#so i’m tagging on the phone and let me tell ya that ain’t efficient!

[darling-drag-brainrot]

Oh golly gee, did I finish my first proper fanfic? Yes!!! Maybe you should read it 😳😳😳

It’s Lemonyanka/Lemyanka of course because I will look for any excuse to think about and talk about both Lemon and Priyanka because I adore them 💖

Also I’ll just post the whole thing here on Tumblr as well <3

“You know my name?” The girl at the counter said, expression awestruck, all wide eyes and raised brows, “How? Are you a mind reader or something? A psychic? Oh my god- you’re like Miss Cleo! Here tell me- what’s my favourite color? Oh wait no- what was the name of my first dog? Wait no- nevermind- how about- when am I gonna die?”

“Uhhh I don’t think I can answer any of those questions. But you seem healthy… so I’d say you’re not gonna die for another like fifty years. I’m not a psychic or anything though so don’t take my word on that. Your name is literally just written on your shirt.” Lemon said, motioning to the nametag with Priyanka scrawled messily on it that the other girl wore on her cream colored apron, “Nice name though. I’m Lemon. Now about that latte...”

Priyanka seemed to ignore Lemon’s comment on the latte, snickering to herself before she asked, “Lemon? Like the fruit? Are you sour too Lemon? You seem sour today. What’s the matter Lemon? Need some sugar to make you into lemonade?” Priyanka winked flirtatiously before continuing with, “Cause I can give you some sugar if you want. Wink wink.”

“Oh my god can you please just hand me my drink now?” Lemon demanded, pressing a hand to her temple in exasperation, “I can’t keep playing twenty questions with you, I actually have places to be.”

Lemon should have simply kept her mouth shut, because Priyanka seemed even more excited now, bombarding Lemon with way too many questions, “Oh? Where do you have to be? You busy? Why? Where? For how long? What’s keeping my Lemondra occupied today?”

“I have dance class.” Lemon said with a sigh, realizing that she probably wasn’t going to get her drink until she dealt with the other woman’s interrogation, “And I didn’t sleep much last night so I need a coffee to wake me up.”

“Oh you didn’t sleep?” Priyanka began to wiggle her eyebrows, “You a busy bitch? Spent time with your boyfriend all night or something?”

Lemon scrunched up her nose at the concept, “Ewww no.”

“Ah, so you were spending your evening with a lovely lady then? I get that, you have fun?”

“What? No- I’m single. I was up all night doing an essay for one of my classes.”

“Single?”

Priyanka leaned closer at this, practically climbing over the counter between them. She really wasn’t subtle at all, was she?

“Yeah, single. Now if you’d actually listen to me, I’d love a single cup of coffee.”

“Maybe. Eventually… But Lemondra, when you say you’re single are you like- looking for a man or more like- a fun super cool barista chick to spend time with?”

Lemon didn’t respond, rolling her eyes before she lifted her wrist to display a small bracelet in the colors of the lesbian flag.

“Oh? So darling Lemon does like women? I guessed correctly after all! Maybe I’m the mind reader then!” She covered her mouth, “Maybe I’m Miss Cleo! But you like women? I’m women! Do you like meeeee?”

Dear lord, Lemon just wanted her coffee.

“Yeah, sure, I like you. Can I have my coffee now? And a slice of cake as well?”

Priyanka opened her mouth to say something and Lemon quickly pressed a finger to her lips.

“I don’t need to hear it. Cake please?”

Priyanka nodded, rolling her eyes as she silently went and grabbed a piece of cake, putting it in a to-go container before handing it to Lemon.

“So,” She said, a dumb smirk crawling onto her face, “You like cake huh? I could go for some lemon cake myself actually.” Then she finger gunned in Lemon’s direction.

Why had God forsaken her? All Lemon wanted was some coffee and a snack, not whatever the hell this was...

“Hahaha funny funny joke Priyanka, please, I am begging for my coffee at this point.”

Priyanka finally seemed to relent, sighing dramatically before she asked, “What did you want again?”

“Latte please, two shots of espresso.”

“Got it.” And then Priyanka turned around and got started, and in less than a minute Lemon was standing there with a steaming cup of coffee being pressed into her hands.

“That’s it?” She said, voice a little too loud for so early in the morning, “All your interrogating for a coffee that took you less than a minute to make?”

“Yep.” Priyanka said, eyes bright and mischievous, “That’ll be five dollars please.”

Lemon handed Priyanka a ten dollar bill, grabbing her slice of cake as well before she made her way to the door, calling behind her, “Keep the change.”

As she entered her dance studio minutes later, coffee nearly finished, she moved to sit down and wait for her teacher to arrive. Now a little more awake, she was able to process the events of the morning with a bit more clarity. And as she looked at her cup, she noticed a string of numbers in surprisingly neat handwriting near the bottom alongside the message: Come again doll~

When had Priyanka done that?

Lemon decided not to think about the logistics of it all- instead opting to finish her cake as she sat- before she pulled out her phone and put the number into her contacts. She’d text Priyanka later she supposed. The girl had been beyond annoying, but in a surprisingly cute, endearing way. And Lemon was never one to turn down phone numbers from beautiful girls anyway.

After class Lemon made her way back towards her dorm, deciding on a whim, to stop by the cafe. She could use a snack, and maybe- just maybe- she wanted to see Priyanka again.

“Lemondra! You came back to see me!” Priyanka squealed the second she spotted Lemon, apparently choosing to ignore the fact that it was two in the afternoon and there were several people in line who needed their drinks.

As Lemon waited for her turn she noticed how efficient and quick Priyanka was. She could get someone’s order, make it, and have them out the door in what seemed like seconds- though was honestly closer to a minute or two each. It was impressive.

Though of course Priyanka seemed to quickly forget her own barista version of superspeed, as the second Lemon came up to the register she was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, clearly in no rush to take Lemon’s order.

