardog,” Bi says.

“That’s right,” Lauren admits.

“I’m fine with that. I don’t need him anymore.”

“You’re done with him,” Ken asks, “just like that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“He’s been your closest ally this whole time,” Lauren reminds her.

“No,” Bi corrects her, “the idol nullifier was my closest ally. I got rid of that, an idol, Wardog’s extra vote and the last winner left in the game in one tribal council. Tell me again, what do I need Wardog for?”

“Alright,” Lauren says, “You’re not gonna hear me fighting for him.”

Bi leaves.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that she’s targeting her closest ally,” Lauren asks.

“Yeah,” Ken agrees, “It’s suspicious.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a black carpenter bee buzzes around a blooming cactus.

Bi finds Wardog resting in his bedroom. He lifts his head up when he hears the door open, then lays it back on the pillow when he sees it’s Bi.

“You know they’re targeting you,” Bi asks.

“Lauren? Of course. She’s never gonna trust me.”

“You want to take her out?”

“Wendy’s not gonna vote for Lauren.”

“Michaela would. Jerri would. Kass would.”

“Okay, who do you want to take?”

“I’ll talk to Michaela. You take Jerri and Kass?”

“Alright, sounds like a plan, pardna,” he says as he fires a couple finger guns at her.

Wardog gets up from his cot in the inn and marches down to find Jerri and Kass sitting by the fire with Colby and Wendy.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna get some water. Does anyone want to come with?”

“Sure,” Kass says.

“I’ll come,” Jerri says, “You need any water, Wendy?”

“No, thank you, Jerri!”

Once out of the town proper, Wardog excitedly tells Kass and Jerri they’re targeting Lauren.

“Lauren, why,” Kass asks.

“She’s-- ow!” Wasdog slaps the back of his neck.

“What’s that,” Jerri asks.

“Something bit me,” Wardog says as he shows them the back of his neck. “Are there bugs in the desert?”

“Flies,” Kass says.

Wardog removes his hand to show the back of his neck. Jerri and Kass see his skin puffed up in a small circle.

“I think you got stung, man,” Jerri says.

“Flies can sting you?!”

“It was probably a bee,” Kass says.

“There’s bees in the desert?!?”

Michaela finds Ken and Lauren in Ken’s workshop. His project is coming along. He removes the nearly finished product from the work table and says, “What’s up Michaela?”

“Have you talked to Bi,” Lauren asks.

“I haven’t seen her recently.”

“She’s targeting Wardog,” Lauren explains.

“What? Alright. that makes things easier for us.”

“We don’t necessarily trust it,” Ken says as he brushes the dust off his project.

“It is weird,” Michaela agrees.

“Are you willing to trust Bi,” Lauren asks.

“If it’s not Wardog, who’s Plan B?”

“Wardog is Plan Bi,” Ken laughs to himself.

“I don’t know, but Ken, Wendy and I are all voting for Wardog.”

“Alright,” Michaela says before going out to find Bi.

Michaela finds Bi and the two walk on the outskirts of town as the sun begins to descend for the day.

“So,” Michaela asks, “What’s going on?”

“Lauren wants Wardog. Wardog wants Lauren.”

“Who do you want?”

“Wardog’s gonna rustle fewer feathers.”

“So, you’re voting Wardog?”

“What are you asking me, Bi?”

“I just want to know how you’re voting.”

“I want to know how you’re voting.”

“You’ll see at tribal.”

Michaela looks at her, confused but not challenging anything.

As the moon takes the sun’s place, the remaining members of the tribe ride their horses out of town and meet Jeff around the campfire that is Tribal Council. Jeff greets them as they take their seats around the warm fire. “We’ll now bring in the members of our jury, Elizabeth, Todd, Russell and Ben, voted out at the last tribal council.”

The four members of the jury ride in on their akhal-tekes and form a square to preside over the tribe. Jeff begins, “Wendy, quite the few days for you. You go from volunteering for Exile to winning immunity.”

“Yeah! Exile was great! I noticed one of the beds had been disassembled and I found some screws and a screwdriver so I put the bed back together!”

“You didn’t have to do that, Wendy,” Jeff tells her.

“I know! But I wanted to! And also I took a nap!”

“You took a nap at Exile?”

“Yeah! Well, it’s so hard to sleep at camp. Everyone’s always walking around and chatting and plotting. It was nice to get some peace and quiet!”

“Who makes it hard to sleep at camp?”

“Wardog,” she groans.

“Wardog, she called you out,” Jeff says.

“Yeah, I don’t know what that’s about,” Wardog says, “I’m just out here trying to play the game.”

“I’m just trying to play the game,” Lauren impersonates Wardog’s Jersey accent under her breath. “Why are you even on this season, man? Aren’t you from, like, New Jersey?”

“I go to school in California.”

Lauren just raises her hand in exhausted frustration.

“Why does that bother you, Lauren,” Jeff asks.

“It doesn’t bother me that Wardog goes to school. It doesn’t bother me that Wardog’s school is in California. I’m bothered because, try as I might, I can’t seem to get Wardog out.”

“Kass, is it impossible to get Wardog out?”

“Hey,” Wardog protests.

“Nothing’s impossible, Jeff,” Kass says, “Anyone can get voted out at this point, except Wendy, of course.”

Wendy beams with pride as she shows off the immunity bandolier.

“Last tribal, Ben played an idol. Have people been going out looking for a new idol, Michaela?”

“I don’t think so. We figured Ben’s idol was from Tsitsistas.”

“So, has any found the Cheyenne idol,” Jeff asks.

“I don’t know, Jeff. You know from Game Changers, I lack observation skills.”

“Fair enough. So, if no one is concerned with another idol play, Bi, what are they concerned about?”

“Everybody sees the end in sight, so at this point, everybody’s trying to find their next target, the right target, the smart target. It’s like in MMA, You have to find their weak spot and target it to win,” Bi says.

