#woman brought tape measure to a bar

[lejacquelope]

Women aren't dating anymore, they're accessory-hunting. It's over for all of Gen-Y and Z. Sorry guys but the last good women were born in Gen-X. It's all downhill from here.

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls (Ch. 6)

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Five | Masterlist | Chapter Seven

The package sat loudly on the counter, unmoved from the spot Grace had set it when she brought in the mail yesterday. She’d meant to open it last night, obviously, but she’d been at the art gala with Stephanie until late and then decided to call her mom back –who scolded her for not coming home recently enough and threatened to visit, which would actually be kind of nice, except Grace didn’t want her seeing the new house until the renovations were done, or her mom would try to help and Grace wanted this place to be all hers. Then for obvious reasons it was no longer the right time to open the box.

But as Grace made her coffee the next morning, she eyed the box. It would be weird to open it now, right? In the morning? She’d paid extra for the rush shipping though so it felt stupid to then just let the box sit there. She could have just waited for standard shipping then. Not that money was the issue but there was morality in patience so she didn’t usually rush things. This time she’d made an exception after foolishly flirting with yet another man who committed only the crime of politeness –this time the guy at Best Buy helping her choose the right TVs for the new place, something she had never bought in her life and now she needed three and he’d just been so nice and supportive and non-predatory and good looking. She’d thought he was flirting. Maybe he was? After she’d made her purchase and booked the appointment for someone to come set them up, she began to worry he hadn’t been flirting. She hadn’t exactly done anything egregious, just smiled and laughed and felt flirty about it, but that was enough as far as she was concerned. She could not let her libido turn her into the sort of divorced woman who flirted with everything with a pulse. She didn’t want to be that kind of divorcee! 

Not that she thought there was anything wrong with a woman fucking around if she had the opportunity, if she knew it was welcome, but Grace found herself uncertain about taking that sort of step without unassailable, undeniable proof it was welcome. She was worried about inviting the wrong guy into her bed and repeating the last ten years. She was worried about rebounding and getting attached and hurting herself just as she’d finally gained her freedom. She was worried about making a fool of herself at an age she was supposed to have figured things out by. 

Grace set her empty plate in the sink instead of dealing with it now, and turned towards the box. Seconds before ripping it open with her hands –the tape on these things was so weak!-- she recalled the scolding from her nail lady and opted for the kitchen scissors instead.

Sure, she’d placed the order, but still her eyes went wide as she pulled things from the box: a long purple vibrator with a ridged end allegedly perfect for hitting just the right spot; a sparkly pink dildo that made her realize she did not understand measurements because was six inches really this big?!; a spray bottle of toy cleaner; and a plain bottle of unscented lube. The company had also thrown in several sample packets of flavored lube, which kind of ticked her off. What did she care if it was scented? What about her order made them think she had someone to try flavored lube on?!

The dildo was heavy in her hand. It had been at least ten years since she’d owned a dildo, and it wasn’t even one she’d bought; she’d been gifted one at her bridal shower amid ripples of giggles –largely from her own mother and grandmother. She’d never used it, didn’t even know what had happened to it so probably Tim had chucked it. Why would she, she had a brand new husband who’d seemed insatiably into her, willing to jump into the sack at the slightest lift of her eyebrow.

She recoiled from the memories now. They disgusted her. In the end, she hadn’t been enough –no. No, she had been enough, he was just an asshole. Not even a sex addict, just a horny bastard bored of the same sex with the same woman. Well she’d been bored of it too! He hadn’t satisfied her in years but she’d shrugged it off because she’d made a commitment that had nothing to do with good sex, it was about partnership and commitment. She would have endured a lifetime of no good sex…

Nauseating. No longer an issue, at least not for the same reason. She just needed to figure out how people did that. Not sex, she understood how sex worked, but how you got there in the first place. Could it have been as easy with that waiter as saying yeah I want to bang, let’s go? That didn’t seem right. What about… boundaries and condoms and sexual health and whether to stay or go afterwards? What about communicating what pleased her and understanding what pleased him? How the hell were you supposed to know what was good for someone you didn’t even know? And she sure didn’t know what was good for herself anymore, now that she’d let it get dusty down there. It seemed impossible she had ever been single and navigated this, but she had been a young pretty twenty-something and overly confident in her ability to choose good men.