“You look ravishing Lemondra, here for more coffee? Or more cake? I mean, I have plenty of cake to serve you- if you catch my drift.”

“Drift caught.” Lemon deadpanned, before breaking into a small smile, “But I’ll just have a poppy seed muffin. I mainly came by to chat.”

“Awww so you saw my message? You liked it? You wanted you some more Priyanka?”

“Admittedly yes, though I was curious what your backup plan was supposed to be if I just ignored your message. Or what if I hadn’t even noticed it?”

Priyanka shrugged, “Didn’t have a backup plan. I knew it would work, everyone wants a piece of this cake.” she laughed, pointing towards the display case of cakes, “Both what I got, and what we sell.”

“I see.” Lemon said, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation, “Well I guess you weren’t wrong. Your cake is exceedingly nice… and what you sell ain’t half bad either.”

Priyanka let out a loud cackle, bending over at the waist to pound her fist into the countertop, “Yes! Fuck yes! You’re my kinda girl Lemondra, I fucking love you.”

Lemon raised an eyebrow, smirking as she said, “Aren’t you supposed to say that a little later down the line? Come on bitch, we haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Oh god! You’re right,” Priyanka said with an over dramatic gasp, “Here- we can go on a date the second my shift is up, then I can confess my undying immortal love to you. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Lemon said, “When’s your shift done?”

Priyanka didn’t answer immediately, turning to grab a poppy seed muffin from beside her before she was handing it to Lemon with a wink.

“Gimme two dollars and fifty cents, then I can clock out. I’ve served my time in this coffee scented hellhole, time to blow your mind by taking you on the best date in the whole goddamn world.”

Lemon handed Priyanka another five dollar bill, “Well then keep the change and let’s go bitch, I wanna get this date started! I’m ready to have my mind absolutely blown.”

“Oh trust me,” Priyanka said with a cocky grin, taking off her apron and name tag before she was hopping over the counter, “You’ll never be able to look at dates the same after this. It’ll be life changing bitch.”

Lemon couldn’t help but laugh, “Sure, I can’t wait then- I’m assuming you’ll be leading the way?”

“Of course babe, trust me.” Priyanka suddenly turned around to face the counter, yelling with far too much enthusiasm, “Ilona get out here and do your fucking job, I’m clocking out!” She didn’t wait for a response, moving towards the exit before bowing low in front of Lemon, “Now, after you m’lady… or should I say… m’lemon?”

Lemon swatted at Priyanka playfully, taking her hand before she pushed the door open, “Don’t you ever say that again you bitch.”

Priyanka giggled, “What- m’lemon doesn’t like the pet name? I don’t see the problem.”

Lemon was about to respond, ready to explain to Priyanka why m’lemon as a nickname was absolutely awful- but before she could she was cut off by a sarcastic, “Thanks for the heads up Priyanka, I love the last minute notice- ya know I’m not being paid to step in and handle the place myself whenever you wanna go on dates or whatever?”

Lemon blushed as she turned to see another woman behind the counter, an annoyed look on her face as she stared Priyanka down.

“You aren’t being paid to sit in the backroom on your phone either Ilona, but you don’t hear me complaining about it.” Priyanka said, more smugly playful than accusatory, “And we were just leaving. I’m taking m’lovely m’lemon out on a date. Don’t wait up.”

“It’s just Lemon.” Lemon supplied, though neither woman seemed to listen to her.

“Well take your m’lemon out the door and go make out or whatever somewhere else- somewhere far, far away from here.”

Lemon quickly grabbed Priyanka’s hand, pulling her through the door and to the street, calling out an apologetic, “We’re leaving, don’t worry!” over her shoulder.

Priyanka stayed silent for a moment, deliberating it seemed before she began to lead them down the street- a comfortable silence between them as they walked. It was nice… especially with Priyanka seemingly lost in her own thoughts… not speaking at all. Lovely.

“Wow,” Priyanka finally said, voice full of shock, which made Lemon look up at her curiously, “I can’t believe this.”

Priyanka lifted up their intertwined hands, shaking her head solemnly before she said, “Already holding hands with me. Jesus Christ Lemondra, what kind of hussy do you think I am? At least put on some protection before we do this next time- I don’t wanna get your cooties.”

Lemon snorted out a laugh, goddamn Priyanka and her ability to make anything funny, “You’d love to get my cooties.”

“Mmmm maybe I would Lemondra,” she said, stopping in her tracks to bring the back of Lemon’s hand up to her lips, kissing her skin softly.

It was kind of romantic if you asked Lemon, and she felt her heart melt a bit in her chest at the gesture, though the moment was quickly disrupted by Priyanka saying, “Hmmm… not as sour as I was expecting.”

This caused Lemon to raise an eyebrow, “Why would my skin be sour-?” Then it hit her. Another stupid joke about her name.

“Alright fuck you,” Lemon said as Priyanka broke out into cackling hyena laughter, “I swear to god if you make anymore jokes about me being named Lemon I will actually end you.”

Priyanka nodded, making a very serious, solemn face as she crossed her heart, “No more lemon jokes. Understood.”

“Thank you.” Lemon murmured, pressing a kiss to Priyanka’s cheek, “If you actually manage to keep your mouth shut maybe I’ll…” She tapped a finger against her chin in mock thought before she smirked, saying in a saccharine sweet faux innocent tone, “Maybe I’ll give you a treat after our date.”

Priyanka nodded even more enthusiastically than she had before, a bit red in the face, clearly picking up on Lemon’s thinly veiled innuendo.

Then, once more, she had to open her mouth, “Will the treat be lemon cake?”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 58

Warnings: profanity, graphic descriptions of blood, violence

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Koen grumbles,   as he sits at the table in front of the balcony door, tightly lacing his combat boots. They’re old and scuffed but still do the trick; well worn and trustworthy, having seen him through his last two tours while in active service.