“So, do you feel you’ve found your target,” Jeff asks.

“They’re all my targets, Jeff.”

“With that, it is time to vote. Colby, you’re up first.”

Colby makes his way into the cave to make his vote. Lauren follows and proudly shows her vote for Wardog. Bi makes her vote. Wardog makes his and holds it up to show Lauren’s name. The rest of the tribe makes their vote in the cave. Jeff tells them he’ll tally the votes and heads into the cave himself. When Jeff returns, he says, “If anyone has the hidden immunity idol and you’d like to play it, now would be the time to do so.”

Every tribe member looks at every other. Jeff waits a few beats, then says, “Alright, I’ll read the votes. First vote, Wardog. Second vote, Lauren.”

Lauren looks at Wardog and rolls her eyes.

Jeff continues, “Wardog, Wardog, Wardog, Twelfth person voted out of Survivor: Wild West and fifth member of our jury, Wardog.”

Jeff holds up the deciding vote for Wardog, which reads “Dan,” with a cartoon bee scribbled in the corner. Wardog accepts the votes with a stiff lip, nods and grabs his torch.

“Great job, guys,” he says before meeting Jeff and having his torch snuffed and riding his gorgeous grey lippizan. The sky is darker than his horse’s mane.

The final eight, Bi, Jerri, Colby, Kass, Ken, Lauren, Michaela and Wendy, get back on their horses and ride back to town after a unanimous vote.

#Survivor #Survivor Wild West #bi nguyen #Jerri Manthey #colby donaldson #kass mcquillen #ken mcnickle #Lauren O'Connell #michaela bradshaw #wendy diaz #wardog #edge of extinction #millennials vs gen x #survivor australia #david vs goliath

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sheepsandcattle · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 26

This chapter is a bit gory so beware!

“Hey, what the fuck do you want for Christmas?”

“Hm?” A spider is climbing up the side of the shed of whoever’s garden they’re in - one of those spindly ones that are so skinny you can see their dotty little knee joints. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the thing as it loses its grip every thirty seconds or so, dropping a few inches but catching itself with a web that’s too thin for Curly to see under the dim light that barely reaches them from the kitchen window.

They’ve claimed a garden chair each, somehow managing to sneak out to share a smoke while the garden is empty.

“Christmas. I’ve never bought for anyone before. Except for my mom, I mean, but…” He shrugs, dismissing the digression. “Ain’t got a clue what to get for you.”

For fuck sake, Christmas is coming up again. How the fuck did that happen? This year is lost on him. He’s not even sure if it’s November or December, honestly, but he’s not about to ask.

“Nowt,” he says with a shrug, taking a drag of their zoot and finally pulling his eyes away from the struggling spider as he leans over to hand the smoke to Jordan. “Never even thought about it. I don’t really want anything.”

“Well that sounds like bullshit,” He laughs lightly, pausing to take a drag and extending a leg to nudge Curly’s foot with his own. “C’mon,” he insists, smoke escaping him as he speaks. “If you don’t give me any ideas, you’ll still get a gift. It’ll just be a fuckin’ shitty one. Don’t make it hard for me.”

Curls mulls on this. He’s going to really fucking struggle this year; completely skint and no idea how much time he even has to make a bit more cash before Christmas comes around. As if on cue, The Darkness plays inside the house, the people inside all singing “feigning joy and surprise...” It’s bloody good tune as far as Christmas songs go but, given the timing, he can’t help but pull a face before the first line's even over.

“Maybe you could just do me a tattoo or summet,” he suggests on his exhale. “And I’ll find summet to do for you. Unless you’ve got your mind on—"

“No, yeah. I like that - it’s a good idea.” He looks genuinely pleased as he lifts a leg to prop his foot up on the arm of Curly’s chair. “You want another?”

Jordan’s nodding towards his hand, throwing Curls for a moment until he follows his eye line to the spliff between his fingers that's more or less bunt down to the filter now. “Yeah, go on then.”

***

Spliff 2.0 probably wasn’t necessary, especially since they smoked before they set out tonight but, now back in the kitchen and watching Jordan playfight with some guy called Scott that Curly’s not met before (but is pretty sure lives here), he’s still feeling clearer than he has at the last dozen house parties he’s been to.

They’d come back inside just as a small group of lads flooded into the garden and now, back in the kitchen, it reminds him of that night he spoke to Jordan for the first proper time, scissors in hand and t-shirt in bits and Jordan laughing at him and never even trying to hide it.

J’s laughing dopily as his mate gives him a decent shove and Curly's expression is probably similar as he looks on.

“Hey, you carrying?”

A bloke that looks vaguely familiar has slid up to lean against the counter beside him, but Curly couldn’t say where he knows him from. He’s looking straight ahead as if they’re gonna get nabbed for talking about drugs in a place like this, even after Jordan had said he’d spotted a bloke doing coke in the lounge earlier, before getting a spliff out for the two of them to share.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, mate.”

“Nothing? Weed, coke? Pills?”

“Not carrying tonight, mate,” Curls shrugs, still watching the man’s profile but with no better idea of where he’s sold to this guy before. “There’s a bloke here somewhere – orange top. I think he’s dealing, but—”

“Nah, nah,” the stranger interrupts him. “Your stuff's good. Yours is good.”

Somehow, he only then realises the man’s already on something, but his response remains the same as he shrugs. “Sorry,” and his eyes find Jordan again, who’s not playfighting anymore, but sending a frown his way.

He gives him the nod, which Curls returns, but this bloke to his left is bloody persistent, going on about Curly’s gear and J’s crowding his space within seconds, asking, “you good, pal?”

The stranger doesn’t even get to reply though, because Jordan’s mate’s followed him over and he’s shoving the guy as if a fight's started and Curly hadn’t even noticed. “The fuck are you doing here, Rory?”