Well. No time like the present. She eyed Foam, happily licking an extended leg within his favorite sunbeam in the empty room that would be the rec room –the walls of windows looking into the back porch didn’t seem appropriate for anything else so she was thinking of putting a wall of mirror on the other, installing a good fan, another TV, an elliptical and a bike. 

Now wasn’t the time to get distracted with home projects. Foam looked like he was settling in for a nap and probably wouldn’t interrupt. 

She carried her goods up the stairs to her master bedroom, the second room just about complete. The gauzy embroidered curtains she’d ordered for all the windows hadn’t arrived yet, nor the ornate rods she would hang them on, and she would take her time finding the right art for the walls–

Sex. Orgasm. Not tasks! Grace pulled the drab curtains closed for some privacy, but left the windows open because the early May morning was pleasant and the paint fumes from down the hall still needed airing out. 

First she dutifully cleaned the toys in the master bathroom sink. Then she set them on a towel on her nightstand to dry as she pulled her pants off. It felt ridiculous to be doing this in the morning… like having a beer with breakfast, the timing was all wrong. But excitement was growing just at the suggestion of a satisfying orgasm, and she wasn’t going to stop now just for some silly notion of right time. She’d spent too much of her life trying to do things at the right time and now look at it all. 

It also felt a little silly to have her shirt on but not her pants, but she decided to leave that too. She got settled in bed, under nice crisp sheets, before realizing she needed batteries for the vibrator. So she wrapped the throw around her body and shuffled downstairs to dig around for where she might have tucked them, feeling sillier by the minute for carving so much time out of her morning just for an orgasm.

Batteries found, back upstairs she went, only to discover it was actually a rechargeable and had blessedly come already charged. 

The Cosmo article she’d been reading had suggested the dildo-vibrator combination for “earth-shattering orgasm,” hence the dual purchase. They had not mentioned that you might feel a bit silly smearing lube onto a dildo at 8:35 in the morning. Lube had been her least favorite thing about sex with Tim –time would tell whether the need for it was simply a fact of life beyond her twenties or if her flailing attraction to her own husband’s pathetic overtures was to blame. God, she couldn’t believe she’d tried to view their sex life as healthy at the time. It was so… pathetic now. So obviously terrible! 

If she kept thinking about Tim, the whole bottle of lube wasn’t going to be enough. She propped her legs open and positioned the dildo at her entrance; the cold lube made her shiver and clench in a completely unsexy way. She grabbed the vibrator with her left hand and positioned it above her clit. When she clicked it on, the vibrations were way too strong at the start and she yanked her hand away with an actual squeak. 

Why was she acting like a teen girl touching herself for the first time?! Grace had a healthy sex life before Tim, including a healthy solo sex life. Maybe dildos hadn’t been her thing but she’d been well-versed in vibrators from the time her mom bought her first one at sixteen with the sage warning use this before every date so you never make a stupid decision about a man. That and a very frank explanation of the birds and bees when Grace was eight, were the only thing her mother had ever directly said to her about sex; they just didn’t talk about things like that, though Grace heard plenty from her older sister Diana and slightly older cousins so she was decently well informed by her first experience which was had been, to be honest, rather unimpressive.

“Why am I thinking about all of this?” she sighed to herself. It was like her mind couldn’t stop long enough to even seek pleasure. That was exactly why she needed this! She slid the vibrator and dildo back into place. The vibrator felt good but the dildo just felt like being poked. There was no atmosphere, no mood, and certainly no technique. 

