#not every woman has dainty hands! my fingers are short but my palms are wide!

[piedoesnotequalpi]

The problem with being a weird shape and living in a place where I need a good winter coat is I end up spending a depressingly large amount of money on stuff that doesn't actually fit very well

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 15

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warnings: mild violence

Series Premise: With two weeks until Liam is to marry Madeleine – his pick during the social season – the guys throw him a bachelor party in Vegas. After a drunken night, he finds himself with more than he bargained for.

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for the beta read.

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

Supposedly, the more a person suffered in the name of love, the more it showed they really cared. 

At least, that's what Riley thought. 

After nightfall of this particular evening -- when she least expected it -- she never realized how much truth that belief held. 

Or how much it would hurt to sacrifice the one person who made her believe she was worthy of love and saw who she really was on the inside.

Her dainty arm -- a delicate bronze in color, sleek, with a glittering red strap across one shoulder -- linked through the arm of the man she had grown to love more than life itself as they entered the palace ballroom. Working tirelessly over the last week to ensure everything went off without a hitch had taken its toll on her. All she could think about, as she shook hands and charmed dignitaries with a sparkle in those twinkling brown eyes, was how much sleep she planned to make up for after the ball ended.

This ball was to introduce the King and his new bride to the Cordonian court for the first time. A show of solidarity and, hopefully, strength. A way to establish that what happened in a tiny chapel 10,000 miles away weeks ago between two strangers wasn't a careless mistake, and that she could handle the duties bestowed on her as a common American woman. 

Or at least pretend she could for now.

However, for the King and the "Jewel of His Heart" whom he escorted through the curious crowd of pretentious naysayers in extravagant gowns and tuxes, with their fake smiles and tedious posturing ...

It was nothing less than fate. 

Riley was the key that unlocked that safe space deep inside Liam's heart that had been sheltered for so long, waiting for the perfect person to come along and open it. This was the place where he kept his most sacred feelings: a genuine love, never-ending laughter, joy, romance, ecstasy, and every dream he ever held for the future -- one he presumed would never exist in any form he longed for. 

But she didn't just unlock it. Riley shattered it wide open, where everything came flooding out at once and consumed him like a raging wildfire. 

And it was the most remarkable, intoxicating experience of his life. 

Liam showed her off all evening as they mingled during their rounds, danced, and conversed with the variance of nobility. She was the sexiest woman in that room, and he'd dare say the looks of envy shot in his direction from high-class men as he proudly cavorted her around didn't bother him in the least. Not that that was her only quality -- far from it. There were so many things about Riley that were special. But he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride that she was all his.

And without question, he was all hers.

Seated at the head table, Riley swallowed a morsel of the veal medallion she wanted to be served for this occasion. When given a choice between fish and lamb, the fish never stood a chance. The memory of that smelly, god-awful lunch with Regina three weeks ago was not something her palate had forgiven her for yet. As wonderful and savory as this extravagant meal, covered in a light brown mushroom sauce and served with a side of broccoli rabe, was, it couldn't hold a candle to what she craved the most: a slice of white pizza from Carmine's back in Brooklyn.

Or a slab or two of the New Yorker.

With maybe some cheesecake.

Covered in chocolate.

And a sausage rice ball. A Frito pie smothered with sour cream. Definitely a rainbow bagel from The Bagel Store. Barbecue ribs and beans from the mom-and-pop diner hidden just off the strip in Vegas. 

Of course, her grandma’s country fried steak with white gravy sounded delicious too.

For sure, a fried Twinkie like the one she ate at the New York State Fair in 2013. 

"You've outdone yourself, sweetheart," Liam marveled while wiping at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "The meal was delicious, and our guests appear to be enjoying themselves." The others seated at the table looked up, adding their compliments.

Still dreaming about a fat slice of New York-style pizza, Riley smiled graciously back at him, until she noticed the server refilling Liam’s glass with merlot, causing her to do a double-take. 

Hot tears pooled in her eyes, and a heavy feeling of sadness swelled in her chest as she panicked. "I asked for the Pinot Noir. Not the merlot,” she rasped meekly. “You don't like merlot, Liam. And the Pinot Noir was from the 'C' place where Duke Hakim lives. He'll be so disappointed and think I'm slighting his duchy. They’ll all hate me forever and ... wait a minute." She trailed off as a realization hit her, and Riley quickly glanced down at her plate before scanning each of the dishes from those seated around her.

The anxiety intensified; she could no longer suppress the heartbroken sob that wailed out of her. "Where are all the potatoes? We were supposed to have the potatoes, Liam. They didn’t serve the potatoes. Now the whole night is completely ruined, and it’s all my fault. I'm such a failure as a queen, and you should just send me to the dungeon now and throw away the key. I apologize to all of you for my incompetence and the lack of potatoes with your meal." Riley’s red-hot face, full of tears, plunged into the palms of her hands, then quickly sprung back up as Liam hesitantly tried to place a hand on her shoulder. A strong urge to use the restroom ended her crying spell as if it never happened. “Oh, oh. I gotta pee so bad. I’ll be right back.” She gave a warm smile and excused herself as she pushed her chair back and scurried merrily toward the nearest restroom.

Liam, Regina, Leo, Maxwell, and Olivia watched with confusion as she happily took off, not knowing what to say or what to make of the sudden shift in her moods.

“What the hell was that?” Olivia scowled, her eyes fixed on Liam.

“Is she all right, dear?” a concerned Regina asked.

Liam scratched the back of his head, nearly at a loss for words. “I ... I don’t know. I’ve never seen her that upset … especially over potatoes.” He paused in thought. “She was a little on edge this morning. Still, she’s been working a lot on the preparations and everything else going on. It must have gotten to her.”

Maxwell shrugged. “Maybe she just finally snapped.” 

Leo shook his head, swallowing a forkful of beef. “Or maybe she has the premenstrual syndrome.”

“Leo!” The group admonished.

“What?” Leo bit back, taking in each of their disappointed glares. “Don’t act like it’s not true. Trust me, when I have cramps and bloating, I can go from a happy little Leo to a Bertrand, just like that.” He snapped his fingers, following it up with a frown. “It ain’t pretty, you all.”

Maxwell looked across the table at Liam and agreed, “He has a point.”

Wanting to shed his skin and slither away, Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not discuss something so personal and private, especially while several hundred people are dining around us?”

“I’m just saying, little brother, that you need to be understanding and gentle during this special time of your wife’s 'lady business.' You should speak softly and slowly to her because Shark Week messes with a girl's mind, man. Their brains short-circuit, and there’s nothing left up there but a couple of crickets and man-eating rattlesnakes. One second, you think she’s fine, but if you’re not careful, in the next second, you’ll find yourself with two venomous fangs rattling from your nut sack, dude. She will tear you apart and spit you out like a rabid dog. You can make it through these next few days, but only if you take my advice.”

“That is the single dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Olivia spat, boring her eyes into him. “And you’ve said a lot.” She turned to Liam, whose face was slightly pale and void of expression. “Don’t listen to his sexist drivel. Why you haven’t declared him insane yet is beyond me. You should have sent him away with that filthy hairball to Valtoria you had caged earlier.”

“IT WAS MONGO!” Leo erupted, causing the dishes on the table to clatter as he jumped to his feet and hovered over the redhead. Every head in the ballroom whipped around to see what was happening, and a deafening silence filled throughout. Even the orchestra stopped playing their classical tune.

A wide-eyed Regina smiled sheepishly as she glanced out at the quiet audience who were waiting to see what all the fuss was about. She thought fast before calling out, “We were just playing a little game of … 'It was Mongo.'” The former queen snatched Maxwell’s Sunset Rum punch from his hand, thrusting the drink up at her stepson, towering beside her, and instructed in a grandmotherly tone, “Be a good lad, Leo. You lost this round. It's time to chug-a-lug, my boy.” With his face burning, Liam slid down in his seat.

“Ooooo, I wanna go next.” Maxwell bounced excitedly while the guests resumed the festivities. "How do we play?"

“I think I want to go, too,” Liam replied, straightening back up before hurling his napkin on the table. “I’m going to go find Riley.”

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

Riley exited the ladies' room, clutch in hand and a fresh dab of clear gloss gleaming on her pink lips. She stopped walking just as the door closed behind her and smiled with a look of surprise at seeing Liam leaning against the opposite wall. "What are you doing out here?"