“Well no one asked you what you think, so…” Tyler’s voice trails off as he shrugs into a black utility vest. Slipping it over a tight fitting white tank that will protect his skin from the vest’s harsh material, tightly securing the straps on both shoulders and across either side of his rib cage.

It’s nowhere near as comfortable as the one he’d owned prior; army green, years on the job leaving it riddle with indents left by bullets, knife slices in the fabric, and torn and fraying edges. There’d been something almost comforting about the ‘wounds’ it sported; testaments to all of the injuries -some in places that would have no doubt been fatal- he’d avoided and all the times he’d managed to walk away. He misses the familiarity of it; the weight of the kevlar between the layers, the smell that had clung to it, the various stains that had discolored the cloth. This one is still stiff against his body and still smells new despite the numerous times he’d worn it while working out in the gym. The extra weight adding an edge, a challenge, to even the most strenuous of workout, yet the rivers of sweat he’d shed had done little to leave his scent behind. This vest hasn’t earned its keep yet; hasn’t been put to the test and earned his trust and respect.

In less than an hour it will. It will be ‘do or die’ time. Either keeping him safe or failing miserably.

“You know I’m only on your ass ‘cause I care about ya,” Koen says. “‘Cause I give a rat’s ass about whether you live or die.”

“And I appreciate that, mate. I do. But I’ve been doing this for years. It’s what I do. Who I am.  I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You think so, do you? When have you ever been in a situation like this?”

“I’m always in situations like this. What do you think mercenaries do? We run into fucked up places and go against fucked up people and we face fucked up odds. And most of the time, we live to tell about it.”  He snags an olive green shirt from the army rucksack; two sizes bigger than normal, but adequately hiding the bulk provided by the vest.

“You know what I mean. A situation like THIS. Where there’s a bounty on your damn head the size of Texas.  Where it’s your own family that’s being threatened. This Mahajan isn’t playing any games. He’s got the best of the best working for him, and when shit goes down and he figures out you’re behind all of this, the shit’s really going to hit the fan.”

“You act like I don’t already know all of that. Who’s the one that’s new to all this? And who’s the one that’s been doing it for years?”

“You know, for someone that HAS been doing it for as long as you have, you sure are fucking stupid. Sure are making rookie decisions.”

“I work better alone,” Tyler says. “But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know ‘job me’. You’ve never been around him. Guess you’re going to find out pretty quick exactly who I really am, aren’t you.”

“It ain’t who you are,”  Koen argues. “It’s part of who you are. So fuck off with that shit. And I get you’ve been doing this a long time. I get it. I respect it. But I still think it’s a mistake that you’re going into this alone when you’re the one Mahajan wants dead. If you ask me…”

“I’m NOT asking you,” Tyler irritably interjects. “No one is asking you. Now get off my ass. This is how I do things. Alone. I don’t need your approval or your permission.”

“I just think…”

“I love you, mate, and I get you’re worried about me, but fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter. No matter what my wife thinks.”

“She’s worried about your stubborn ass too. You wanna go home to her and your kids? ‘Cause you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“You want to still have all your teeth? ‘Cause you’re going to lose a few if you bring up my family again.”

“You call home this morning?”

Tyler frowns. “What did I just say?”

Koen holds his hands up in surrender. “Just asking if you called home.”

“I called last night. Said the things I needed to say. That I should have said a long time ago. Flight left at seven their time; won’t be hearing from them until after they land.”

“And everything’s good? With Esme and the littles?”

“As good as it can be, I guess.”  He slips his arms into the sleeves of a baggy hoodie; black and bearing no company or brand logos. Something cheap and simple that won’t show blood and he won’t mind throwing out if he can’t get it clean. He’s not much of a talker before a mission; finding mindless conversations and the sound of other peoples’ voices both needless AND annoying. He prefers to be quiet in that last hour; getting himself into ‘the zone’. Throwing himself into the deep end of his own mind space and psyching himself up;  mentally replaying his plans over and over again, each step helping fire up his adrenaline.

“You should at least call and leave a message,” Koen says. “Or a text or something. You know, just in case.”

Tyler ignores him; attaching his holster -gun already secured inside- onto the waistband of his cargo pants. On his right hip, hoodie easily covering it and not leaving a noticeable outline or bulge. SAT phone in one side pocket, personal cell in the other; knife and its holder resting at the small of his back. He’d sharpened it the night before; deadly enough to slice through paper and guaranteeing if the wound is in the right spot, death will be near instantaneous.  He would have preferred a slower and more calculated and cold method of killing, but with very limited minutes  and space, he needs to be fast and efficient and worry about torture and watching them suffer when he has more time on his hands. That will come; a chance to truly make them pay. And he’s looking forward to it.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Koen inquires. “I said you should…”

“I heard what you said. And I already told you that I called home last night. I talked to Esme, I told her I love her and said all the things I should have said to her a long time ago. I don’t need to call and leave a message, I don’t need to text her. We talked. We said what we needed to say to each other and that’s it. Leave it alone. She’s my wife, not yours. Stop with this fucked up obsession with her.”

“Obsession with her?” Koen scowls. “What the hell you going on about? What…?”

“Look, it was cute at first. I was flattered you thought my wife was hot. I laughed about all the little comments you’d make about what she looks like and what her ass is like and how you don’t understand why she’s with me and how if she wanted a real man, she’d get with you. I was fine with it. The way you flirt with her, the way you look at her.”

“I’m joking around. Poking fun. Yeah, she’s a beautiful woman. And I do think you’re lucky as fuck that you landed someone like her. But no way in hell would she leave a guy like you for me. And as far as looking at her a certain way, what…?”