She needed to be in the right mindset, not overly critical like this. She reached further back in time than Tim, but not back to those awkward first experiences. There had been some satisfying ones, back before Tim somehow stole her attention and her heart, before Oskar broke it –god, not the right time to think about him either. Before that, she’d dated around a bit, she’d had good sex that carried no emotional baggage for her now. Men who– well, young men, she’d been in her early twenties, which felt so long ago right now… 

Shut up, shut up, shut up. This was a bust. She sighed and let the dildo flop heavily to the bed between her legs. 

“No, you’re doing this,” she scolded, just as quickly. Even without the dildo, if need be! She slid the vibrator back into place and took slow, steady breaths, trying to empty her mind and focus on only what would be helpful now. She needed atmosphere. She needed touch, even if imagined. She closed her eyes and tried to picture a strong hand sliding down her thigh, skating between her legs, taking hold of the vibrator and the dildo. The nameless, faceless owner of the hand kissed her forehead, her cheek– no, too romantic, she wasn’t looking for that right now, she just wanted to cum. The mouth wasn’t important, just the hands sliding over her body, gripping, caressing, working her open with strong, tanned fingers.

OK, ok this was going better. She picked the dildo up again and slid it into place, envisioning the dark top of Nameless Guy’s head as he focused on positioning himself just where she wanted him to be. She pushed the dildo, just testing, as her other hand slid the vibrator a little here, a little there, trying not to come on too strong, but this was working, it was feeling good, and the clear head would feel worth it!

Suddenly music outside interrupted her daydream. She jolted just as the music lowered to a reasonable volume out of her own speakers. With a start she realized it must be JK here to work on the pool, and that she’d been so focused on her new toys she hadn’t even realized he was here.

She glanced at the rustling drapes and hesitated… she ought to stop but… why? He was working, it wasn’t like he knew what she was doing, she could go out and say hi after she finished and maybe took a cool shower… besides she’d been getting pretty close, why ruin a good thing?

So she closed her eyes and repositioned everything and took her deep breaths to get herself back to that place, to the imagined feel of those hands spreading and smoothing her thighs, squeezing her chest, gripping her ass while she pushed the dildo further in, slow, steady movements intended to mimic Faceless Nameless guy’s movements.

“For a while there it was rough but lately I’ve been doing better…”

JK’s voice had a sort of folksy rock twang to it that wasn’t usually there, but Grace had noted  as she’d listened to him sing his way through his CD collection that he seemed to take on traits of the genre,. His voice had this chameleon quality to it, bending and stretching and pulling on a new style to fit any sound. What a skill! And right now that skill drifted up on the breeze and into her bedroom as clearly as if he was serenading her from the balcony. What was this ridiculous acoustic design? The last thing she needed as her vibrator buzzed against her clit was JK’s voice crooning into her ear…

Oh. Oh no. The dark head of Nameless Guy looked up at her and JK’s dark brown eyes sparkled up at her above that crooked smirk.

Grace resisted. She tried to blur his face, scratch out the identifying characteristics, make him just a dark-haired, tanned stranger again… if he had been that way to begin with… 

It was wrong. Maybe that was a thing men did, but Grace couldn’t just use the image of her pool technician to get herself off!

And yet… things moved quickly as Nameless Guy refused to shed the face he’d claimed. Dark ink filled in on his shoulder and bled down through the other tattoos she’d observed only from a distance –the sharks inside his elbow, the compass on his bicep, the light lines on his wrist that looked like a sunrise. Her mind filled in the details it didn’t know, the dimples of shoulder muscles she’d never seen closely or touched–

She should not be letting JK sneak in like this. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t! But as the dildo parted her with its unnatural silicon weight in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, and the vibrator nudged her clit just the right moment, and JK’s voice hit the climax of the song, “I want you, I need you, oh God, don’t take these beautiful things that I’ve DONE”--

Well, Grace did too. Back arching, arms locked, body clenching around the shape of the dildo even once she’d pulled it out, the emptiness more intrusive than the feeling of fulness had been. 

For a few minutes Grace just lay there, tingly and relaxed. She listened to the whole next song that way, eyes closed, running her own fingers soothingly up and down her arm.