He pushed himself off the wall, closing the distance between them and meeting her in the middle of the empty corridor. They wrapped their arms around each other, indulging in the warmth of their lovers' embrace. "Would you believe me if I told you I just missed you?" he answered, placing a tender kiss on her lips that skimmed lower to her jawline. 

"I missed you, too," she moaned with each gentle pressure of his seductive lips, suckling and nibbling along the spot that trailed behind her ear that he knew drove her crazy. "But something tells me that's not the only reason you left the ballroom."

Their gazes met simultaneously. "Leo."

Riley chuckled softly. "Do I even want to know?"

Liam sighed, smoothing back a loose hair behind her ear. "You know my brother and his wonderful words of wisdom." There was no way in hell he would tell her what they really discussed after she left; he could only imagine her embarrassment. "Everyone was just a little worried about you, that's all."

"I didn't mean to scare everyone. I just wanted tonight to be perfect. Instead, so many things went wrong. I can only assume what the court thinks about me now." She lowered her gaze to the red carpeting where they stood. "I let you down."

"I don't want to ever hear you say that again. Riley, sweetheart, you can never let me down. Do you understand that?" Liam lifted her chin; her tentative eyes stared back at him for a moment before nodding. "Good. And just so you know, our guest are used to bombings, stabbings, kidnappings, shootings, and terror plots at most of my palace events --"

"Wait. What?"

" -- I assure you, just the fact alone, that none of that took place tonight, and they're all going to leave here soon -- alive -- will be huge for them. Not having potatoes with the meal or the right wine was the least of their worries. They will consider this night a success. And a testament to their new queen. You should, too. I'm so very proud of you."

"I have so many questions about everything you just said."

Liam smiled, caressing Riley's petal-soft cheeks and lowering his head to kiss her again. "All in due time, my love.”

Riley let out a deep, drawn-out yawn she lightly covered with her palm before stretching and rolling her neck. A couple of weeks' worth of planning and endless decisions had left heavy tension in her shoulders and overwhelming exhaustion like nothing she'd felt before. None of it went unnoticed by Liam, who placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly kneaded the taut muscles. 

"What do you say about heading back to our quarters, taking off all of your clothes, and I'll be up soon to massage this gorgeous body from head to toe? And hopefully, when I'm through, you'll massage parts of me, too … with any part of your body that you'd like." His lips curved into an inviting smile.

"Mmm, that's tempting," she purred, rubbing her hands over his ample chest. "But I can't just leave. It's the Queen's Ball. Without me, it's just ... The Ball." She chuckled, despite herself.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little panties over the ball. Just go upstairs and take them off. I’ll handle everything down here. Then … “ He squatted down to her eye level. “ … I’ll handle you.”

Her heart fluttered every time Liam spoke to her that way. The way he desired only her. She bit the corner of her lip teasingly. “I love you so much.”

Liam smiled. “You better. You’ve got one hell of a husband. I’d even venture to say you’re the luckiest woman on the whole damn planet right now.” Before Riley could respond to his jest, he put both of his hands on her cheeks to hold her head still and began placing playful, wet smooches all over her face, causing her to laugh riotously. After a few seconds of her squirming around and cackling at his antics, he paused to look at her. “You know I love you, too. Now go on up. I’ll be right behind you soon.” 

With a pat to her backside, they went their separate ways.

---------

Liam returned to the ballroom, having offered to finish what little time was left without her. He would offer his apologies for her absence, but in reality, the King couldn’t have cared less what anyone there thought. Since his bachelor party weeks ago, he had grown from a man who had no choices to one who made his own. His marriage and relationship with Riley came first. Her wellbeing was the main priority -- to hell with anyone who had a problem with that.

As Riley placed a hand on the elegant wooden handrail of the grand staircase and took the first step up, her thoughts meandered to where she had been in her life one month ago and how vastly it had changed in such a short time. For the first time in years, she was happy, and it felt so good to be in that place where she could finally let go of the past and move on. Liam was a game-changer, and she was thoroughly convinced he was the only person on the planet who could have gotten her out of her own head and to this level of blissful existence.

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she reached into her clutch to pull out the key card to her quarters, exhaustion slowing her strides. Shuffling past a row of closed office doors and framed artwork, she made her way to the residential wing. 

The squeak of a door behind her and the click of heels drew her attention, causing her to stop and turn to see who was there. 

The color drained from her face as Madeleine casually stepped out, her hands behind her back and a devious, unsettling grin cemented on her face. 

It wasn't the fear that made Riley's heart pound with a sickening thud, but more shock than anything. No one had seen or spoken to the Countess since the confrontation in Las Vegas when she showed up unexpectedly after finding out Liam had married Riley the night prior. 

Now, suddenly, there she was, as if out of nowhere, a gleam in her eye, looking all too pleased to have this run-in with Riley.

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" Riley scoffed, taking one step back the closer Madeleine approached. "What are you even doing here?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about," she answered contemptuously. Her green eyes drifted to one of the cameras mantled at each end of the hallway. Riley placed a shaky hand over her stomach, letting out a low, relieved breath, hoping that was the truth. "Not physically, anyway."

"Well, that sounds promising," Riley replied sardonically. "Now, if you don't mind ..." She turned away, wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation and make it back to her quarters. 

Madeleine reached out and grabbed the Queen by her elbow, pulling her back and harshly twisting her around so they were now face-to-face. "You're not going anywhere until I'm through with you," she hissed with an icy glare. "I told you I would make you regret what you've done."

Riley jerked her arm, trying to free herself. "Let go of my arm, Madeleine!" 

"Not until you hear what I have to say."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say! Now LET ME GO!" Riley hoped someone heard her yell or at least witnessed what was happening on the camera. Where the hell is security?

While continuing to struggle to free herself, she reached up with her free hand in an attempt to pry off Madeleine's bony fingers that were squeezing tight grooves around her elbow, her manicured nails digging deeper into Riley's skin. "You're hurting me. I said to let me go."

"Very well, then." The woman, who had twice lost her chance at the crown, released her firm grasp, knowing that the momentum would cause Riley to stumble back as soon as she let go. 

Just as predicted, Riley planted a foot behind her for leverage before drawing her arm back as hard as she could, one last time. Her eyes grew wide, and she let out a sharp gasp that sounded well down the corridor. Riley sailed backward, tripping over herself and toppling to the ground. She finally landed with a hard blow on her backside, the rear of her head just inches from slamming to the floor.

A shockwave of pain coursed up Riley's spine from hitting so abruptly. Before she had a chance to respond or process what happened, Madeleine crouched down beside her, holding a DVD up and gaining Riley's attention. 

The pain had morphed into a throbbing ache that was soon forgotten as the Queen stared quizzically at the object displayed in front of her like a grand prize. 

"What is that?" her voice trembled.

"It's my ace in the hole," Madeleine stated, then wagged a finger. "Someone used to be a very naughty girl." 

Furrowing her brows, Riley responded. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know precisely what I mean, but just in case, please allow me to refresh your memory," Madeleine smirked before rising to her feet and prancing around as if she were having the time of her life. "I did a little digging after my brief visit to Las Vegas and came across a man who knew you very, very well at one time. I made some calls. We exchanged e-mails, a transfer of money or two. And he was all too eager to accept my offer of payment for any dirt he could give me on you."

There was no point in asking "who" -- she already knew; the thought made her nauseous. Riley closed her eyes and muttered. "Tyler?"

"Yes," Madeleine beamed, " Your ex-husband. He had a lot to say about you."

"I'm sure he did. Does it even matter to you that he's a liar and a cheat -- not to mention greedy? He would make up anything if he thought he could profit off of it."

"Oh, it matters. Personally, I don't believe a damn thing he had to say. Honestly, Riley ... even someone like you could have done better than that slime."

Riley cringed in pain as she pushed herself off the floor and turned to her oppressor. "Just get to the point, Madeleine. Clearly, he gave you something you thought was valuable enough to use against me, so just spit it already."

Madeleine smiled, "How very astute of you. You're correct. He did." She held up the disc as Riley regarded it suspiciously. "On this disk are several hours of the two of you ... together. Very graphic, if I do say so myself." Riley's jaw dropped upon hearing those words as Madeleine continued, "Now don't worry. I only watched it long enough to make sure the video was legit --"

"Give me that!" Riley reached out to snatch the DVD, but Madeleine pulled it away just out of her grasp. A burning sensation filled inside her chest and spread across her face. "You're lying. I never made videos like that."