“Just stop with her. I could take it at first. At first it seemed harmless. But that’s my wife. The mother of my kids. And I don’t fucking like it. How close you’re always trying to get to her. So I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.”

“I think you’re losing it,” Koen laughs. “I think you’re going mental. No one is trying to steal your wife, mate. Especially not me. I’d never do that to you, you should know that. I’d never do you like that.”

“I’d just rather you not do the things you do. Not talk about her the way you do. It bugs the shit out of me. I’ve already had one person try and fuck things up between us. I won’t let anyone else try it.”

“I think you need your head read.  Professional help of some kind. Because I have no idea where all that came from or what you’re so fucking insecure about. She ain’t ever gonna be with the likes of me when she’s got someone like you with your pretty blue eyes and your muscles out to next week. It’s obvious as fuck that she ain’t ever gonna leave you. That she loves your dumb, stupid ass for some reason. Must be just as mental as you.”

“You’re going to drive me mental is what you’re going to do,” Tyler retorts, then moves to the door when a pounding -likely from the toe of a shoe or a boot- threatens to shake it off its hinges. Snapping open the deadbolt and removing the chain lock after a quick check through the peephole determines there’s no threat waiting out in the hall.

“How you feeling?” Yaz inquires, as he and Ovi step into the room. “You good? Got your head in the game?”

“My head’s exactly where it needs to be. Not like Koen’s, which is shoved up so far up my ass…”

“He’s in a mood,” Koen interjects. “Being a little bitch.”

“He doesn’t like to talk before he goes out,” Yaz explains. “Too much talk and chatter and noise fucks with his head space; keeps him out of the zone. We realized a long time ago not to say shit to him until it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll learn. We did.”

Ovi nods in agreement.

“Bring me what I need?” Tyler asks.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” This…” Yaz reaches into the pocket of his black jeans, pulling a flat, silver disk no larger than a dime. “...is how we hear you. Just gotta tap your finger against it to activate it. It’s all charged and ready to go.” He slips a hand through the open zipper on Tyler’s hoodie, attaching the disk -via a small yet powerful magnet on the back[ to the neck of Tyler’s t-shirt. “...and this…” from his second pocket, he removes a listening device; small and kidney bean shaped, moulded out of clear silicone. “...is how you hear me. Just slip this right in your ear. Got it?”

Tyler nods, then plucks the device from Yaz’ palm and slips it into his left ear.  A creature of habit; using the same routines and following the same rituals he’d discovered he was most comfortable with during his early days in the game. Each merc has their ‘thing’; lucky underwear or socks, certain meals they’ll consume before heading out, the same song they’ll listen to on repeat to fire themselves up. His ‘thing’ has always revolved around his gear. Putting pieces on in a certain order, cleaning all his weapons TWICE, not engaging in conversation in the last hour leading up. It’s all mind over matter, but it never fails to feel as if it’s giving him an edge. Even a sense of comfort and security.

“Ovi will drop you off at the shipping and receiving door,” Yaz says. “Our inside guy will be waiting. Knock twice so he knows it’s you. He’ll have a key to the freight elevator; take that to the twelfth floor, leave the key on the window ledge. I know you already know all of this, but it calms my nerves to go through it again.”

Tyler smirks. “You’re an odd duck, Yaz.”

“This coming from a guy who puts three shots of espresso in his coffee right before a gig.”

“Could be doing a lot worse. Remember that guy who used to short two lines of coke right before he went out?”

“Lorenzo. Fuck, I forgot about him. Whatever happened to him?”

“Got into a bar fight in Chicago and got fucked up. Last I heard he was running with some rogue crew that works out of New Mexico.”

“That guy was a whackadoo. Makes you look sane and that’s saying something. Now remember, you only have three minutes. That’s it. Wait by the freight elevator until I tell you that I’ve killed the security cameras. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“When you’re done, haul ass. Ovi will be waiting two blocks west. In front of a dry cleaners. You won’t be able to  miss him.”

“You better fucking be there,” Tyler warns Ovi. “‘Cause if you leave me hanging, I’ll gut you like a fish next.”

Ovi’s eyes widen, and both Tyler and Yaz burst into laughter at his surprised -and terrified- expression.

“I’m kidding, kid. I’d never do that. I’d beat you ass, But I wouldn’t do THAT.”

“Good to go?” Yaz asks.  “Got everything you need?”

Tyler scowls.

“Right...right...I know. I ask the same stupid shit before every job.  Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I still think letting him go alone is fucked up,” Koen remarks, still sitting by the balcony door.

Yaz sighs. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Twenty minutes until go time and you’re bringing me this? Now is NOT the time for this. One and two. Gotta take ‘em out. That’s what he’s going to do. Enough of this shit?”

“What if something goes wrong?” Koen asks.

“Something’s going to go wrong in a second when I toss your ass off the balcony,” Tyler snarls. “What is your major malfunction? Do you know how many of these I’ve done? How many jobs I’ve been on? I can fucking take care of myself, mate. You’re only gonna get in the way if you tag along. Let me take care of my shit, you take care of yours.”

“I said I’d keep an eye on ya. This isn’t keeping an eye on ya. Letting you go off on your own.”

“We gotta go,” Yaz says, and yanks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Time’s a wastin. We’re going to miss these guys if you don’t leave now.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler assures his friend. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’ve been in way more dangerous situations than this and I always came out of them alive.  I ain’t breaking that streak now.”

“You fuck up and something happens to you, I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again. Hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Tyler says, and then gives a small, almost uncomfortable chuckle when Koen embraces him in front of the others. His tone and face both softening when he tousles what little hair his friend has left on his head. “I’ll be careful, mate. I got this. You and Rata be careful out there. These guys? Mahajan and his people? They don’t fuck around. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Who’s gonna watch yours?” Koen inquires, and Tyler gives him a quick, one armed hug before heading for the door.