Then methodically she cleaned the toys and stashed them in a drawer, and took a shower –just a quick rinse to remove any lingering trace of what she’d just done, ie masturbated to the mental image of her pool guy who was out in her backyard this very moment.

Shit. That was the opposite of what orgasming was supposed to do, help her be free of stupid, impulsive decisions about men.  

God, that was so inappropriate! She hadn’t meant to. He’d snuck in during a weak moment. Obviously he was hot but she was not … like… into him or anything. Men did that, didn’t they? Just “borrowed” a person’s image because she was hot and they needed– ok but she didn’t want to be like a man!

But damn that orgasm had been better than she’d expected– due to the vibrator dildo combination, obviously! Not for any other reason!

She couldn’t ever face him.

“Hey!” she called, facing him anyway, because she had something to prove. She could be normal and kind and keep that oopsy mental image completely separate from the real guy because it was separate from the real guy! Probably she didn’t even have his tattoos right; it wasn’t like she’d ever made a careful study of them. 

He waved at her call but didn’t stop singing this new song, something she didn’t know but it was the same voice as before –the one JK outsang at every bar. The songs were slower, more mellow than the stuff JK usually listened to when he worked on her pool.

“Who is this?” she asked the most casual question she could think of. “It’s good music for your voice.”

“Benson Boone,” he answered, finally looking up, squinting at a patch of sunlight that hit him in the face. His sunglasses sat uselessly atop his head, holding his hair back. It was a little longer than Nameless Guy’s hair –she liked JK’s better, to be honest, he seemed to be growing it out lately. OK, maybe it was centimeters different. The more alarming thing was that her mind had perfectly recreated JK’s face. Was she really so familiar with it?! Well, hadn’t she always been good with faces?

No, no she was actually pretty bad at faces. She’d trained herself to get good at remembering names. 

“And thanks. I just got the album a couple of days ago. More folksy than I usually listen to but it’s good stuff,” he told her. “Thought you might like it.”

“I do but yeah, it doesn’t sound like your usual playlist.”

“Trying to expand my horizons,” he said, and skimmed a wad of leaves from the water to set on the side. “Ah, this is a good song. Happened pretty quickly, jumpin’ in with both feet I’ll go, though I can’t see nothing below, so ready to give up my soul. Movin’ past the boundaries, into waters so deep and so cold–”

The word “boundaries”, so beautifully articulated by JK’s lips, was like a smack to Grace’s backside.

“Yes, it’s great,” she interrupted. “Beautiful day, huh?”

“Perfect day to break in your pool,” he agreed.

“Beg pardon?”

He reached down to shovel the small pile of pool detritus he’d fished out into his bucket, then stepped back and gestured with a flourish, “I present to you, your pool.”

“You’re done? Already?” she frowned before she could think to stop herself.

JK laughed, “I’m not used to hearing that.”

“What?” Grace choked, mind leaping right back to what she’d been doing in her bedroom not twenty minutes ago. Had he meant that as a dirty joke?!

“You know, contractors take too long to finish the job?” he clarified. She could not tell from his face whether he knew the innuendo he’d made or if only her mind had taken a dip in the gutter this morning.

“Oh. Right. Well…”

“Are you happy with it?”

“Yes of course I am, it’s beautiful. I’m sure it’s going to be incredible to swim in,” she rushed out, forcing herself to look at it. The water sparkled in the morning sun, clear and cool, not a single tile left chipped or unpolished. 

“I should have taken before and after pictures,” he sighed. “Bob won’t believe it.”

“I have pictures from before. I’ll take them and send them along,” she promised. JK deserved praise from his boss. He’d done incredible work, and more quickly than she’d expected –not that she had any frame of reference beyond what JK told her to expect. And she supposed this was within that timeframe but still, it felt too suddenly done, didn’t it? 

“You don’t look that happy,” he admitted.

“No! I am. Obviously you did an amazing job. You just didn’t tell me you were getting close,” she said. Then quickly added, “To done. With the pool.”