He exchanges a look with Jordan, who doesn’t look any more in-the-know than himself as he nudges Curls with his elbow; a gesture for them to make moves – in record time too, as suddenly the two bickering men becomes a crowd of four as a couple more of the homeowner’s friends join the row.

He vaguely hears the bloke -Rory- say, “I’m just buying, relax,” and another bloke tells him, “you won’t find that shit here.”

“You know him?” Jordan asks now they stand at the opposite end of the room, Curly shaking his head as he watches the argument become a fight. “Oh shit,” J mutters when some of the lads from the garden re-join them, joining the fight as if they'd been waiting for it, and the herd of now-six guys go from shoving to throwing fists.

“Don’t,” Curly warns, a hand around Jordan’s arm before he can even think about jumping in. “It's not your fight. Keep out.”

Curly’s not sure who’s on what side, but that Rory fella manages to break loose for long enough to point in his direction as he shouts, “he’s got it!” - and Curls feels Jordan’s arm twitch in his hand.

“I fucking ‘aven’t,” he defends, although he's not sure exactly what he's being accused of, taken aback by how fuming the man looks now, glaring at Curly like he’s completely mugged him off. Even if he was dealing, he definitely wouldn’t be selling whatever shit this bloke is after.

“I’ve bought from you!” He’s red in the face now, and nobody’s throwing punches but holding him back – holding him away from Curly as if he weren’t talking like they were best mates a minute ago. “You and that redhead. I’ve fucking brought from you, you lying fucking junkie!”

“What the fuck,” Curly mumbles, shooting Jordan a confused look, but the man’s already snatching his arm from Curly’s hand and- “J, don’t—” he’s already drawing a fist back before punching the guy about four steps back. By the time Curly’s caught up enough to jump in after him, the growing group has closed up around Jordan and Rory, everyone starting up a fight of their own and leaving Curls to fight his way through the masses.

Someone grabs him, pulls him off to one side, and when he gets a look at the face, Scott’s raging as he asks him, “what the fuck are you dealing?”

“Nothing! Nothing, honest, all’s I’ve got on me is weed and I’m not—”

He still looks at Curly like he’s disgusting though as he warns, “don’t bring that other shit here.”

“Mate, I swear, I—” A glass breaks and it only distracts him for a second before he continues; “I don’t deal that shit – I swear I never have,” but then the rest of the room falls silent and Scott’s attention darts from Curly to something happening over his shoulder.

Someone shoves him from behind, sending him stumbling into Scott, and Curls almost apologises but realises the man’s too busy watching half of the crowd flood from the kitchen, rushing out of the house in near-silence and stumbling as they go.

“Dickheads,” he grumbles before he turns to pick Jordan out of the remaining crowd. All’s he can see is backs of heads though and everyone in the kitchen has gone quiet too except—

“Fuck, call an ambulance.”

He’s not sure who says it or why, but then he hears someone repeat Jordan's name and he can’t see him and suddenly he feels sick and his brain remembers how much weed he’s smoked and as he shoves through the bodies, the room begins to pulse around him and he doesn’t know why he’s got such a fucking bad feeling until his fears are confirmed.

“J,” he chokes when he sees him, lying on his back with a broken bottle by his head and his hands on his throat, blood pouring between his fingers. “Fuck, fuck. Jordan, you—Fuck has someone—” He looks to his left and the man there is on the phone, frantically repeating the word “ambulance, ambulance.”

He must look as useless as he feels when Scott appears beside Jordan with a dishtowel. Scott says, “move your hands, c’mon,” and he’s not sure if he even realised Jordan was still awake at that point, but the sight of his eyes half-opening as he nods, oddly calm as he moves his hands from his neck is a relief and suddenly he snaps out of it.

Curly drops to his knees and takes over, pushing the cloth to Jordan’s neck, unsure of where all of the blood is even coming from. “You’re alright,” he says, quiet now as he watches Jordan’s eyes close again. “J,” he says uselessly. “Oi, Jordan. J, open your eyes. Fuck, I’ve— Can someone—”

“I got it, I got it,” Scott tells him, taking over again as Curly pulls his hands back, holding them shakily and uselessly in mid-air before him. They’re already covered in liquid red as he sways back to sit on the cold tile as bile rises in his throat and his vision goes blotchy. “Get everyone out,” the man tells someone, and Curly screws his eyes shut and forces himself to get over it, shaking his head when Scott adds, “take Curly out back.”

“I’m alright, I’m fine,” he mumbles, opening his eyes again but training them down to where Jordan’s chest is still rising and falling even as he remains unresponsive.

***

In the ambulance, the paramedic had tried to give Curly one of those silly shock blankets. He’d snapped at the guy in return because his boyfriend was bleeding out between them, but then spent the rest of the journey apologising as a second paramedic tended to Jordan as best he could in the back of the van.

Jordan was passed out which meant Curly had to answer all of their questions; has he been drinking? Is he on drugs? What kind? And somehow the seven-minute drive felt closer to thirty and every bump in the road felt as lethal as a Staffordshire pothole.

“Curly.”

He doesn’t even look up from his hands. There are brown and red specks stuck under his nails, chipped black polish failing to cover the mess as he pecks it away silently. He’s shivering all over, his high long gone and leaving him painfully sober in the harsh plastic chair of the waiting room.

“Curls, I’m getting coffee. You want one?” Dean is standing over him, but he doesn’t dare lift his gaze from his lap. His shirt still feels wet against his chest from wiping his hands clean in a panic. He knows logically that it’ll be dry by now, but.

“I feel sick,” he whispers, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Dean’s shoe squeaks as he shifts, lowering himself before Curly until he’s kneeling in front of him. His friend places a hand on his knee and his convulsing shivers only worsen. The man says, “Curls, he’ll be alright. Doctor says it’s big, but it isn’t too deep. He’ll be alright,” he repeats.