“I watch my own.”

***

“Change of plans,” Tyler says, when Ovi pulls the rented SUV into the alley behind the Grand Hyatt.

The younger man’s eyes widen. “Change of plans? No change of plans! Why a change of plans?”

“Did you not fucking notice the police station half a block away from the dry cleaners? There’s no way your old man doesn’t have law enforcement in on this. Remember Asif? Dhaka? Look what he was able to do. And your old man has a lot more power than Asif ever had.”

“We can’t just go and change things,” Ovi protests. “We can’t…”

“I’m the boss. I can do whatever the hell I want. You park and wait for me there, they’ll see me coming. And you can’t tell me that spineless fuck doesn’t have my picture plastered all over the goddamn place. Go two blocks EAST. Not west. Then text me and let me know where you are.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ovi laments. “We should just stick to the plan. We should…”

Scowling, Tyler angrily snatches him by the front of the shirt. “Fucking listen to me! I call the shots and I am telling you to go east. Not west. Just do as I fucking say and then wait for me. Understand?”

Ovi swallows noisily and nods frantically.

“I go anywhere near that police station, I’m fucked. I’ve got a knife and a Glock on me. I don’t stand a goddamn chance if they all start shooting. So do what I say and I at least live long enough to call my kids tonight and read them a bedtime story. Now fucking listen to me and don’t get me killed!”

He doesn’t give Ovi a chance to respond, instead throwing open the passenger door and climbing out; hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head down as he heads for the loading docks and the shipping and receiving doors. It’s better to be safe than sorry; not taking the chance that there’s any outside cameras that can capture a decent picture of him entering the building. His strides are long and purposeful, yet calm and confident; stones, dirt, and other debris crunching and shifting under the soles of his combat boots.

It’s just as easy as Yaz said it would be; knocks being promptly answered, no eye contact made or words exchanged as a single gold plated key is pressed into the palm of his hand as he passes by. And he’s not sure if it’s plain lucky or the ‘inside man’ had arranged to keep other employees out of the area, but it’s oddly quiet and he doesn’t encounter another living soul during his short walk through the bowels of the hotel and to the service elevator.

He’s been on the job long enough that nerves are no longer an issue. Learning long ago that the more relaxed you are and the more you’re able to ‘silence’ your brain, the smoother and easier things will go. Focusing on something other than the task at hand keeps you from dwelling on your game plan, which in turn prevents you from second guessing yourself and switching things up at the last second. That only leads to disaster. He’s seen many a good merc seriously injured and even killed because they thought too much; letting the game fuck to much with their heads and getting an advantage on them instead of the other way around.  So instead of thinking of the task mere minutes away, he lets his mind go blank; eyes riveted on the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as it makes it slow, rumbling ascent. Hands still shoved in his pockets as he slowly rocks back and forth on his heels. It’s a habit that ‘new Tyler’ has fallen into an ‘old Tyler’ can’t seem to break; that slight motion of his body that’s comforted many a crying or colicky baby and has gotten them to sleep when all other methods seemed futile.  And it works for his nerves as well; taking off the edge yet never stripping away the one emotion he does allow himself to feel. Rage.

“You in?” Yaz’ voice pipes in through the ear piece, and Tyler reaches into his hoodie to tap a finger against the disk attached to the front of his shirt.

“I’m in. On the ninth floor now.”

“Twelfth is clear. You’ll see a cleaning person; that’s one of ours. Got one on each floor preventing other people from leaving their rooms. Let me know when you get off the service elevator and I’ll kill the security cameras. Remember, you’ve only got three minutes.”

“What if they don’t get on the elevator?”

“Do what you have to do. Rooms 903 and 905. Take them out whatever way you have to. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

The elevator comes to a shuddering, rumbling stop; doors shuddering as they slowly slide open. He leaves the lone key on the window sill as instructed, then mumbles a low, drawn out “Fuck” and  quickly turns on his heel to face outside when he hears voices -female- approaching from around the corner.  He can see their reflections in the glass; young, nearly twenties, their glossy  dark hair pulled back into ponytails and their tall, willowy bodies clad in the burgundy and gold uniforms sported by all hotel staff. And they never pause in their loud, animated conversation or even glance in his direction as they wait for the elevator. Seconds seem like minutes; his annoyance growing with each passing moment, an audible sigh of relief leaving his lips when the elevator finally arrives and the women step aboard, doors slowly sliding closed.

“Do your thing,” he says. “I’m good to go.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz responds. “Cameras going down in five...four...three...two...one.   You’ve got three minutes. Go.”

Tyler swiftly turns on his heel; feet going from gleaming tile to plush carpet. And he exchanges a quick nod with Yaz’ ‘man’; one hand still shoved in the pocket of his sweater as the other reaches out to hit the button to call the elevator.

“One and two are leaving their rooms now,” Yaz says. “Elevator is two floors above you. No one on it. You’re in the clear.”

“They armed?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s just go ahead and assume they are. Stay on your toes.”

“You doubting my knowledge of this shit, Yaz? You telling  me how to do things?”

“I’m nervous. Fuck off, Rake.” It’s always last name only when Yaz gets riled up; his nerves and stress are always on high alert, even when he’s not the one actually out there doing the dirty work.  “Two minutes and thirty seconds,”  he says, when the elevator finally arrives and Tyler steps on. “Think you can handle this, old man?”

Smirking, Tyler directs a middle finger at the camera he knows is mounted just above the control panels. And he settles himself as that rear of the lift, casually leaning back against the mirrored wall, both hands out of his pockets and arms now crossed over his chest.

“I’d say good luck but I know you won’t need it,” Yaz says. “We’re going silent for the rest of the trip. Talk in a few. Have fun.”