"Oh, I think you did," the blonde countered with a mirthful tone. "You just didn't know about it. Your ex admitted as much to me ... an asshole move, for sure. But nonetheless, I purchased the copy from him for a hefty sum. And ... well ... here we are now. You're more than welcome to take this disc and see for yourself; I have it downloaded as a backup, knowing you'd want proof."

At that moment, all Riley wanted was for Liam to walk down that corridor where she now stood, pick her up in his arms, whisk her away to safety, and tell her it was all a bad dream. Not that she did anything wrong -- she was married at one time to the man, presumably on the video, and would have been a consenting adult. 

No, it was the fact that Tyler Brooks had taken intimate videos with her during their marriage, without her knowledge. Now Madeleine had possession of them.

God only knew what she planned to do with them, but Riley had a pretty good idea. "What do you want?" she whispered in defeat, afraid to hear the answer.

Madeleine grinned from ear-to-ear. "For you to leave Cordonia tonight and never return, or I release everything to the press."

Riley shook her head. "No. As much as I don't want anyone to see that video, I did nothing wrong, and I won't be blackmailed or intimidated by you so that you can get your grubby little paws on the crown."

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question so much as a remark meant to convey who was in control. 

Maintaining her position, Riley raised a brow, refusing to give in.

Madeleine was far from giving up, though; she had manipulation in her blood. "Very well, then. I'll release the video in the morning. It should be interesting to see how the world reacts to yet another scandal by this monarchy. Their Queen plastered all over the internet again, except this time, uploaded on every porn site on the web. 

"The news will run the story with your blurred-out silhouette in the background. Your father will see it, and his business will become a target.: Your friends. Family. Students. They'll all be inundated with your sexual proclivities. But the worst part will be the tribunal. The council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of queen on some American nobody, but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame that he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Do you genuinely believe you're worth all the trouble it will cause him?"

Riley froze. She knew Madeleine was taunting her with the people she cared about the most. The last thing she wanted was to embarrass each of them. But to possibly cause Liam to lose his legacy, his birthright, and the rulership of a country he loved so much? It was something she couldn't shake. 

Staring blankly, twisting the bands of gold that belonged to Liam's mother, she couldn't get the question Madeleine just asked out of her mind: Did Riley believe she was worth the trouble it would cost him? 

Nothing was damning on that video, aside from the fact that she never knew it existed. But she already had so much to prove; another video in the press' hand would tarnish Liam. Maybe the Countess of Fydelia was right: He would lose it all.

"Time is ticking," Madeleine reminded Riley as she tapped her watch. "What's it going to be?"

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Liam x MC: Cordonia-gothqueen

FRI Series Tags:   @narrytheworld​​  @queenwalton​  @cordonianprincess​        @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​  @drrookie​ @sfb123​​

[spookypalace]

something borrowed - chapter one

After one drink too many at her  30th-birthday celebration, Jo unexpectedly falls into bed with her  longtime crush and best friend, Alex -- who happens to be engaged to her best friend, Izzie. Ramifications of the liaison threaten to destroy  the women's lifelong friendship, while Jackson, Jo's  confidant, harbors a potentially explosive secret of his own.

—

Or the one where everyone is a little messy but you still root for them anyway.

June 2010

“Oh! Wow, I had no idea! This is amazing.” The small brunette whispers to herself as she paces the dark littered sidewalk of ninth street in the East Village, the wind briskly wafting through her freshly curled hair as her high-heeled clad feet clicked against the gravel. “No, that sounds so obvious,” She continues to mumble to herself, using a manicured finger to flick away the bang which had stuck to the lip-gloss which painted her plump pink lips. With a deep sigh, she threw her hands back to her sides, shaking them furiously as she felt the familiar clammy feeling begin to settle in her palms due to her nervousness.

As her entire body began to heat up, she was thankful that it was the little black dress that had caught her eye earlier that evening whilst she was examining her wardrobe in search of something to wear. It wasn’t a dress she had chosen for herself; short little pieces of clothing had never been her thing—her style was usually casual, ripped jeans and relaxed t-shirts. But her best friend, Izzie Stevens, had picked it out specifically for her during a shopping trip back when they were college freshman. It was Izzie’s style; figure hugging, clinging to every curve and a deep square neckline which showed off her perky assets.

She didn’t believe she had any of that, never had. Her shoulders were a little wider than her hips, her legs much shorter, barely standing at five foot four and her chest substantially lacked what Izzie’s had. With luscious blonde hair which flowed down her back, blinding white teeth and skin smoother than butter, Izzie really was perfect. Izzie was always the lucky one, always had been—since they were in fifth grade. Her skin tanned more quickly, her hair feathered more easily, and she didn't need braces. Her cartwheels were superior, as were her front handsprings (she couldn't do a handspring at all). She had double-pierced ears and the trendiest clothing from her rich and caring parents.

But at least Jo would always be a few months younger than Izzie, six months, and four days to be exact. Izzie, as obsessed with clear and smooth skin as she was, constantly worried about growing old and the aging effects that was brought with old age. Izzie’s age was the one thing that Jo didn’t quite mind never catching up to.

“Oh my god!” Jo plasters a fake wide grin on her face and throws her hands into the air in mock surprise, white teeth illuminating the small corner of the street she continued to pace up and down. She brings her dainty hands to her chest and widens her eyes as not to blink, willing herself not to blink in an effort to fake cry. Something which she was usually very skilled at. But not tonight it seemed.

With a groan, Jo gives up, “I suck!” She shouts into the empty street before sitting down onto the concrete steps which lead up to the apartment building, she was currently having a small breakdown outside of. Huffing, she removes the black heel from her right foot, resting for a moment in hopes she’ll finally calm down.

The feeling Jo currently had reminded her of New Year's Eve when the countdown is coming and she’s not quite sure whether to grab my camera or just live in the moment. New Year’s Eve never goes how you plan. Then you’re left feeling enormously let down and think to yourself that the night would have been more fun if it didn't mean quite so much, if you weren't forced to analyse where you’ve been and where you’re going.

Like New Year's Eve, tonight is an ending and a beginning. She didn't like endings and beginnings. She would always prefer to churn about in the middle. The worst thing about this particular end (of her youth) and beginning (of middle age) is that for the first time in her life, Jo realises that she has no idea where she’s going. Her wants are simple: a job that she enjoys and a guy whom she loves. And on the eve of her thirtieth birthday, Jo had come to the realisation that she wasn’t anywhere near getting what she wanted.

First, she’s an attorney at a large New York firm. By definition this means that she’s miserable. Being a lawyer just isn't what she thought it was cracked up to be—it's nothing like L.A. Law, the show that caused applications to law schools to skyrocket in the early nineties. She works excruciating hours for a mean-spirited, anal-retentive partner, doing mostly tedious tasks, and that sort of hatred for what you do for a living begins to chip away at you. So, Jo had memorised the mantra of the law-firm associate: I hate my job and will quit soon. Just as soon as I pay off my loans. Just as soon as I make next year's bonus. Just as soon as I think of something else to do that will pay the rent. Or find someone who will pay it for me.

Which brings Jo to her second point: she feels desperately alone in a city of millions.

Whilst visually she knows for a fact she’s not alone, because if she were then she wouldn’t currently be stressing out about how to fake shock to all of her friends once she enters the club in which her ‘surprise’ birthday party is being hosted in five minutes. She had friends to summer within the Hamptons, friends to meet on a Thursday night after work for a drink or two or three, friends to gossip with and rant to. And she had Izzie, her best friend from home, who is all of the above.

For a while, friends were all she needed—when you’re in your twenties, settling down with the man of your dreams can wait. There’s still so much living to do when you’re twenty-three and then twenty-seven, but by the time you’re twenty-nine … the cold empty side of your double bed begins to get a little old.

“Right.” Jackson Avery’s voice booms from the now open door which leads to his apartment, shaking Jo from her thoughts of loneliness, “I’m ready, you good?” He asks with a smirk when he notices her perched on his steps, face bored and disinterested.

Big doe eyes, decorated with mascara and dark eyeshadow, glance up at him as her lips turn into a pout involuntarily. “I don’t wanna’ go,” she knows he thinks she sounds like a toddler, she can tell by the way he chuckles and continues to look down at her with raised eyebrows, “I don’t want to be thirty.”

Jackson jogs down the few steps, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket as he does so, until he’s standing directly in front of the small woman. “Come on,” he extends a handout to her, hoping she’ll take it without much of a fight. Jo only pushes her bottom lip out further as she places her foot back into the uncomfortable heel and places her hand into his, groaning as Jackson pulls her up with force. “If it makes you feel any better then honestly, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

Jo scoffs, letting him lead her towards the club only two streets away from his place, “right.”