“I feel like—” He swallows, shakes his head, shuts his eyes, but then darts them open when that image creeps up on him again. “Feel like I watched him die. I don’t even—”

“He didn’t die,” Dean reminds him, his hand leaving Curly’s knee. “He’s a lucky bastard,” he tries to joke.

Miraculously, he’s not cried yet. Too stressed to cry, probably. He dry-heaved in the ambulance, sure, but he put it down to travel sickness at the time, said, “It’s ‘cause there’s no windows – will you get that daft bloody blanket away from me.” He still feels about as close to vomiting now, but it’s beside the point.

He takes a deep breath, dragging his hands over his face and daring to raise his head to meet his friend's eyes now. “You don’t get it, we—” He swallows down the nausea that creeps over him. “He’s—We’re not,” he scoffs, almost pissed off at himself for making such a fuss of this when Jordan’s getting his neck stitched up down the corridor. “Jordan and I aren't just-“

“I know,” Dean interrupts, putting him out of his misery. “Jeff too. We know,” he tells him, and Curly’s not sure what to say now – almost says sorry until the man adds, “like I said; lucky bastard,” and ruffles Curly’s hair as he stands.

***

“I ought to bloody kill you,” he growls, shaking just as much now as he had been all those hours ago. The blood has washed from his hands, but it’s still stained on his top and the backs of his eyelids. When all’s he gets is a hum in response, Curly adds, “I’m so bloody angry at you,” but it gets all choked up in his throat and loses its fury.

The ER’s full of eery noises and harsh lights – all clinical and no comfort, which he supposes was effective in saving his boyfriend's life, but it didn’t bloody help with the panic attack he had when Jordan was taken into surgery. Dean just barely caught the end of it and, by the time they got a hold of Jeff, who arrived a couple of hours later, Curly was managing to string sentences together again.

He promised to ring them when Jordan was up, but they can wait for a while.

“Sorry,” Jordan mumbles, followed by a dry gulp as he shuts his eyes for a moment and suddenly Curly feels bad for coaxing a word out of him. J looks a little confused, eyes moving about the room before they return to Curly, where they dart to his stained shirt and back again. “That bad?”

He nods. “You better start thinking of tattoo ideas because you’re gonna have a fat scar.”

Jordan goes back to humming in response, closing his eyes as he takes a few long breaths. “You look sick,” he tells Curly, who scoffs as he tucks his chair closer to the man’s bedside.

“Worried sick,” Curls sulks as he rests his arms on the bed, the fingers of one hand slipping around Jordan’s wrist when he spies the man moving his arm as if planning to touch his neck. “Eight stitches,” he tells him. “You don’t need to touch ‘em.”

All Jordan has to say is, “shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” Curls huffs, and the room falls silent as J stares up at the ceiling like he’s still recalling the events of last night. “It’s not that deep,” Curly decides to tell him. “It’s big, but it’s not deep enough to…” What’s a nice way of saying instantly kill you? What was it the doctor said? “If it was a knife, you’d be dead.”

“It didn’t hurt,” Jordan tells him. “I didn’t even realise, ‘til some guy said.” The image of Jordan on the floor flashes in his mind; how calm he’d looked as he nodded and pulled his hands away, revealing nothing but thick, dark red. The man frowns, but a chuckle follows. “Fucking hurts now.”

Nodding, Curly forgets to respond as his eyes dart over Jordan’s face, who looks back at him, looking guilty now as he pulls his wrist from Curly’s grasp to instead tangle his fingers in the back of his hair. He mumbles, “c’mere,” tugging Curls to rest his head on his hip. “I’m fine.”

“I never sold him gear, J,” he finds himself saying, his neck feeling hot at the memory of Scott looking at him like he was dirty – a memory he’s only just now recalling, now that Jordan’s awake and telling him he’s okay. “Jules sells that, I don’t—”

“I know,” Jordan says before he repeats, “I’m sorry. That kid was fuckin’ tweaking or some shit. Wasn’t our fight.” He swallows again, eyes shut and Curly can tell it hurts.

Turning his head to press a kiss to wherever his lips happen to land, Curly mutters, “we’ll talk about it more later.”

Jordan’s already shutting his eyes and Curly bites the I love you off the tip of his tongue.

#ch #ch26 #writing #'wtf do u want for christmas' 'nowt' 'do u want another spliff' 'yh go on then' ROMANCE

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artisticestheticreads · 6 years ago

Text

Wishing

IThis is an one shot inspired by my last post. It is about Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens who goes back to Oakland after being in the Navy Seals and celebrates his 27th birthday at the local club, seeing something, more like someone, he likes. This contains angst and some light SMUT smut.

Friday, Feb. 9, 2016

It was a chill night on the birthday boy’s birthday. He planned on staying and play 2K like he had been since he got back. He sat on his couch in a pair of black and red basketball shorts and and a white long sleeve shirt that covered his marks with gold rim glasses on. He grabbed his cup of ice cold Sparkletts water playing the game in one hand. He finally made a three pointer right when his phone rung; he paused the game and answered. “Yo, this E”.

“WASSSSSSSSSSSSSUP”, his friend, Jae, yelled making Erik laugh. “What up, my brutha”, he asked. “Aye, man. What we getting into tonight?” Erik chuckled and said “I ain’t gonna do shit. You already know how I am when it comes to my birthday. Nah, I’m good”. He all of a sudden heard a knock on the door; it was Jae when he opened it. “What the fuck you mean you ain’t gonna do shit? Its yo 27th birthday and they poppin at the club right now.” Erik folded his arms and said “first off, watch who you think you talking to and second I don’t feel like doing shit”. He flopped on the couch and looked through his phone. “Man, E. Yo ass tripping. Look at you. Sitting up here with yo PS and phone on hand tryna find some bitch to fuck when you can easily go out and get yo dick wet.” Erik rolled his eyes and kissed his teeth. He sat there thinking and finally stood. “Ight, man. Where we going?”