He gives a nod and a tight lipped smile. The adrenaline is at its peak now. Even after all these years it’s a rush; the possibility of the situation turning dangerous, the quick and efficient pace he’ll have to work at. But it’s not the adrenaline that has his heart thundering in his chest or the rush of blood thundering in his ears or his jaw clenching. It’s rage. The knowledge that he’s about to come face to face with pure and utter evil. People that would have done horrible and vile things to his family. His CHILDREN. It’s the desire...the want...the NEED...to take another life.

He recognizes them when they step onto the elevator; faces familiar from the pictures he’s been studying since Anil gave him ‘the list’. And neither pause in their conversation -a mixture of both Hindi and English- but both give him polite smiles and nods, one even offering a friendly “good morning” that he’s hesitant to return but bites the bullet and does anyway.  And he briefly looks over his shoulder; quickly studying himself to make sure the rage isn’t as visibly obvious as it feels.  Both men have their backs to him; shoulders pressed together, their words and their laughter hanging heavily in the air. And while his eyes study them from head to toe and attempt to ascertain any possible threat or if they are armed, his right hand reaches under his hoodie,  thumb sliding through the loop that sits on the top of the knife; fingers curling around the hilt.

“Excuse me for a second, would ya mate?” He asks, then using his own shoulder to push his way between them, successfully creating a gap; fingers reaching for one of the floor numbers before he slams his palm against the stop button.  

The elevator gives a sudden, violent lurch and Tyler uses it to his advantage. Throwing his entire body weight into the man on the right, the collision  sending both of them  into the side wall.. And Tyler slams his elbow into the sternum with enough force to break  it; the audible crack and the man’s startled and pained yelp echoing in the small, cramped area.  A noise that only becomes shrill and terrified when he effortlessly jams the tip of the knife into the already injured man’s navel, and with a ruthless and vicious upwards yank -one fluid, easy motion- he sends the sharp, glistening blade up to the hollow of the man’s throat. His first  victim drops into a heap on the floor; still gurgling and flailing helplessly as he clings to the last shred of life as his own blood and some of his internal organs begin to pool around him.

The fist that’s thrown his way is easy to avoid; his instincts and reflexes are quick and uncompromising. And he’s able to hook an arm around the other man’s bicep  and throw him to his stomach; forehead and chest  slamming off the blood soaked floor. And he’s attempting to scramble to his feet when Tyler places  a knee in the middle of his back; every pound and inch of his much broader, taller, strong frame shoved into every shred of pressure he applies.

“Look at me,” Tyler orders, and when the man below him refuses, snatches a fistful of hair and yanks his head back. “I said fucking look at me!”

The eyes that look up at him are terrified, yet still bear a remaining glitter of deviance.

“You recognize me now don’t you,” Tyler snarls. “Well this is what you get for fucking with my family.”  

He slams the knife home just under the left ear. And he can hear the  tear of skin, muscle and tissue and the crack of cartilage as the tip pierces straight through. Pausing briefly; allowing the full reality set into the other man’s brain before he quickly draws the knife across his throat. Jamming it in  far enough to hit bone when he reaches the other ear; hand still tightly gripping silky, thick hair, gaze never wavering and his rage never subsiding as he watches all life and hope drain from the other man’s face and eyes.

There’s a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he stands; hands steady as he swipes the blade of the knife across one of his thighs, cleaning the blood off of it before slipping it back under his hoodie and into its holder. He’s barely broken a sweat, and he’s eerily calm as he steps through the growing puddle of blood and over the lifeless carcasses; releasing the stop button and then pressing the one for the next available floor.

Tyler checks his watch. There's still a minute and a half remaining.

It feels good to be back.

****

“A minute and a half,” Yaz says in way of greeting, when Tyler strolls into the conference room twenty minutes later; already shrugging out of his blood and sweat soaked hoodie. “Not too bad for an old fuck! Didn’t misplace  a hip, did you old timer?”

“Hope I don’t misplace my foot when I put it up your ass,” he playfully retorts, unable to contain the grin that spreads across his face.

It’s one of immense satisfaction. Pride, even.  Feeling relief that he hasn’t lost his edge or any of his abilities and he’s only become stronger and faster. Smarter. His skills and his instincts seem sharper than before.  And it feels good; the physical act of killing. It’s the first time he’s ever encountered that; enjoying  taking a life and watching someone in the thralls of death. But it’s personal this time around. Mahajan never should have threatened him or his wife and his children. Because now he’s going to enjoy every second of sending that message loud and clear: you’ve fucked with the wrong man’s family.

“I will never...EVER...again doubt you, oh wise one,” Yaz chuckles, and then dramatically bows to him. “Made a fuck of a mess of the elevator though. Couldn’t have been more graceful about things?”

“Messier it is, the bigger and louder the message it sends. And thanks, by the way. You almost dumped my ass right by a police station.”

“Yeah,  Ovi called me. Told me about the change in plans. Sorry about that, Ooops.”

“Oops? I could have gotten my ass shot on the first day and that’s all you can say? Ooops? How the fuck did you miss that, anyway? You’re usually on the ball when it comes to this recon shit. What the fuck, mate?”

“You know, sometimes I DO screw up.”

“Well don’t screw up when it’s my ass on the line, yeah?”  Tyler removes both the earpiece and the transmitter and drops them onto the conference table. “Those little things are a hell of a lot better than those wired pieces of shit we used to have.  I’m not fucking choking myself trying to use an ear piece attached to a fucking radio. How’s things? Anyone else check in?”

“Koen and Rata are chasing their guys down. They've given them the slip twice already.”

Tyler smirks, then slips the t-shirt over his head and drops it and the hoodie into a nearby chair. “Rookies.”

“Anil and Nathan are doing some surveillance on the other side of town. Gonna be pissed and jealous as shit when I tell them you’re already done and back.  Other than that, there’s not much to tell you.”