She had met Jackson in college, during orientation their freshman year. Whilst they weren’t fast friends, both of them were rather reserved. After a while they began to grow closer; during study sessions and group projects—they always seemed to be on the same page. It wasn’t until they finished college and realised that they were only living a few blocks from one another that they really started to spend time outside of class together, Jackson was always available for a morning coffee or an afternoon stroll during a stressful day.

Izzie had always been adamant that Jackson was crushing hard on Jo, but she never saw it. When it came to men, Izzie had a one-track mind—according to the blonde, no male and female could ever just be friends. She believed this so strongly that she took it upon herself to try and set the pair up during every night out at the bar or weekend lunch. Something which got old and obnoxious on Izzie’s part fast. Due to this, Jo had chosen to keep her friendships with the two fairly separate. Except for the times it was unavoidable, like birthdays and engagement parties and whatnot. Like tonight.

They arrive at the club far too quickly for Jo’s liking, she comes to a stand still once they’re outside, dragging Jackson back by the clasp of their hands as she firmly stays put. He sighs, his eyes subtly giving her the once over now Jo’s directly stood in the bright lights of the nightclub’s neon sign. Jo doesn’t notice, pays no mind to the man in front of her as she thinks about what’s on the other side of that door.

“What’s up?” He asks, frowning with concern, “you love an excuse to get drunk—your thirtieth birthday is as good an excuse as any,”

Jo takes a deep breath, “I told you, I’m getting old.”

“Keep going with that and I’m going to get offended,” he steps closer to her with a smirk, eyes gazing down at hers, “you remember I turned thirty, like, ten months ago, right?”

At Jackson’s comment, a sincere smile finally spreads across Jo’s glossy lips, “barely, I woke up passed out in your bed with a pink wig on and roller skates hanging off my feet.” Jackson’s smirk turns into full-fledged laughter as he recalls the memory.

“If we’re lucky then maybe tonight will end similar.”

Jo’s eyes glimmer as she teases, “no way, I’m thirty tomorrow—it’s socially unacceptable for me to wake up in some random guys bed.”

Jacksons face turns into a mock frown, “random?” As they both continue to laugh with one another, Jo shoves a dainty hand into his chest and walks past him with a bump to his shoulder. Her heels click towards the large black door with the shiny brass handle, pulling it open as she throws an eye roll at him and finally gets over her nerves and steps into the room her friends had piled into to celebrate her birth.

She wasn’t alone, she knows that—she felt that when she stood with Jackson, laughing and smiling so effortlessly.

But she was lonely.

One hour later, once everyone has gotten over how atrociously Jo’s fake shock was, the party is in full swing. People were dancing and laughing and singing along to the sound of Jo and Izzie’s nineties playlist as it blared through the speakers.

She never enjoyed being the centre of attention, which is why she specifically asked Izzie months ago not to throw her any kind of party—before Jackson informed Jo that actually, Izzie had ignored her completely, Jo’s plan was to enjoy a chilled night at their favourite bar. Just Jo, Jackson, Stephanie, Izzie and Alex.

Alex. The one saving grace of this party—his face was the first she spotted when she walked through the club doors, the first voice she heard and the first person who brought a smile onto her face. He’d sent her a wink, one which reminded her of way back when they were barely twenty, and it sent butterflies swirling in her stomach. She won’t lie and say she wasn’t disappointed when Izzie ran through the crowd of people, arms swinging and lips screaming, to engulf Jo into a tight hug, spinning the shorter woman around, and cutting through the moment.

Jo’s current personal situation seems all the more dismal as she sat with her oldest and bestest friend in the corner booth of the club, the blonde had a glamorous PR job and was now freshly engaged. After all this time, Izzie is still the lucky one. Jo watches her, telling a story to the group which had gathered into the booth, including her fiancé.

Alex and Izzie were an exquisite couple, lean and tall with ridiculous good look and great jobs. They are among New York's beautiful people. The well-groomed couple registering for fine china and crystal on the sixth floor at Bloomingdale's. You hate their smugness but can't resist staring at them when you're on the same floor searching for a not-too-expensive gift for the umpteenth wedding you've been invited to without a date. You strain to glimpse her ring and are instantly sorry you did. She catches you staring and gives you a disdainful once-over. You wish you hadn't worn your tennis shoes to Bloomingdale's. She is probably thinking that the footwear may be part of your problem. You buy your Waterford vase and get the hell out of there.

“So, the lesson here is: if you ask for a Brazilian bikini wax, make sure you specify.” Izzie finishes her obscene tale, and the whole group laughs. Except for Alex, who shakes his head, as if to say, what a piece of work my fiancée is. “OK!” Izzie shouts obnoxiously, hands slapping together as she claps, “I’ll be right back, tequila shots for us all!”

Jo watches as she moves away from the group and towards the bar, leaning over the sticky surface to flirt with the young bartender, who she already told Jo she would ‘totally fuck’ if she was still single. As if Izzie would ever be single. She said once in high school, "I don't break up, I trade up." She kept her word on that, and she always did the dumping. Throughout our teenage years, college, and every day of our twenties, she has been attached to someone. Often, she has more than one guy hanging around, hoping.

It occurs to Jo that she could hook up with the bartender. She’s completely and totally unencumbered—hasn't even been on a date in nearly two months, it was an utter disaster and she decided she needed to give herself a break. But it doesn't seem like something one should do at age thirty. One-night stands are for girls in their twenties, and as of tomorrow morning she would no longer be in her twenties.

Plus, she thinks she’d had her fair share of one-night stands and after every single time she always found that she ended up thinking to herself that she was a relationship person. She preferred to know the person, nothing competed with the feeling of being familiar with someone’s body. Knowing exactly how to make them moan, their toes curl, and their skin tingle—that’s what she wanted. And there was the feeling of comfort, being so comfortable that there was no awkwardness and you never felt too shy to try something new. She missed that. She really really missed that.

She hadn’t experienced that since her last boyfriend, two years ago.

“You look great,” Alex whispers into her ear as the rest of the group continue to chatter, his hushed voice breaking Jo out of her sad sad thoughts.

Jo rolls her eyes, tilting her head so it falls against the side of his, “you have to say that I’m your fiancé’s best friend.” As comfortable as the position was, Jo lifts her head up quickly so she can turn to look Alex in the eyes—eyes which were wide, gazing down at her. His lips were parted, as if there was something he wanted to say but as he opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, Jo decides to relieve them of the thick tension and shakes her head with a small girlish girl.

“No, I don’t,” he finally adds, eyes continuing to watch her every movement. The way she picks up her full glass of vodka with dainty hands, the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks and her curls frame her face—small things he’s always noticed.

The tension is cut once Izzie returns with the shots, but Alex refuses his, so Izzie insists that Jo does the two. Before Jo knows it, the night starts to take on that blurry quality, when you cross over from being buzzed to drunk, losing track of time and the precise order of things. Apparently, Izzie had reached that point even sooner because she’s now dancing on the bar. Spinning and gyrating in a little red halter dress and three-inch heels.

"Stealing the show at your party," Stephanie, Jo’s closest friend from work, says under her breath. "She's shameless."

Jo giggles, not really caring—it was something she had come accustomed to. “She’s just a little drunk.” She’s not sure when she became the person who constantly made excused for Izzie’s behaviour, probably way back when they were fifteen … maybe twelve, who knows.

Everyone waits for her next move, which is to swivel her hips in perfect time to the music, bend over slowly, and then whip her body upright again, her long hair spilling every which way. Jo turns her head away from the woman up on the bar to glance at Alex, who in these moments can never quite decide whether to be amused or annoyed. To say that the man has patience is an understatement. Alex and Jo had that in common.

"Happy birthday, Jol!" Izzie yells. "Let's all raise a glass to Jo Wilson!" Which everyone does. Without taking their eyes off the blonde.

A minute later, Alex whisks her down from the bar, slings her over his shoulder, and deposits her on the floor next to Jo in one fluid motion. Clearly, this was something he had done before. "All right," he announces, glancing over to Jo apologetically. "I'm taking our little party-planner home."

Izzie plucks her drink off the bar and stamps her foot. "You're not the boss of me, Alex! Is he, Jo?" As she asserts her independence, she stumbles and sloshes her martini all over Alex's shoe. In usuall circumstances Jo would agree with Izzie—Alex wasn’t the boss of the woman. But at this very moment, as she continues to cause a scene with her temper tantrum, Jo had to agree with him.