“The Boom Boom Room”.

“Nigga, it sounds like it seems like cans of bounce that ass and unpaid child support. I’m good, ma g”, Erik said with a straight face walking to his bedroom. “No, there is some fine ass females and I KNOW yo ass love some black women, man.” Erik stopped and rolled his neck thinking ‘damn, they are my weakness’. He kept walking before he closed the bedroom door, he said “give me thirty minutes.” Jae clapped his hands in excitement and made his way downstairs. Erik had his dreads braided back with a fresh long sleeve black tee, dark blue jeans and leather combat boots on. He grabbed his phone, keys and wallet before locking up; they were on their way.

Once they got in, it was actually a nice setting. Red lightening, huge bar and matching dance floor with Future’s Low Life playing. Erik looked around at all the women around; brown, light, caramel galore. He looked to the bar, at Jae then motioned for them to make their way. He strolled through the crowd passing through all the beautiful women and smiled to himself. I can get used to this, he thought. “Let me get a Jack and Coke on the Rocks” he asked the male bartender; he nodded and started to make the drink. Jae ordered the same and placed his debit card down opening a tab.

“Thanks, man”, Erik said and patted his friend’s back. “Aight, aight. I gotta request to play this for Trisha from her secret admirer. This Bryson Tiller with..” The DJ played Don’t and before you know so many women were singing off key that made E and J laugh. E got his drink and began sipping when he looked over into the crowd and saw a brown skin woman with maroon shade box braids down to her behind in a nice white tube top matching skirt and white go go boots that made her short curvy frame, tall and appealing. She was swaying her hips to the beat while lip syncing the lyrics.

“Girl, said he keeps on playing games And his loving ain't the same I don’t know what to say-ay but What a shame If you were mine you would not get the same If you were mine you would top everything Suicide in the drop switching lanes And that thang so fire baby no propane Got good pussy girl can I be framed To keep it 100 girl I ain't no saint But he the only reason that I'm feeling this way Giving you the world baby when you get space Playin' game get me laid, baby let's penetrate oh baby.”

Erik raised his brow slowly as he sipped from his cup and with half a smirk watching her carefully. The way she moved was like a magician which a watch dangling in front of him, hypnotizing him. When she turned, all he heard was “Y/N Y/L/N, get yo cute ass over her girl.!” She smiled, excused herself from her large group of friends and made her way to the men. She reached them and said “waddup, Jae. How you been, baby boy?” She gave him a big and he said “aw, y’know me. Trynna keep my ass outta trouble and what not. Who told you ass to look like a nice cup of chocolate milk, huh?”

“Bwoy, bye. I look good as hell. I got so many niggas in here approaching me and shit, it ain’t even funny.”

Jae looked over at Erik and can tell he was in LaLa Land mentally drooling. “Aye, guess who back.” She looked at the man Jae was pointing at and asked “E? It can’t be.” Her smile warmed him up and he said “wassup.” She gave him a big hug with her arms around his torso and he placed his cup down on the counter. He placed his hand on her lower back and said “damn, a lot has changed, huh kid?” The last time they saw each other, it was their high school graduation. She went off to school in New Orleans where her father is from and he went to MIT, far away. She had a retainer in, with her natural hair slicked back in a ponytail and all. She was a little small thing but her woman curves came in. Back then, they were close friends, first kiss and also first sexual experience, ever.

Y/N rubbed her hands on his back and took in his cologne before adding distance between them. “How you been”, she asked with her hands behind her. “Been aight. What about you, love?”

“Been here and there. Just trying to save the world and all.”

Jae added “yeah, Miss L/N been kicking ass at her firm sending all those cops to prison for life”. She dusted her shoulders off and said “I know they deserve it but its not gonna bring back all those people that lost their life for be ‘while black’. We lose our lives every day and some in other places end up getting away with because they ass wear a shiny badge. Nah. Not while my ass is around.” Erik smiled and nodded thinking how she was still the smart bad ass the he fell in lo-”

“Y/N”, a male’s voice said coming towards them. He wore a turtleneck with black slacks and dress shoes with a light skin complexion. Jae said “aw shit. Here he come” in a whisper as he sipped more from his cup. “Who that”, Erik asked, she looked to him and said “my fiance”. He mentally was taken back but nodded in real life. “Hey, baby”, her man said and looked at the fellas. Y/N looked away and rolled her eyes. “Donald, this is Erik Stevens.” Donald looked to him with his right hand out and said “nice to meet you, brotha.”

“You too, man” E shook his hand then looked at her. Donald looked at Jae with a stern look. “What up, Jae?” Jae looked away and said “Sup, nigga.” Donald chuckled and asked the bartender “lemme get a round for my lady’s bachelorette party”. Erik looked down at her confused and shook his head. Donald looked at her and said “I’ll be waiting for you at the table. Don’t take too long, baby girl.” Y/N looked up to him and nodded as he placed a kiss to her lips and made his way to the group. “What kinda nigga shoes to his girl’s bachelorette party”, Jae asked and Y/N folded her arms and looked around. “An insecure ass nigga”, Erik said with a straight face looking at her. She looked at him and half smirked. “Let us buy you a drink and let that nigga wait” E said. She smiled and ordered a Jack and Coke on the rocks.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

The club was jumping and Erik, along with Y/N was feeling just right dancing a rapping along to some throwback music as the lightening got darker. “So what up with that nigga? He ain’t yo type at all, ma?” She shrugged, running her fingers through her braids. “We met my third year at school and I guess we hit it off.” Erik spun her in a circle, holding her close. “Y/N L/N, you telling me you in love with this nigga”, he pulled her body into his and spoke in her ear; she nodded. “Nah, I need to hear it.”