He shrugged, “I got lucky, sometimes it takes longer to get the water just right but I tested this morning and it’s perfect. You could jump in right now if you wanted.”

She nodded, then shook her head and sighed, “I can’t this morning, but maybe tonight. I promise not to leave your hard work waiting for too long.”

“Good. That’s what makes it all worth doing,” he said, as if repairing her pool had been some higher calling and not a paycheck. He grabbed his tools, chucking anything that would fit into the bucket, then sliding his flip-flops back on. Like he was in a rush, she realized. He had somewhere to be. Other jobs to get to, now that he’d finished this long one. 

“Thank you again,” she said, walking alongside him to his truck. She joked, “I mean it. Mornings are going to be so quiet around here now without you letting yourself into my yard and blasting music to harass the neighbors.” 

“Well I’ll be back in a week to make sure everything looks good still and after that, every two weeks for cleaning, yeah?”

“Oh! Yes. I think I signed up for that? I’ll call Bob today and make sure.”

“Yeah my schedule is pretty booked but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.” He winked when he said it, then chucked stuff into the back of the truck with an alarmingly heavy thud. Before she could think of whether to tease or ignore about the wink –as if he needed to charm her into signing a pool cleaning contract– he continued, “Oh, and if you miss my singing before then, I’ll be covering one of those songs with my band at The Sand Bar this weekend. Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we go on around nine, so not too late.”

“Oh! Let me get your CD before you drive off,” Grace realized. She ran to grab it while he stepped into his truck, then handed it through the open window.

“Think about it, huh? We’re pretty good and you like the music.”

What had that lyric been about boundaries? Grace felt like she ought to listen to it again –but probably not sung by JK with his band at a bar. Objectively she knew she had crossed a line this morning, that a line had already been crossed when JK first left her the CD with Tim’s video on it, and that no good would come from crossing further lines. 

But he seemed so earnest, so sincere in the suggestion, like he really thought it would be cool and normal for her to just show up at the bar he was playing at with his friends.

Wait, was that a normal thing to do though? If her housepainter mentioned he had a jazz band that played brunch on Sundays and she took Stephanie and Ashley, that would be totally fine.

But she hadn’t just orgasmed imagining her housepainter screwing her seven ways to Sunday while she drilled herself with a dildo.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. 

“Ok good. The Sand Bar, Saturday.” He pointed his finger at her like a gun and clicked his tongue against his teeth while winking. She could tell by his response he had not understood her sidestep of the invitation, which was probably for the best. Probably he was being nice or trying to pull in an audience –he’d mentioned before that sometimes they got paid by heads when they played, though most of their gigs were unpaid. If he brought it up again, she would have some easy, polite excuse. That was one skill her mother had taught her well, how to politely manage an impossible social commitment.

Her pride in that was short lived as the gate closed behind the tail lights of his truck. The yard was suddenly so quiet with no music or conversation in it. She hadn’t known this was his last morning here or she wouldn’t have spent it all locked in her room… masturbating.

Ugh, the fact that’s what she’d done –instead of chatting or offering snacks for this final day of his work– was going to haunt her all day. Why hadn’t he mentioned he was almost done? 

Not that it mattered, of course. Not that it was any big thing. In fact it was nice to have the pool done now. She could go swimming right now! It looked beautiful, a sparkling gem tucked back in the yard. She would swim in it soon and really enjoy all that carefully laid tile and the clarity of the water and the absolute lack of frogs. And when JK came back to clean it in two weeks, she would retain a professional, respectful boundary. And in the meantime, she would try to make some actual new friends so she stopped relying on the pool guy for company. And she would, you know, definitely not use his image in her masturbatory fantasy because that was just beneath her. That had been an egregious slip, it was embarrassing, and she would not make the same mistake twice.

Mara had called Jungkook on a Thursday night, hot and bothered and looking for a hook up so of course he had gone. It was simple sex, a good release after such a long stretch of nothing, and afterwards Jungkook fell asleep on the edge of her twin bed feeling pretty good about things. This was good to do. He’d been saying for a long time he needed to start fucking around more. Sex cleared the head and balls. 