Alex grimaces. "You're wasted, Iz. This isn't fun for anyone but you."

"Okay. Okay. I'll go... I'm feeling kind of sick anyway," she says, looking queasy.

"Are you going to be okay?" Jo asks, concern dripping from her voice despite the fact she felt incredibly drunk herself.

"I'll be fine. Don't you worry," she says, now playing the role of brave little sick girl.

Jo thanks her for the party, tells her that it was a total surprise—which is a lie, because she knew Izzie would capitalize on my thirtieth to buy a new outfit, throw a big bash, and invite as many of her friends as Jo’s own. Still, it was nice of her to have the party, and Jo’s finally glad that she did. Izzie’s the kind of friend who always makes things feel special. Izzie hugs Jo hard and tells her she'd do anything for her, and what would she do without Jo, her maid of honour, the sister she never had. She is gushing, as she always does when she drinks too much.

Alex cuts her off, "happy birthday, princess. We'll talk to you tomorrow." He gives Jo a kiss on the cheek as she grimaces at the old nickname he had coined all the way back when they were freshman in college. Before he exits, he turns back one last time, “you’ll be OK?”

"Thanks, Alex," Jo smiles. "I’ll be fine, good night."

Jo watches him usher Izzie outside, holding her elbow after she nearly trips on the curb. Oh, to have such a caretaker. To be able to drink with reckless abandon and know that there will be someone to get you home safely—so you didn’t end the night passed out on your male friend’s bed with absolutely no idea if anything happened between the pair of you.

Sometime later, Alex reappears in the bar—much to Jo’s drunken delight.

"Izzie lost her purse. She thinks she left it here.” He huffs with a roll of his eyes, “it's small, silver," he continues, using his hands to show them the size. "Have you seen it?""

“She lost her new Chanel bag?" Jo shakes her head and laughs, a little louder than she anticipated thanks to the alcohol coursing through her system, because it is just like Izzie to lose her things. Usually Jo would try her best to keep track of them for her, but as it was her birthday, she decided to go off duty—albeit unintentionally. Still, Jo helps Alex search for the purse, finally spotting it under a bar stool.

“Oh my god!” Jo hears Jackson’s mocking tone from behind her, “the Chanel purse, Jo!” She grabs the purse from the floor, accidentally knocking her head against the bar, before turning around to shove a laughing Jackson in the chest.

Alex grins, lifting a hand to ruffle her now slightly messy hair playfully, “what would I do without you?” He asks rhetorically, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he watches her glance up at the ceiling with a smug shrug, full of confidence.

As he turns to leave, Alex's friend Andrew, one of his groomsmen, convinces him to stay.

"C'mon, man. Hang out for a minute." With that, Alex calls Izzie at home and she slurs her consent, tells him to have fun without her. Although she is probably thinking that such a thing is not possible.

Gradually Jo’s friends peel away, Jackson included, saying their final happy birthdays. Alex and Jo outlast everyone, even Jackson. Something which wasn’t uncommon, it had become a regular occurrence since college. The pair sit at the bar making conversation with the young bartender from earlier who has an "Amy" tattoo and zero interest in the aging brunette lawyer.

It’s just after three when they decide that it's time to go. The night feels more like midsummer than spring, and the warm air infuses Jo with sudden hope: maybe this will be the summer she finds what she wants to do, where she’s going and all that crap.

Alex hails me a cab, but as it pulls over, he says, "how about one more bar?” His voice is hopeful and there’s that familiar crooked smirk on his lips, “one more drink?"

"Fine," Jo groans with a roll of her eyes, a smile on her face that tells Alex she’s joking—she’s more than happy to stop at one more bar with him. "Why not?" Jo grins as they both get into the can and he tells the cab driver to just drive, that he has to think about where to next.

They end up in Alphabet City at a bar on Seventh and Avenue B, aptly named 7B. It’s not an upbeat scene—7B is dingy and smoke-filled. They both like it anyway—it's not sleek and it's not a dive, it’s more up to their speed, more them.

Alex points to a booth, “sit down, this ones on me." Then he’s turning around, "what shall I get you, still partial to a vodka cranberry or beer?" He asks, that smirk still on his lips as he’s proud to think of how well he knows the woman in front of him.

Jo tells him she’ll have whatever he's having, and then she sits and waits for him in the dark red booth, patiently as the vodka and tequila and rum swills around her head. Jo watches as Alex says something to a girl who’s stood at the bar wearing army-green cargo pants and a tank top that says "Fallen Angel." Jo almost scoffs. Jo smiles and shakes her head, ignoring the familiar pang of jealousy running through her veins. 

A moment later Alex slides in across from Jo in the old booth, pushing a beer her way. "Newcastle," he says before he smiles, crinkly lines appearing around his eyes. "You like?" Jo nods and smiles back at him.

From the corner of her eye, Jo see’s Fallen Angel turn on her bar stool and survey Alex, absorbing his chiselled features, wavy hair, full lips. Izzie complained once that Alex garners more stares and double takes than she does. Yet, unlike his female counterpart, Alex seems not to notice the attention. Fallen Angel now casts her eyes Jo’s way, likely wondering what Alex is doing with someone so average. Even if the little black dress did wonders for her usually non-existent cleavage, Jo didn’t see herself as anything special. She finds herself silently hoping that the girl thinks they're a couple. Tonight, nobody has to know that she is only a member of the wedding party.

“That’s the dress you wore to our celebratory drinks the night we took the bar.” Alex notices, tilting his beer in her direction.

“Oh wow,” Jo let’s out a breathy laugh, “you remember that?”

Alex smirks before letting out a sigh and shaking his head in almost disbelief, “Of course I do. You threw up all over my bathroom floor whilst wearing it.”

Jo’s jaw drops to the floor at the mention of the old memory, her eyes scanning over Alex as he sets his beer down and lets out a hearty laugh. “Noooo,” she drags the word out, cringing, “I was such a disaster.”

Alex scoffs, “no you were not, you were a college student.”

And for the third time that night, their eyes are glued to one another’s, both having so much to say but having no idea how to say it. But this is how it had always been with Alex, even when they could feel the tension between them—they were still nothing but completely comfortable with one another. Although, in this instance, her cheeks began to heat up.

Jo clears her throat, shaking her head, hoping the waft of her hair would cool down the heat that was rising at the back of her neck. “Do you remember that apartment,” she reminisces, “it barely fit the two of us.”

“How could I forget,” Alex mumbles with a grin, “I spent half the time I lived there sleeping on the floor ‘cause your place was always flooding.”

“I don’t know why you always let me crash in your bed.” Jo thinks out loud. He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and takes another long swig of his beer, hoping the conversation will change. “You know, I had a huge thing for you back in college.” The words tumble from her lips, so fast he barely catches them but after a second he’s certain of what he’s heard. And she wants to say it’s the drink talking—the alcohol running through her system. But it’s not. And he knows its not. She can tell by the way he awkwardly bows his head, hiding his smile and shaking his head.

Eventually, the conversation changes and it’s as if she never made the slip up. But she did. But then Alex is talking about his job and their Hamptons share that begins in another week and a lot of things. It’s always been this way, easy and comfortable. But Izzie doesn’t come up and neither does their September wedding, not once.

After the pair finish their beers they move over to the jukebox, fill it with dollar bills, searching for good songs as they giggle and tease one another about their song choices. Jo pushes the code for "Thunder Road" twice because she knows it’s his favourite song.

"Yes, Springsteen's got to be at the top of the list. Ever seen him in concert?" Alex���s eyes glimmer, as they glance down to Jo—a tipsy smile gracing his lips.

"Nope," Jo answers with a laugh, “grew up homeless, remember. Concerts were a luxury I couldn’t afford." Jo almost tell him that Izzie offered to take her back in high school, well, Izzie would have been dragged along out of pity even though she much preferred groups like the Backstreet Boys. But Jo decides it’s best not to bring this up. Because then he’ll remember that it’s probably time to go home to Izzie and she doesn't want to be alone in her dwindling moments of twenty-somethingness.

Alex chuckles, never being one to skirt around Jo’s tough upbringing, it was actually one of the reasons they became such good friends. “You’ve had a zip code for over ten years now, I’m not letting that excuse slide anymore.”

Jo mocks shock, slapping a hand against the back of his upper arm, “not an excuse, jerk.”