“I love him”, she said but Erik chuckled adding vibration to her back. “Aight, girl. Yo ass lying like a muthafucka and I can tell.” He wrapped his arm around her waist as the beat to Wishing by DJ Drama plays. Erik pelvis began to grind against her and he swore she can hear a light moan from her. He got in her ear and began saying the lyrics.

“Baby you know who I am and girl I know just who you are We ain't gotta rush into shit 'cause being in love is too hard I'm tired of all these flashing lights, girl we should just fuck in the dark Once you let me in it, I'mma get to switching, different positions Have that ass wishing that I was your nigga Wishing that I was your nigga, yeah yeah yeah Wishing that I was your nigga, yeah Once you let me in it, I'mma get to switching, different positions Have that ass wishing that I was your nigga.”

She lied her head back on his shoulder blushing slightly. Erik smiled down at her then to the table where Donald sat at alone; that’s when he got the idea. He took her hand and made their way into the ladies bathroom. “E, what are we doing in here?” He looked down at her and said nothing. She waved her hand in front of his face and he grabbed it pulling her whole body close to him. “Y/N, tell me you’re in love with him” he said as he sat her on the counter with her legs apart and him standing between them. “E, I”. She looked in his eyes as she felt his hands on her thighs. “What? What was you gonna say, baby girl?” His hands went up her thighs, pulling her closer as they were chest to chest. “Erik, I am.” Erik shook his head, laughing and she asked “what so funny, huh? What? You don’t believe me? You left me here alone for so long. You was my best friend, Erik. And you know that shit.” He stood back and said “you think I had a fucking choice, Y/N? I got accepted to the best school for me and I became a fucking Navy Seal. The fuck was I supposed to? Stay here?”

Y/N looked at him and folded her arms getting off the counter. She started to remember when he left, no kiss, not thing. She wanted to be with him but he pushed her aside. Ignoring her. She felt neglected and hurt. She had to get over him because if she didn’t...boy oh boy. “FUCK YOU, ERIK!!! YOU LEFT ME ALONE KNOWING I WANTED TO BE WITH YO DUMB ASS!!!!! I WANTED YOU SO FUCKING BAD BUT YOU PUSHED ME AWAY. I WAITED FOR YOU AND HERE I AM THINKING YOU WOULD AT LEAST GIVE A BITCH A CALL BUT NO!!! NOT A FUCKING THING. I WAS NOT AND I MEAN ABSOLUTELY WAS NOT GONNA WAIT FOR YOU.” She pushed him off and made her way to the door but he used his strong arm to push it closed looking at her. He stood there frozen. Only his eyes moved up and down at her frame then he slowly walked close to her but she stayed in place.

He looked down at her and asked “fuck me? Nah, don’t say that shit because you don’t mean it, ma. You think I didn’t wanna stay. We both know for sure if I did, I would end up dead in the fuckin’ streets. Is that what you wanted for me? Dead?” She got quiet like he thought he would. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, Ima be 100. I love you, girl. But you know what I’ve been through. Everyone I loved left me. I didn’t want you to be the next one. But I guess it’s too late.” She looked to the ground and he got the message so he walked away. “E”, she said his name and he turned saying “what’s up”. He turned to see her looking at her with black lingerie panties in her hand.

“Show me how much you love then”, she said and he marched to her saying “yes, ma’am.” He lifted her body up and placed her back on the counter. He dug in his wallet, grabbed a condom placing it on and stroked himself looking at her. He slid inside her slowly and was amazed on how wet she was. “Damn, you tight as fuck. Either, you ain’t fucked since we did or that nigga ain’t hitting it right.” She smiled while she moaned and moved her hips to match his thrusts. “Fuck, Erik. I missed you so much”, she said holding onto his wrists. He kissed her ankle and said “I missed you too baby.” He picked her up and started to hold her thigh as she bounced down on him multiple times (^like in the gif above^). They looked into each others and started to think about their first time together. They remembered how it was to feel each other for the first time. They realized they needed each other more than anything.

The moment was so intense and passionate that they almost missed the door knob turning. Erik made his way into the stall and Y/N sat on his lap still; her back to him and still clenching his dick with her walls. “Y/N, you in here”, her friend asked. She looked back at Erik, cleared her throat and said “yeah, I’m fine. I’ll-I’ll be out in a minute.” She began bouncing again slowly making Erik’s head lie on her back and biting at her back with his grill. She smiled and her friend said “okay, well Donnie looking for you.” Y/N said “k” to dismiss her friend. Once they heard the door, she pulled her skirt up more and Erik pulled her top down to feel her breasts and hard nipples. “E, Ima come. Oh My God”.

“I know, baby. I can feel that shit. I’m almost there,” he groaned and whispered into her ear. She can feel her cream coat his member and held him closer. “I love you, Erik. Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby. Damn, girl.”

They moved together as one and then h held her closer while she soaked both of them; afterwards he came into the condom. They sat for a few, catching their breath and laughing. He got up with both of them and remove the condom discarding it in the trash. “E, I really did miss you.”

“I’m here now, baby girl. And I ain’t going no where, aight? I swear.” He washed his hands and stroked her chin before placing his lips on hers. He fixed her up as she giggled, situated himself and took her number into his phone. She looked around and when she bent down to grab her undies, E held them in his hand. “Nah, ima keep these. When did you stop wearing granny panties?” She smacked his chest and they both laughed when they approached the door but soon the smiles were gone when they saw Donald and her friends standing there with Jae smiling big at them. Jae said “daaaaaamn, y’all was going at it. All I heard was cheeks clapping and shit.” Erik kept his eyes on Donald as Y/N asked “what’s up?” Donald folded his arms and said “a little birdie told me that you ran off for a little session.” She looked back at her so called friend and played flicking her off looking like she was scratching her face.