He didn’t need more than this. Sure, some people did the whole relationship thing, but he only thought that way when he went too long with getting laid, when he got sentimental from too many chick flicks or too much time around his enamored parents. He could get laid, even if it was just rotating through a few familiar women and an occasional surprise when the sun and moon aligned just right after he left the stage –was that such a bad life? It could be worse. He’d gone through dry-spells before that left him doubting everything about himself, but if it was just that no girl really thought he was commitment material… well yeah, ok, he didn’t think he was really that either. What did he have to commit? He still felt sixteen years old in his heart, sometimes. Often times. Someday he’d meet someone, he’d have the whole romance. It could still happen for him, even though he was twenty-six without any real long term relationships under his belt.

But he’d cummed out the self deprecating thoughts, left them knotted in a condom in Mara’s trashcan, and had a great night of sleep in her overly air-conditioned apartment. It left him reluctant to return to his own, because Jimin was worried about the environment lately after the governor or something said people should be more conscientious so they were letting their house sit a little warmer. Jungkook was fine with it, but it was making Jimin and Taehyung both cranky. Hoseok had even decided to sleep at his own place, alone, so that definitely hadn’t helped Jimin’s mood. 

When Mara woke up, she looked hot as hell and ready to fuck again, stretching all cat-like along his side and pawing at his stomach.

Her fingers had just brushed his eager dick when his phone rang –never in his life a good sign. He fumbled it off the nightstand and answered instantly when he saw [Yoda] on the ID.

“Haewon? Everything ok?” he asked, sitting up and pushing Mara’s hand aside.

“Is that your sister?” Mara asked, her exasperation louder than the air conditioner.

“Hey. Are you awake?”

“Yeah I’m awake. What’s up?” He nodded at Mara and shoved out of the bed, grabbing clothes as he went because it felt wrong to go into big brother mode while naked in bed, half hard. The irony of it being with Mara –who’d dumped him in the first place for being too family-first– was not lost on him, but what was he going to do, hang up on his favorite sister?

“My car died and Dad said I can borrow his car while mine is in the shop but he can’t get me until later but I really need the car before lunch.”

“Why, what’s happening at lunch?” Jungkook asked, temporarily suspicious. 

“There’s a seminar on–”

“Ok, fine, I’ll come get you and drive you over,” he interrupted. Seminar, of course. Yoojin would have a hot date but Haewon had a seminar, probably about the politics of poverty or immigrant rights or some other incredibly important but super boring thing Jungkook would never have been able to sit through. “Be there in… maybe an hour?”

“An hour? It’s not an hour from your place to campus.”

“Ah, well, I’m in Hacienda Heights… see you in an hour.” He hung up before she could ask questions yet, though she wouldn’t pester much. Yoojin was nosy; Haewon would rather not know, and that was one reason she was the favorite sister.

Mara crossed her arms and snarked, “I was going to ask if you wanted to get breakfast but I guess family calls, huh?”

“Little sister is having car trouble,” he confirmed, “so I gotta go get her.”

“Honestly, don’t you ever feel like you’re just living the same day of your life over and over?” she asked and showed him the door.

Jungkook did not know what she meant and for that reason kept thinking about it as he crawled his way through traffic. Huh? Living the same day over and over? That wasn’t true at all. For example, last night he’d got laid by Mara on a random Thursday evening after not talking to her for months, which made it feel like it was six months ago, not the same day as the one before, which he had spent surfing and cleaning pools and lifeguarding at the beach until the sun went down. 

Haewon was on a cement bench when he pulled up near her dorm, arms around bent knees as two boys with skateboards talked to her. Jungkook thought they were trying to make her laugh. They had their baseball caps on backwards and he instantly didn’t like them for it. He beeped the horn once and Haewon sprang up but without any apparent guilt or worries about Jungkook seeing her talk to the guys. She waved at them, grabbed her duffel and her backpack, and tossed both in the trunk when Jungkook popped it.