He tears the velcro strips open on the one side of the vest; left shoulder and rib cage finally free. Grunting and grimacing at the pain in his right arm when he slips the vest over his head.  Then peels  off the sweaty tank and uses it to  wipe sweat and blood from his face, brow, and neck. Unable to contain the smirk that plays on his lips when he catches sight of the young female tech across the room intently watching him.

“Hey!” Yaz snaps at her. “Focus! That ain’t your prize you’re looking at. He’s married!”

Tyler chuckles, then reaches for a bottle of water from the case sitting in the middle of the table.  “Kinda harsh, mate. She’s harmless. She can look.”

“What is it with you and all the thirsty women? They don’t even care about that ring on your finger.”

“I care about it and that’s all that matters. They can be as thirsty as they want. I’m not entertaining it, so…”

“Still disrespectful as fuck. To you, your wife. I mean, you’re married. You’ve got kids, for fuck sake. Means they should back the fuck off. And speaking of married, you hear from Esme?”

“She left me a message before they left. Said she’d call as soon as they got in. It’s a long flight; they won’t be here until at least six.”  He both groans and grimaces when he drops into one of the chairs, and then reaches down to untie his boots and toe them off. “I did make a fucking mess, didn’t I,” he observes, as he picks up one boot, then the other, surveying the splatters of blood on the fabric and the already drying mess on each sole.

“Felt good though, didn’t it.  To get shit done. To kill the fuckers that we’re going to kill your family. Bet it felt damn good.”

“Even better than I thought it would,” he admits.

“You going to the airport?” Yaz asks.

“Didn’t know it was an option. Thought I was supposed to to stay away. Until I was given the all clear.”

“That’s for when they’re at the house. What harm could come from you showing up at the airport? No one even knows you’re in Mumbai yet. We’d hear chatter if Mahajan was suspicious. If you wanna go…”

“I don’t wanna fuck things up. If someone IS following me…”

“You’d know that by now. Fuck, you’d probably be DEAD right now. And we’ve got eyes and ears on you. I can send  a couple of people to tail you, just in case. You’ve got nothing else going on for the rest of that day. You’ve earned your keep. And then some.”

“I could go out and help Rata and Koen chase their guys down. Or do my own surveillance. Take Ovi with me. Teach him something that won’t lead to me getting shot in the head.”

“It’s the first day,” Yaz says. “Relax. You’ve done enough. Take the down time while you can.”

“I could use a shower and a  change of clothes. Something to eat. Maybe some sleep.”

“Go to the airport,” Yaz insists. “I’ll have people follow you. I know it’s killing you; being away from your family. It’ll do you a world of good to see them. Even if it is just for a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “It would. Wouldn’t mind hugging and kissing my wife and seeing my kids.”

“Your job’s done for the day. Shit is only going to get harder and more intense from here on out. Who knows when you’ll get to see them next. Go clean yourself up. Get some food in you. Some sleep. And then go and see your family. You’re one of the lucky ones, man. You’ve GOT a family that you can see. Don’t take that for granted.”

“That’s something I DEFINITELY have to stop doing.”

“I know they’re probably dying to see you too. Can’t tell me those kids don’t miss their daddy. They’re pretty nuts about ya.”

He grins. “Yeah, I’m pretty nuts about them too. You sure you guys will be okay without me?”

“We’ll manage. If I need you THAT bad, I know how to get a hold of you. Seriously, go and see your family, Tyler.  I know you want to. I know you NEED to.”

He nods in agreement, then sighs heavily as he stands up; hand on the small of his back, wince on his face.

“Maybe you did throw out your hip,” Yaz chides.

“It’s my back, you fucking drongo. You know it’s been shit since I had to go and save Gaspar’s sorry ass.”

“You took  a bullet an inch from your fucking spine,” Yaz reminds him. “You’re lucky to even be walking. Want me to get you a cane? A wheelchair? Want me to carry you? Need me to help fill out the papers for your old age security?”

“I’m hurting, but I can still beat your ass into the middle of the next week.”

“Judging by the show you put on the elevator, I know that’s fact. That was amazing by the way. Good job. Damn good job.”

“Only gets better from here, yeah? Each one will get a little nastier and bloodier.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to enjoy that,” Yaz observes.

He’s smirking as he picks up his dirty clothes and boots, then heads for the door. “I am.”

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Day 8

Day 8 of the Hello Spring 2020 Writing Prompt Challenge

Characters- Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Ellen Harvelle

Warnings- Classic Rock. Insult it, and face my wrath.

Prompt- “Can I call you?”

Wordcount- 1,345

             Humming the tune of AC/DC’s Girl’s Got Rhythm you served up drinks and polished glasses efficiently. Ellen’s Roadhouse saw plenty of traffic, most of which was hunters looking for a way to celebrate a success, or mourn a failure. You yourself were a well-known hunter, specifically for the kill-count record you held as the undefeated heavyweight champ of werewolf slaying, but you liked to work at Ellen’s bar when you took breaks from tracking down another fanged and furred beast. You didn’t even realize you were still humming the classic rock song as you poured a glass of whiskey for a man you hadn’t really looked at, but he did. 

            “AC/DC, huh? Didn’t take you for a fan.” The man said, voice low, smooth, and making you snap your eyes his way. “Sorry, I forget I’m even doing it.” You laughed. “Wait, if you’re on of those people who diss AC/DC, I’m going to advise you to get a drink from a different bartender.” You said seriously, eyes narrowed at the man. You took advantage of his brief surprise to give him a once-over. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, and with a jawline that could cut diamonds, and bloody hell, those eyes. Too bad he hated good music. “What, you kiddin’? I mean, they’re no Led Zeppelin, but they’re a classic!” He scoffed, as though even suggesting he disliked rock offended him deeply. “That’s not a fair comparison considering Stairway to Heaven is the greatest rock song ever written, but I’ll let it slide.” You winked, the green-eyed man giving you a toothy and crooked grin. “Where the hell have you been my whole life?” Green-eyes grinned, extending a hand. “Name’s Dean.” “Y/N. So, ignoring your misguided opinion that Led Zeppelin is better than AC/DC, what else do you like?” You asked.