“So you love him, right? So who is gonna be? A hood nigga that left you over his own selfishness or a real man that was there for you?”

“The fuck you just called me”, Erik getting into his face. “I bet you won’t say that shit again.” Donald was about to push him when Y/N got in the middle. Erik looked him in the eye with an evil smirk and asked “so, who is it going to be baby girl?”

“Yeah, who”, Donald asked looking at Erik as well.

She held their chests still and looked in between them. For some reason, she was stuck, frozen. She closed her eyes and said “I choose...” She looked at Donald then at Erik, took a deep breath and ....

@muse-of-mbaku @im5ftbutmythroat66 @chaneajoyyy @melanin-samii @theunsweetenedtruth @doux-ciel @unicornluvin8765 @vikkidc @wakandantings @thadelightfulone @mzamethystp @simbiann @tropicalsun10 @babydoll756 @notoriouslynay @vminax @quinsly @pinkdemolition @quietstorm-73 @chaoticcashfancroissant @bugngiz @chocolatedippedinhoney @yafavcocoa @lostgalaxies

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babybluepeaches · 7 years ago

Text

Permission pt. 2 {a killmonger fic}

pt. 1 / pt. 3

AN: Since your first wild adrenaline-filled meeting, you and Erik have been inseparable during your nightly dope deals. But tonight, you might discover a secret side of himself he’s been hiding when your life is threatened in a deal gone awry. Stay tuned for the sex in part 3 ❤︎

....

1:27am

1 new message

Sender: Y/N

Message: “Bout to be outside.”

Erik picks up his phone and shoots back a text. Getting out of bed, as per his new nightly routine, he changes out of his pajamas into his outside clothes. After a bit of deliberation he settles on a black T-shirt and camo pants.

He had been seeing Y/N for a month now, just going with her on her nightly drop offs. He wasn’t one to keep up attached relationships, but there was something about Y/N that made him almost forget about everything. Besides the sex and free “gas”, he liked that she didn’t ask him any heavy questions, being a dealer she wasn’t too into trading personal information. When they hooked up they just drove, talked, and smoked. It seemed effortless.

Erik had to admit to himself, he liked her energy. She was cool, confident, and she didn’t have any expectations of him. This worked perfectly for Erik, who wanted nothing more but to escape the tidal wave of feelings he had been keeping at bay about his so-called family and his legacy.

Grabbing his essentials, he heads out his apartment and walks towards a black car.

….

1:36am

1 new message

Sender: Erik

Message: “Bet”

You glance at your phone before putting your car into park in front of Erik’s place.

You didn’t want to admit how much Erik Stevens had influenced you over the past couple of weeks, but it was unmistakable. The long car rides, the impromptu hook ups, you had even slept over his place a couple of times. Not to mention he influenced you into getting that single gold cap grill you always wanted. It shined in your mouth’s top row of teeth, a little dollar sign flashing when you smiled.

Hell, it helped to have his intimidating body in your passenger seat too. Your thirsty customers used to ask to sit in the back of your car. “Just to sample what you got,” they would say. Now when they lean in to check you out, they see Erik too. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve had to stop yourself from laughing at their disappointment. Sometimes Erik grabs your thigh when you’re bagging for them, or talks to you casually. With all the creepy niggas at bay, you actually started to enjoy the night. So it’s safe to say Erik became your part-time partner in crime.

….

While you were adding songs to your tidal queue, Erik opens your door and climbs in the car.

“‘Sup E,” you say, now shifting your attention to program your first address into the GPS. Before you had even glanced over, Erik’s smell and presence wafts into the car. He always smelled like sandalwood and honey. It was a small comfort, not that you would admit it.

“Wassup sis,” he said with a smile, making fun of what your underlings call you.

“You are not allowed to call me that,” you say, returning his grin and pulling off the lot.

“Damn, okay Y/N,” he says, followed by, “Where we going?”

“Melrose, Highland, some random ass place out East.”

“Dope,” Erik says, picking up your phone to add his preferred songs to your tidal queue.

You’re cruising, rapping along to X by 21 Savage. You loved to drive and Erik didn’t mind when you zoned out. Your vibe was interrupted when Erik abruptly says, “Oh my god pull in here.”

“Pull in where?” you yell over the music.

“Girl.The In-N-Out. What you think?”

You laugh and hang a left to the In-N-Out drive thru. This boy was something else.

When you drive up to order, Erik climbs in the back seat and you pull up so he can reach the mic. Erik’s upper body hangs out the window and he strokes his beard.

Licking his lips he says, “Yeah hey Cindy. Imma get a double double with 4 slices of cheese. A chocolate shake, a root beer, and a coke. Thanks.”

You hear Cindy make a remark about his 3 drinks and Erik laughs in response.

“Nah the root beer’s for my girl,” he says smiling. As he thanks Cindy and gets back in the passenger seat, you try to wipe the smile off your own face.

When Erik dips his body back in the car, you drive around to pick up the food. You pull up, Erik pays, and the In-N-Out worker hands you a small bag with 3 drinks.

Sticking your straw in your mouth you pull out of the parking lot. After a moment you propose casually, “So I’m your girl now?“

“You tryna be my girl now?” Erik returns, mimicking your casual tone.

“Only if it comes with refills,” you say, shaking your drink. Erik laughs and writes you off.

You drive around the city making your runs while Erik destroys his In-N-Out. Striking off name after name on your list, you land on the last one. Small amount of tree, they request to meet up on the East side. An easy quick one to end the night.

….

You pull up to the street you’re supposed to meet the mystery client and park, semi incognito of course. This place was no where you’ve been before.

In fact, no one was around. No old woman hobbling home from church, no old men sitting on any porches. You lean onto your stirring wheel and hold it to your chest while you peer out the windshield.