“Hey,” he greeted as she slid into the seat beside him. “Friends of yours?”

“No, not really.”

“Only fuckboys wear their baseball caps backwards when it’s this bright out, you know,” he warned.

Haewon laughed and playfully shoved his head, asking, “How’s Mara?”

“Asked me a weird fucking question this morning,” he admitted, pulling away from the curb. He could change the subject from Mara and Haewon wouldn’t do a thing to press further, but she was smart and he realized he could borrow some of that right now.

“What’d she say?”

“Asked if I feel like I’m living the same day over and over.” He kept his window rolled down but the air on, because Haewon liked riding in the car like that; sometimes when they’d needed a break from the small family apartment when they were younger, he’d take her out in whatever beat up car he had at the time and they’d cruise through a tank of gas with the a/c on and the windows down and ideally the California coast out the window. They’d get Icees and drink them sitting on the hood. 

“Well… do you?”

“...no? What does that even mean?”

“Like you’re just doing the same things over and over and not going anywhere in life, I think,” she suggested, and wiggled in her seat to pull a squashed packet of gum out of her pocket. “Want some gum?”

“Well I don’t feel that way.”

“Yeah, ok, good. Gum?”

He accepted and they drove through an intersection in silence, Haewon clearly letting him mull this over. She was smart, so that was probably exactly what Mara meant. Obviously Haewon and Mara had never met, and he tried not to give her too much of a glimpse into his dating life since she was his little sister and all, but she knew some things. Yoojin knew more, because sometimes he’d forget what she was like and vent to her because they were closer in age, and then she’d say dumb shit that made him regret confiding anything in her and he’d hold off for months. Haewon did more with less. She’d give advice about the female mind if you really asked, but preferred to just tease a little and then stay out of it. And frankly, Jungkook wasn’t hooking up with any women that had a thing in common with Haewon, so it wouldn’t have been a great help anyway.

“Why is everyone obsessed with going somewhere?” he finally asked. “I’m just… surfing. Swim out, ride in, swim out, ride in, take a water break, do it again, and have fun doing it.”

“Yeah so what’s the problem? Don’t worry about her. Bitches will say anything.”

“Hae!”

Haewon laughed and assured him, “She’s probably just mad that you’re happy and she’s not.”

“How do you know she’s not happy? She seemed happy to me.” Except for the fact she’d made it clear months ago she didn’t want to keep seeing Jungkook and then called him up for a fuck again on a random Thursday night. So maybe she wasn’t actually that happy. She’d graduated over a year ago and was working in film, camera work, but he didn’t actually know if she had a job or not. She hadn’t wanted to talk, just fuck. “But yeah, you’re right, maybe she was talking about herself.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it. A lot of times when women say something, it’s really about them, not you.”

That sounded right and true and he was immediately relieved. 

“See? It’s totally worth it we’re paying the big bucks to send you to UCLA,” he teased, and rustled her hair while they were stopped at a red light. She scowled and pushed his hands away. “And not to date little shits who wear their hats backwards.”

“Oh my god, I said they’re not friends of mine,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah but I bet they want to be.”

“Maybe,” she admitted with a snicker. “But don’t worry about them. They can’t even show up to class on time, it’s completely…” She pondered the right word. “Disappointing.”

“Yeah well you just wait until a guy isn’t disappointing, that’s all. Keep your high standards.”

“You sound like Yoojin except she’s being sarcastic.”

“Don’t ever take guy advice from Yoojin,” Jungkook immediately scolded. 

“Yeah but Max is so cute.”

“Just because she made a great little dude doesn’t mean she knows anything about the kind of life that you’re going to have. No pressure or anything,” he quickly added, because unlike the rest of their family he knew it wouldn’t do Haewon any good to feel like they’d piled their hopes and dreams on her. They hadn’t. They just all saw she was earmarked for something better than surfing the tide and they wanted that for her. She was going somewhere, and he wanted to be the wave that helped carry her, not the wave that overwhelmed and drowned her. 