Not too long later, it’s last call at 7B. They get a couple more beers and return to their booth.

Sometime later they are back in a cab once again, going north on First Avenue. "Two stops," Alex tells the cab driver, as they both live on opposite sides of Central Park. Alex is holding Izzie's Chanel purse, which looks small and out of place in his large hands. Jo glances over at the silver dial of his Rolex, a gift from Izzie. It is just shy of five o'clock. They sit almost silently for a stretch of ten or fifteen blocks, besides for a few comments mixed with tipsy laughter, both of them looking out of their respective side windows, until the cab hits a pothole and Jo finds herself lurched into the middle of the backseat, her bare leg grazing his.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Alex’s lips are on Jo’s. He’s kissing her. Or maybe she’s the one kissing him. But, somehow, no matter who was the one that initiated it, they’re kissing. And Jo’s mind has gone blank as she listens to the soft sound of their lips meeting again and again. Their tongues tangle, fighting for dominance which Alex eventually wins over and Jo can’t complain … because this is what she’s wanted for so so long.

Ever since freshman year.

At some point, Alex taps on the Plexiglas partition and tells the driver, between kisses, that it will just be one stop after all.

They arrive on the corner of seventy-third and third, near Jo’s apartment. Alex hands the driver a twenty and doesn’t bother to wait for change. They spill out of the taxi, kissing more on the sidewalk and then in front of Jose, Jo’s doorman. It makes her giggle and not because she’s still a little tipsy and high from the feeling of Alex’s lips on hers but because who would’ve thought—Hobo Jo has a doorman.

Their lips don’t part the whole way up in the elevator, their hands grabby and desperate as they try to fight the urge to rip off one another’s clothing. Alex has Jo pressed against the elevator wall, her hands moving to the back of his head.

Once their up, she fumbles with her key, turning it the wrong way in the lock as Alex keeps his arms around her waist, his soft lips nipping and biting against her neck and the side of her face. Finally, the door is open, and they’re no longer just kissing and touching. They’re in the middle of her studio, and he’s slowly pulling down the thin straps of her dress, kissing the soft skin where his hands graze—savouring the moment.

Just as Alex is about to pull down the tight dress the rest of the way. His hands stop their descent, placing them on either side of her head and forcing her to look at him. Her pink plump lips swollen, hair messy from him running his fingers through the long tendrils—she looked perfect, he’s never thought she looked more perfect than she did in this very moment.

“Are you drunk?" His voice is a whisper in the dark.

"No," Jo says. Because you always say no when you're drunk. And even though she is a little, she seems to have a lucid instant where she can consider this whole thing clearly. It strikes her that, in a sense, she can have both a momentous birthday night and the one thing she’s wanted for as long as she can remember.

One thought of Izzie is in her mind, but she’s being pushed to the back, overwhelmed by a force stronger than their friendship and her own conscience.

Within seconds, Alex’s lips are back on hers and he’s hurriedly removing her dress ad she makes quick work of snapping open the buttons of his crisp white shirt. Jo doesn’t even realise they’re moving backwards until he’s throwing her down onto the soft bed and Alex crawls on top of her. Jo’s eyes flutter closed, then open, then closed again as a swarm of pleasure sweeps over her as Alex’s hand continue to roam over her body.

“Me too.”

“Hmm?”

“I had a huge thing for you, too. Still do.”

And then, somehow, she’s having sex with her best friend's fiancé.

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART I - WHERE TO START

summary: jethro and his gang arrive to a new town, and they’re surrounded by rich folk. but then, he meets somebody unexpected.

words: 1,855

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07​ @jrenn10​ @f4nboi​ @purplestarsr5​ @ladyzombiielove​ @littlemiss3ma​ @minikate--24-05​ @consultingdoctorwholock​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​ @ms-allenbrown​ @ikbenplant​ @dylpickles1267​ @diaryofafan17​ @specialagentlokitty​ @pageofultron​ @stanathanxoox​

author’s note: part 1 of a new series. this is actually a part of @thranduilsperkybutt​‘s writing challenge. my prompt was cowboy au + secret relationship trope.

PART II

February 16th, 1889

Well, this is the first opportunity where I’m able to sit and write.

Moving East out of the plains has been damn hard - nobody likes being this close to civilization.

Hell, I hate it. Seen more people on the trail the past two days than we used to see in a whole week, back West. It’s necessary; we all know that. Still, I hear Anthony kickin’ up a fuss whenever we see another caravan.

It ain’t so bad, now that we got a place to settle down. For now, anyway. It’s well-hidden, at least. It’ll do the job until our problems in the West die down, and we can move back.

If we’re lucky, Anthony might take a bullet while we’re out here. Save us all the trouble of keepin’ him reigned in, this time.

Dr. Mallard told me there’s a town nearby. From what I gather, it’s mostly aristocrats and artisans and rich folk who live there. Not the kinda folk we run into often, but the law won’t think to look for us here. Not for a while, at least.

So I’m gonna head into the town tomorrow. Have a look around, see what we’re up against. Anthony wants to come along. Says he wants to start sniffing around, despite my warnings that we’ve got to act like upstanding citizens of the law. It’s too risky to start making trouble.

He says he understands, but I’ll keep my eye on him, just the same.

Tim and Abigail will go along with him. They’re much less rambunctious, so I don’t fear they’ll get into much mischief.

All in all, despite the money that no doubt comes through this town, I predict it will be a very dull place to lie low.

But maybe that’s what we need, right now. There’s been too much excitement, lately.

February 17th, 1889

Just as I thought - this town is full of men and women too concerned with stories and the arts to pay attention to much else. I counted five clothing shops on the way in. And only a single gun store.

I’m not even sure the saloon sells proper bourbon.

Though, Anthony seems to be fitting in, well enough. He can keep a pleasant conversation with any rich man he meets - a skill I scarcely care enough to learn. But I suppose it was a good choice to bring him along-

The journal is knocked from Jethro’s hands as someone slams against his shoulder from behind. It falls to the dirt, as does the bags of the person who’d knocked into Jethro. And even though his journal was knocked clean out of his hands, Jethro himself wasn’t much bothered. Because the collision barely moved him and it seems like whoever just bumped into him is suffering more of the consequences.

“I’m very sorry!” A voice says hurriedly. A womanly voice that wasn’t so prim and proper as the other women of this high-end town.

Jethro bends over to collect her bags - brand new, apart from the new dirt stains received from the collision. And the woman picks up his leather-bound journal; thankfully, it had landed shut.

They both straighten up, and Jethro instantly meets your eyes for the first time. Very pretty, he notices, if a little guilty for all the trouble you’ve caused. Dainty little strands of hair fall into your face, and the dress you wear is much too expensive for Jethro to ever be able to buy. And yet, you wears it so simply. He can’t tell if you’re just so rich that this dress is meaningless, or if you purely don’t care.

You speak, and Jethro’s eyes blink once. “Pardon me?”

A small laugh comes from you; light and nervous. “I said I was sorry. For bumping into you, like I did. I suppose I wasn’t watching where I was going. I can be a real clutz, you see.”

You still hold his journal with two hands. Fingers drum against the leather. He huffs and shakes his head. “No, ma’am. The fault is mine for not anticipating your arrival,” Jethro says simply.

And he hadn’t meant it as a joke. It was a simple fact, told in his deadpan way. Still, the nervous look on your face shifts into a wide smile. You’re laughing; light and happy and in a way Jethro wasn’t quite expecting. “Perhaps you’re right,” you say. And when Jethro hands your bags over, you gives him the journal back.

“Are you a writer?”

He’s dusting off the leather, barely listening to your question. “A writer?” He echoes.

“You know, a storyteller.” When Jethro glances back up, you motion to the journal. “I do enjoy a good story. And you seemed rather lost in whatever you were writing.”

Your eyes....your eyes held a sort of enraptured curiosity that Jethro himself hasn’t had in a long time. The type of curiosity that has you questioning a stranger with a journal because they may be a fascinating person. But he was just a man; just Jethro. And your words prompts a light smirk to his face. “Do I strike you as the type to entertain others, ma’am?”

You pauses. Shrug your shoulders as your emboldened smile softens into a smirk. You must smile a lot, he thinks. “Perhaps. I’ve only known you a minute, and you’re already more interesting than many of the men in this town. That’s quite an achievement, Mr....”

Jethro hesitates. He knew coming into this town that he didn’t want to give out his name very willingly. Maybe the law will recognize it and that would cause more trouble than he wants to deal with.