            You and Dean talked and laughed for the better part of three hours, swapping favourite songs and bands, and testing each other’s rock knowledge. “A ‘67 Impala? Damn. My baby’s a ‘57, Bel Air. Got the white wall tires and everything.” You shared,Dean whistling in admiration. “Sounds like a beauty. You’re an awesome chick, Y/N. Sweet ride, good taste, in music and men,” Dean winked as you rolled your eyes, “and you’re a hunter.” “A what?” You asked, deciding teasing him could be fun. Dean turned pale. “Oh shit- uh, y’know, I thought you were-” “I am. I didn’t tell my last name, did I? Y/N L/N, werewolf huntress extraordinaire.” You bowed dramatically, Dean breaking into relieved laughter. “Jesus, woman, tryin’ to give me a heart attack, or what? Really got me for a minute. I’m Dean Winchester, by the way. Started-the-apocalypse-on-accident-and-died-a-million-times Dean Winchester.” He joked. You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “Man, the stories I’ve heard about you...” You trailed off, Dean nodding his head. “Yeah, well, I can tell ya hunters tend to exaggerate.” He waved dismissively. “Oh no, you’re not escaping this one so easily. I wanna hear the real story. C’mon, Dean, I’ll even bring you whiskey on me.” You winked. Dean groaned aloud. “You play dirty, sweetheart. How am I supposed to say no to that face and free whiskey?” Dean complained.

            “Well, I’ll be damned.” You said at last, somewhat stunned by Dean’s story. “No kiddin’.” He chuckled. “Well, now that I’ve spilled my guts to you, it’s your turn. What does Y/N L/N like besides cool cars, good music- Led Zeppelin is totally better, by the way, but I won’t argue- and my favourite brand of scotch?” Dean questioned, leaning forwards with a smirk. “I had a normal childhood, actually. Started hunting when I was 20, after a werewolf got my parents. I’m an only child, so dropping out of college and starting to hunt seemed like the best way to do it, and I didn’t have a brother to talk me out of it. I met Ellen Harvelle a year later, and she took me in, taught me everything I needed to know, gave me a home.” You said, smiling at the older woman at the other end of the bar. “And I work here when I can. That’s really all there is to it.” You shrugged. “I ain’t buyin’ that for a minute, but you can tell me the rest of the story next time.” Dean said with a deadpan face. “Next time? You plannin’ on a next time, Winchester?” You asked teasingly, arching your brow. Dean leaned in with a mischievous look to his emerald green eyes. “If I say drinks are on me, do my chances go up?” He asked. “Drinks were on you either way, but you’re lucky you’re cute.” You winked. “It is one of my finest qualities. Y’know, after my superior taste in bands.” Dean shrugged cockily. You swatted his shoulder with a glare. “Keep insulting AC/DC and this fine ass is marching itself far away from you.” You threatened. Dean donned a frightened face.”I’m sorry, I swear! You wouldn’t be so cruel as to hit a man’s pride, would ya, sweetheart?” He pouted. “Way I see it, you’ve got enough pride for the both of us, but I do like free drinks, so you’re off the hook for now.” You smiled. “Thank God.” Dean sighed dramatically.

             You were busy after that, but made your way back to Dean when you could. “Hey, Winchester.” You greeted. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m actually headed out now. Got a hunt tomorrow.” Dean said apologetically. “Oh, alright. Next time you’re in town, you owe me a drink, though.” You reminded, a smile playing across Dean’s plump lips. “Will do. Before I go, could I get your number? So you know when I’m in town?” Dean asked, looking nervous, but hiding it well. You smiled softly back at him. “Sure thing, Winchester.” You agreed, his eyes widening slightly like he’d expected a different response before you punched your digits into his phone. Dean grinned back at you and pocketed his phone. 

              “Can I call you? Just to talk, maybe convince you Zeppelin’s a better band?” Dean raised a brow, giving you a lopsided smirk that made him even more attractive. “My mind is set, but yeah, you’d better call. Now, get outta here, before one of us does something stupid.” You teased. “Like what?” “You can’t expect me to not want to kiss you when you look at me like that.” You scoff, inwardly surprised by your own boldness. Dean’s broad smile grew even brighter, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Then I guess I’m gonna have to keep looking at you like that.” He retorted, leaning in. You gave him a cocky smirk of your own, and closed the distance between you.

               The kiss was maybe a bit more passionate than was appropriate, but you blamed it on him for looking like an actual Greek God. Dean’s stubble was rough on your hands and cheeks, but you didn’t mind, and he tasted like the whiskey you’d served him, and something uniquely Dean. He wasn’t soft, per se, but he was gentle, letting you make the moves and take the lead, though it was clear he was holding himself back. Just when you tilted your head slightly, your logical brain caught up with you, and you realized you were making out in a crowded bar the woman you saw as a surrogate mother owned with a man you’d met that night. Pulling away quickly, you placed a hand on Dean’s heaving chest. “I would very much like to continue this, but the bar is not the best place, and I, unfortunately, am not off of work.” You explained with a sigh. “Gives me more reason to come back sooner.” Dean winked, looking just as flustered as you did. “Make it real soon, Dean.” “Will do, sweetheart.” Dean gave you a last kiss and a flirty smile, and walked out of the Roadhouse.

             “Not that I’m not supportive of your datin’ life, but maybe not in my bar, hon.” “Sorry, Ellen. It’s his fault for bein’ so damn attractive.” “Mhm. That’s what they all say.”

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