“This… Is hella sus,” you say to Erik, who’s been absorbed in a text message.

“Huh?” Erik turns off his phone screen, “You ain’t been here?”

“Nah,” after another second of scoping the neighborhood, you start digging in your backseat.

When you sit up you toss Erik one of your emergency guns.

“Stay alert,” you say, reaching for your own gun. Before you can touch it, Erik’s head snaps up and peers out your window. He squints.

“Yo is that… Lil Pump?”

Your windows are tinted but you cant mistake that gangly white frame coming towards your car.

The figure approaching your car wore a black hoodie, black baggie pants and a black shirt. All of which would be very discreet, if he wasnt also sporting greasy multicolored dreadlocks and a lollipop face tatt.

“Fuck, it’s Rare,” you groan. What was his raggedy ass doing here?

Rare showed up on the scene a few months ago as a new dealer a couple hoods over. You had always laughed at him, you couldn’t help but find his white boy thug front amusing. Once, he actually approached you and tried to get you to work some “big deals” with him. You blew his offer off with a laugh, and ever since he’s always had something cocky to say to you.

“Who?” Erik says.

“He’s a dealer. Not too fond of me,” you roll your eyes at the thought.

Rare approaches the car with a smile, signaling for you to roll your window down. You shake your head no, but he pulls up his hoodie to reveal an AR-15 rifle strapped to his torso, something strong enough to blast through the windows if you wouldn’t comply.

“Talk about overcompensation,” you mutter as you roll down the window.

“What is this? A deal?” you spit at him.

He smiles and when he gets close enough he pulls a second gun and pressing it to your temple. He coos, “Mmm, how about a set up?” smiling to reveal a whole mouth full of rainbow grillz.

You feel Erik’s body stiffen and his energy set on fire, you shoot him a quick look you hope communicates ’don’t do anything stupid.’

“I see you brought some muscle,” he says eyeing Erik, “So did I.”

Rare gestures to his cronies, which have now fanned out around the car. They’re all armed, all have ski masks covering their faces.

“Let’s go inside and make some arrangements shall we?” Rare says, as he reaches inside your car to open your door. He pulls you out and zip ties your arms around your back. Erik is getting the same treatment by the masked goons.

For a minute you’re both facing each other, and you cant help but notice Erik’s demeanor has changed completely. While he lets himself be restrained he’s as attentive as a soldier, nothing but his scowl and his lazor focus on you denotes any emotion. You see a inferno in his eyes though, even with his calm expression Erik seems dangerous.

Before you can give Erik any nonverbal reassurance, Rare is pulling you up the steps of the house by your locked arms. When filed inside one of Rare’s men pipes up.

“Uh, what should we do with him?” referring to Erik, who seems even more pissed at the sight of you being manhandled.

“Sit him down, see if he knows anything useful,” you and Rare watch Erik be tied to a chair, “if he causes any trouble, kill him,” Rare smirks and pulls you toward one of the back rooms.

Kill?

You look at Erik one last time before the door shuts. Safe to say, your world starts shaking internally.

Shit I shouldnt have dragged him into this. He has my gun though he has my gun it’s fine we’re gonna get out of this, we’re-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Rare slamming you down in your own chair.

“Oh J,” he says, shooting you your fake name while he sits across from you. “You know why they call me Rare, right?” he grins, showing off his grimey technicolored smile.

“Nah, actually I don’t,” you say. Omitting the ‘I heard that’s what they call your dick game, medium rare’ you’d love to drop on him.

“Its because ain’t nobody can do it like me,” he says, placing his elbows on his legs to lean close to you.

“So why did you lure me here?” you tilt your head and squint at him, “If you’re so rare you wouldn’t need me.”

“I don’t need you, sweetheart. I need to know where you keep your money,” he smiles and lifts your chin with his gun.

“Seriously?” you laugh, “You out already?”

“I want to make a few investments, and I got to thinking that Imma need more.”

Before you could respond, three rapid gunshots are heard from the front of the house.

“Shit.” Erik.

All rationality goes out the window, you needed to know Erik was okay. Now.

Pushing yourself away from Rare with your feet, you headbutt his gun to the ground and run out of the room with your hands still zipped behind you.

“Eri-” you begin, but stop in your tracks to see what was unfolding in front of you.

Erik hand gotten his hands free and was round house kicking a gun out of one of the guards hands. He grabs the man and uses him as a human shield to block gunshots coming from another direction.

You notice Erik appeared roughed up, his shirt had ripped at the front. His eyes were wild and his movements were unbelievably quick. You watch in awe as he threw the man he was using as the shield at the one shooting at him. While they stumbled Erik knocks their feet from under them and they tumble to the ground.

When Erik turns to face you, you feel Rare roughly yank you back by your restraints and press his gun to your head.

“It’s up to you,” he says to Erik, “Tell me all about her little operation and maybe,” he pauses with a grin, “I won’t blow her brains out.”

You could practically hear your heartbeat blasting in your eardrums.

Ba-dump

Erik’s eyes fly between you and Rare.

Ba-dump

In one swift motion, Erik grabs Rare’s hand holding the gun and pulls it away from your head, getting behind him. You move out of Rare’s arms, right in time for him to shoot wildly in Erik’s grip.

Erik releases him and raises his leg to kick him hard in the back. Rare flies into some dusty coffee tables and you’re sure he’s going to have some broken bones to attend to.

Bodies of the masked members of Rare’s crew littered the floor, and Erik was standing over them huffing. Nostrils flared and torn shirt, he was looking more wild than you’ve ever seen him.

Erik turns away from the bodies and immediately goes behind you to begin untying your arms.

Before you can thank him, you both hear police sirens in the distance and his actions freeze momentarily. Someone must have heard the gun shots and called 911.

#black panther #black panther fic #Erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger fic #permission

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