And yet, what harm could this woman do? A woman so soft and sheltered, she mistakes this rough cowboy for a city-dwelling storyteller.

“Gibbs,” he finally answers.

He sticks out his hand, and you smile while taking it. Jethro hears, loud and clear, when you tells him your name. And he hasn’t the mind to notice how soft the skin of your palm is. Your last name - it’s so familiar.

Familiar, as he’s seen it printed over almost every store and shop in this town.

So he gives a slow nod, releasing your hand. “I did not realize I was talking with a celebrity,” Jethro teases. And he expects some pushback from that little jab - women always seem to dislike his brand of sarcasm. They call him rude, and they may be right.

Instead, you grips your bags tighter. Jethro catches a bit of pink in your cheeks, and it makes his stomach tight with no good reason. “My father owns many of the stores in this town. It’s not a fact I share with others, Mr. Gibbs. I feel as though it causes people to treat me different - as though my opinion of them may sway them to my father’s favor.”

Seems like a hard life, Jethro jokingly thinks to himself.

Seems easier to have fake friends than government agents following you across three states.

Jethro stuffs his journal into his coat pocket before looking back to you, bobbing his head with a smirk. “Trust me, ma’am; I will treat you no different than I would any other woman,” he vows. And he’s mostly serious.

You smile again. And even giggle, this time. It’s a nice sound and even after Jethro tells himself to be polite to the daughter of the town’s most powerful man, he finds he doesn’t have to try very hard. You’re nothing like the other people Jethro has encountered in this god-forsaken town.

Maybe because when you look at him, Jethro doesn’t feel like the dirty old cowboy he knows he looks like to everyone else.

His thoughts are cut short by your cross little sigh. “I’m afraid I must go now. I’m expected back home soon,” you tell him regretfully.

Your reluctance was painfully visible, and Jethro is determined not to show his own. Besides, he wasn’t here to make a friend or charm a lady; no matter how pretty she may be. “Then I’ll save you the burden of a long-winded goodbye. I hope you have a good day,” Jethro tells her.

After giving you a single nod, he turns away. Takes several steps toward the saloon - that’s where Jethro reckons Anthony might be, anyway. Following some poor rich bastard in there to get him drunk and pick his pockets. And he thinks he’s about to make a clean getaway.

But your voice calls out. Calls his name in a way that makes Jethro’s feet freeze in their tracks. He almost doesn’t turn, but his head is arching over his shoulder anyway. Watching as you smile and waves him goodbye. “I hope to see you around! Perhaps one day, you’ll let me read the story you’re writing.”

That makes Jethro scoff, but he says nothing as you continue on your way. That expensive dress of yours even has some mud stains from where your shoes kick it up, but your don’t really seem to care.

And as you disappear around the corner, he shakes his head. Such an unforeseen encounter in a town where Jethro only expected to find uppity, rich men and women. And for the daughter of the town’s patriarch, no less, to completely shatter his expectations - well, Jethro found himself wondering if he really would see you again.

His thoughts are broken when Jethro hears a familiar voice calling out. Shaking out of his reverie, his head swivels around until finding the voice’s owner. Anthony’s hand waves in the air, and he starts jogging over.

Jethro can’t help but glance back to where you disappeared from.

But the Italian stops beside Jethro, wearing a big grin that usually gave him a bad feeling. “Afternoon, boss,” Anthony greets.

Jethro only grunts, and as he starts walking, his friend falls into step beside him. “Have fun screwing around?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t screwing around. Just the opposite, in fact.” Anthony suddenly steps closer, shoulder to shoulder with Jethro. Aware of the prying eyes and nosy aristocrats eager for gossip. “I think I figured out a way to rustle up some money,” Anthony says lowly.

Jethro scoffs, face forming a frown that Anthony can hardly see under the brim of his hat. Though, he’s already well acquainted with his leader’s sourest faces. “This idea of yours legal, Anthony?”

“Strictly speaking? Not really.”

Great.

“That’s never stopped us before, though.”

No, Jethro answers reluctantly. It hasn’t. And that’s what pushed them away from the West and everything they’ve worked for. Because of those less-than-legal schemes.

And hearing Anthony suggest a whole new one, in a town where nobody knows their checkered past...well, Jethro has a pretty wide pit in his stomach. Deep, aching; familiar in a way that has him thinking about the past. Has him thinking about what led to Shannon’s death, all those years ago.

Glancing to Anthony, and seeing how excited he looks about his dangerous plan, Jethro just starts thinking about the girl who thought him a storyteller.

[killmongerdreams]

dissonance [10]

summary: A day in the life of Y/N - goddess in disguise. || mythology au || hades!bucky x persephone!reader

warnings: jealous bucky, no lumina in this one sadly, smut in the end of this chapter, oral (f/r), sub!bucky kinda, dom!seph kinda, seph takes no shit

notes: Aaaand I’m back for an overdue update. Sorry for the wait. Hopefully it’s worth it?

James adjusts the shades on his face nervously, trailing behind his fiancee as she flittered from stall to stall in the market. It was as if everyone in this quaint little town knew her, greeting her with open hearts and shining smiles while they observed him with wary eyes. 

Y/N pulls him to a stop in front of a stand full of flowers, and it takes everything in his being to bite back a groan. He wraps an arm around her waist, lips brushing her ear. 

“You could conjure any flower that comes to your pretty little mind, yet you still choose to buy them.” James whispers, rolling his eyes. “I don’t understand it.”

 Y/N shrugs, giggling. The attendant, a tall, buff blonde man, turns around at the sound, meeting Y/N with a smile bright enough to outshine the sun. James tightens his grip on her in a blatant show of possessiveness, thankful for the sunglasses hiding the way his eyes change black for a split second, The man - Steve, his name tag reads - reads the gesture for what it is, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, smile dimming slightly.

“Mornin’ miss Bloom!” Steve greets. James is momentarily sidetracked by the ridiculous last name she’s picked for her human alter ego, jealousy forgotten as he smothers an amused snort into his palm. “Who’s your friend?”

James’ grin is nothing short of predatory as he offers Steve his free hand to shake. 

“I’m James, James...Barnes. Her fiancé.” He introduces. Smugness drips from the word, and James wonders if Y/N notices the way Steve seems to deflate like a balloon. “And you are?”

“Steve Rogers.” 

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” The two men have a stare down for a few seconds, the action not going unnoticed by Y/N. She tugs on James’ arm to drag him from his reverie, expression on her face saying she’d address his behavior later.

“Your order’s in, by the way.” Steve reaches into the cart beside his stall, pulling out two bouquets - one a dozen white roses, the other a dozen bright yellow sunflowers. She gingerly cradles them in one arm while she digs for her wallet, paying Steve way beyond what James thinks those flowers are worth. 

“Thank you, Stevie!” she barely has time to say her farewell before James tugs her in the opposite direction and far, far away from Steve fuckin’ Rogers. 

As soon as they’re out of hearing distance, Y/N consciously prods at his ribs with her magic, glaring at the god as his jaw clenches at the sharp feeling. “You didn’t have to be so hostile. He’s a nice mortal.”

“He’s interested in what’s mine.” James’ defense earns him another poke. “Mortal or not, no one should be making eyes at my things.”

“I’m not an object, mister Barnes.” a smirk curls at her lips. “You should treat me as such.”

“I’m aware that you aren’t an object, miss Bloom.” James rolls his eyes. “But you are mine. How would you respond if a mortal woman wanted me in that way?”

Y/N’s response holds no hesitation, just unfiltered confidence. “I wouldn’t be worried. I know I have your heart.”

James hugs her close to his side, grinning. “That you do, my Queen. That you do.”

“You do realize that I can give you clothes better than this right? That I have tailors and seamstresses at my will?” James wonders aloud, unable to quell his criticism. He peruses the rack of dresses in front of him with a dismissive scowl. “You could have priceless Venetian silk adorning that body of yours if you so wanted. And you should want that. You will be a queen soon enough, and a queen should only have the best. And this cheap cotton is not that.”

Her annoyance rolls off her in waves, the feeling thick in the air. He doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know she’s sending him a look that could kill. “I’m just saying, little one.”

“The entire point of being here is to blend in with the humans.” Y/N huffs. “Besides, I find nothing wrong with it.”

“And that is because you have no taste whatsoever.” James mutters. “I, on the other hand, know exactly what you deserve.”

“That is because you are spoiled.” Y/N tells him, not unkindly. “I've lived with the humans for quite some time now. You’ve never left your life of glamour.”

“I have now.” James says. “I’m with you buying this drab, aren’t I?”

“The least you can do is not be a petulant baby about it.” she outright laughs as offense crosses the king’s face. “I’m just saying.”

“Bite me.” 

Y/N shrugs “Just tell me where.”

The god snickers quietly, smiling. His love was turning out to be quite the vixen, indeed.

Y/N leads James by the hand, shimmery dress swishing back and forth as she balances precariously in a short pair of heels. For a goddess, she lacked a fair amount of grace, and James knew it was only a short time before she either kicked the shoes off or she tripped. 

She pulls him to the doorstep of a fairly large house, ringing the doorbell as she held the bouquet of roses she purchased earlier. 

“This house is fairly nice for a human.” James comments. “Whose is this?”

“You’ll be surprised.” Y/N tells him in lieu of an answer. “You know him.”

The door swings open after a moment, and surprise smacks James in the face. Smiling broadly in front of them is another divine. 

One that James knows all too well.

“Icarus?” James asks, wonder in his voice. 

The man in question winks at him. “I’ve not gone by my father’s title in ages. It’s Sam now, James.”

James pulls Sam into an overdue hug, smiling uncontrollably. “It’s been so long.”

“That it has, man. Too long” Sam murmurs as he pulls away. “Come inside and join the party. Everyone’s wanting to mingle with the man who stole the heart of our little jewel, here.”

The house is bustling, people in every corner chatting away and trying to get a look at the way Y/N hangs off James’ arm. She’s amicable, greeting as many people as she can bear before she makes her way to the large sofa in the living room, kicking off her shoes and relaxing into the cushions. James pulls her feet into his lap without a word, thumbs pressing into the arches to help relieve the ache. She sighs happily, eyelids fluttering drowsily. 

“Y’know we can leave if you choose so.” James mutters. “I have no problem in leaving this place.”

“Of course you don’t.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but doesn’t look too against the notion. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a terrible idea, though.”

“I’ll tell Sam we’re leaving.” James says, rising to his feet. “Go and wait by the door, little one.”

He wanders the house for a moment, following the surge of power he feels until he finds Sam in the kitchen, drinking from a glass of wine as he chats up a mortal woman. Maria, James remembers - the headstrong woman that isn’t too fond of his presence. 

“We’re gonna head out.” James tells him. “Y/N’s getting tired.”

“Alright, man.” Sam nods. “Take care, you hear?”

James undestands what he really means - take care of her.

“Always, Sam.” James promises, stealing a quick hug. “See you around.”

James finds his way to the front door, stopping short in his tracks at what he sees. No other than Steve Rogers is biding his love’s time, smiling sheepishly with lovesick eyes as she laughs at something he says. She lays a hand on his arm, and James can’t help the possessiveness that surges through him.

He takes a deep breath, striding slowly towards the pair. “You ready to go, darling?” he asks, trying hard to keep his voice steady, not daring to look at Steve for fear of punching him in the teeth. It’s apparent that the blonde man doesn’t care for him either if the air of hostility flowing off his body is anything to go by. 

Y/N is seemingly ignorant to it all, smiling at James. “Yeah.” she waves at Steve. “Bye, Stevie! I’ll see you later!”

“Bye, Y/N!” he smiles at her before giving a curt but polite nod to James in farewell.

As soon as they cross the threshold of Y/N’s home, James is lifting her by the hips, pinning her to the door as it slams closed. Her surprised gasp is muffled by his lips as he kisses her fiercely, body shaking as he lets his angry jealously ebb through him. 

Dainty hands push at his chest in protest, her head wrenching wrenching away from his. “James!”

The god in question ignores her, undeterred as he kisses down her exposed throat. He bites down on the fragile skin covering her collarbone almost hard enough to draw blood, and his hands tighten to the point of pain around her hips. She whines, the sound low and pained in his ear.

Y/N fists a hand in his hair, jerking his head back forcefully. Staring at her through narrowed black eyes, he growls as her powers help keep him from moving. 

“Calm down.” she orders. 

They stay like that for a few long moments, riding out the wave as James gradually lets his emotions become stable once more. As black gives way to blue, his eyes shine apologetically. 

“You should be sorry.” she comments. “Let me down. Now.”

James puts her on the ground without a word. 

“Look at me.” he does so tentatively, finding her eyes holding authority within them. “On your knees.”

Confusion flutters across his face but he does so obediently, not wanting to displease her further. Tilting her head, she trails her fingers over his stubbled cheek. 

“What made you angry?” she asks. 

James hesitates, and she tsks disapprovingly. The shaking resumes as a sharp stab of pleasure, nearly overwhelming, courses through his stomach. He stares, wide-eyed, finding her smirking. This is deliberate punishment, and James comes to find it excites him - being at his love’s mercy.

“James.” the tone in her voice makes him quick to answer this time. 

“I was...jealous, little one.” to say it out loud embarrassed him, and Y/N took pride in the fact she could turn him from a dominant beast into a timid mouse in a matter of moments.

“Even though I told you there was no reason to be?” James nods, blushing. “Did you not believe me when I told you that?”

“I believed you.” he mutters. “I became angry anyways.”

“Hm. I can see that.” Y/N glares at him, and James moans lowly as another pulse of her magic hits him. “You weren’t thinking, were you? You let your emotions get the best of you, and you decide to take it out on me. For no reason other than your possessiveness.”

James’ head bows low. “I’m sorry, little one. Forgive me.”

“You want forgiveness?” Y/N questions. James nods. “Words.”

“Yes, little one.”

“Prove it.” Y/N commands. “You’re already on your knees for me. Use your position to prove it, god.”

Gone is the shy, small goddess entrusting herself in his hands for pleasure. After having that first taste of what he could give her, she was all in, taking it for herself, commanding him.

“Yes, little one.” James smiles demurely, biting his lip as he lets his hands trail up her legs, pushing the hem of her dress upward, eyes staying on hers the entire time. Her thighs tremble under his fingertips yet she stands steady.

His hands curl themselves around the band of her underwear, stopping short. 

“May I?” he asks quietly, waits for her nod before he pulls them, along with her heels, off. 

James grips her thigh to rest over his shoulder, giving him access to touch her how he pleased. He lets his gaze drop, lips parting as he looks. He’s surprised to find that she doesn't turn shy under the attention he’s giving her.

“So pretty, little one.” it’s the only thing he says before he leans forward, eyes shutting in bliss as his tongue runs over her wetness. 

“Oh, yes.” she sighs, gripping his hair hard enough to make him grunt against her cunt. 

His nose bumps her clit as his sly tongue licks lower, prodding at her entrance gently. Her hips buck, essentially riding his face as she seeks her pleasure. James lets her be, using a hand to steady her movements. His face is already slick, and he revels in the feeling of making her feel this way. He’s being good for her, serving his queen in the way she deserves. 

James pulls back for a moment, breathing heavily as he lets his free hand trail over her slit. He slowly presses his middle finger inside her, watching her face as she gets accustomed to the feeling of having something inside her. 

“Is this okay?” James asks, voice rough, grinning in satisfaction when she nods eagerly. She clenches around him, walls pulsating, and he waits a moment before drawing it out, fucking into her, slow and steady. 

The needy moan he gets in return for his efforts could fuel his fantasies for the rest of his life. James seals his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he eases his index finger inside her, too. He’s met with a little more resistance, a little more tightness, hearing her mewl at the sensation.

“Relax.” he murmurs against her. “I’ve got you.”

When James feels as if she’s adjusted, he starts to be a little more thorough with his administrations, creating a firm, steady rhythm as he curls his fingers, searching for that one spot to make her positively melt against him. She squeals his name when he does, tugging at his locks.

James spreads his fingers, licking between them before nipping at her clit ever so softly, eyes glancing upward as she falls apart above him. Y/N looks down at him through hooded eyes as she comes, mouth parted in bliss as her entire body starts to shake. James starts to tremor in response, cock pulsing as her pleasure and magic starts to emanate from her body in waves.

He cries out against her heat loudly as his jeans become stained with his own release, squirming in his spot on the floor as he eagerly rides out the tide of her orgasm with his tongue. James is pushed away when it serves to be too much for her, sitting back on his haunches obediently as he licks at his lips, savoring the taste of her on his tongue.

It take a while before their breathing settles, takes her even longer for her to mutter, voice hoarse, “You are forgiven, my king.”

“It was a pleasure to serve you, little one.” he says back to her, heart still beating wildly in his chest.