“Yeah no pressure. I’ve only got two years to raise the money for Yale…”

“We’ll get you there,” he said. “Fucker, use your fucking light,” he mumbled as a guy cut him off –no, not a guy, an older white lady with puffed up blonde hair and nails so long he could see them on the wheel when he swerved around her because she was going ten below the speed limit.

“You didn’t say anything to Mom and Dad about Yale, did you?” she asked.

“Fuck no, why? The only person I’ve talked to about it is Soyoon and you know she won’t say anything to anyone.” Soyoon and Yoongi had both gone to college, UC Berkeley where they’d met. Yoongi had dropped out in his third year to take care of his parents through a health scare and never gone back, but Soyoon had graduated with a degree in journalism and was his only source of personal knowledge about how to fund college educations because she worked in the financial aid office at UCLA, even though she hadn’t gone there. Her help had been huge in navigating scholarships and loans for Haewon for undergrad and while she didn’t know much about East Coast schools or graduate programs, she did her best fielding whatever questions Jungkook threw at her as he tried to figure out how to get Haewon to her dream school.

“Ok, good. Mom said something about New England the other day and how pretty it must be in the fall… I was like, what? Why are we talking about New England suddenly?”

“I didn’t say shit, hand on my Death Note books. Probably she’s just complaining about the heat and daydreaming about moving there,” he suggested, because she definitely did that. What he didn’t do was suggest Haewon tell their parents about her dreams of Yale Law School. He respected her desire not to stress them out about something she herself wasn’t confident she could achieve or afford. He was honored she trusted him with her dream, that she relied on his guidance to help her figure it out, and he wasn’t going to let her down no matter what. 

So it was only his head that spun the numbers every so often: Yale Law School cost about $100k per year to cover tuition, housing, books, and food. But there were lots of scholarships available, even if his parents made too much money for them to qualify for some –which was laughable because what money? Haewon was potentially interested in going into public sector work afterwards which would help with loan forgiveness. They would figure it out, no problem. He, his parents, and Haewon were all saving too, for whatever scholarships couldn’t cover, and if they had to go the loan route again, they would. Haewon would get to go to Yale. Eventually she would have to tell them she was looking that far away, not somewhere West Coast, but that would be her news to share.

“It’s so nice. I can’t wait to be there and out of this heat,” she admitted. She rolled her window up and cranked the a/c, so he rolled his window up too. “Maybe you’d like it too.”

“Oh yeah? Could we get an apartment off campus together?” he joked. “What’s the surfing like in Connecticut? Big population of folks with pools that need cleaning?”

“I think you’d do more snowboarding than surfing but there’s lots of rich people, I bet they have pools they’re too lazy to learn how to take care of,” she pointed out. “And you don’t pronounce the ‘c’ in the middle, by the way.”

He ignored her and mused, “I don’t know if I’d like snowboarding… I like the sun and the sand.”

“That’s weird. Who likes sand?”

“It’s exfoliating,” he said, because he knew it would get a laugh from her. It did.  

“You should find a way to sell that to rich people,” she suggested. “Like way overcharge them for a spa treatment but it’s just… I don’t, retrieving your surfboard.”

“First of all, I am not a conman, I’d have a lot more money.”

“Only if you’re a good one and I kind of think you’d suck at it. You’re not good at lying,” se teased.

“Second of all, you are definitely not a business major. That’s your great business idea? You have to sell it better than that.”

“Ok Mr. Business, make it sound better?”

“Look, I can sing you a song, I can clean your pool–”

“Have you been writing songs?” she interrupted. “I like that last one you let me hear.” Jungkook cringed. He regretted letting her hear, but he’d been really proud of it and had wanted to show off to her that he could do something cool too, something cooler than just playing the songs someone else wrote. But damn, writing songs was hard.

“That was two years ago,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, so? Chop chop, right?”

“I’m working on some things,” he lied, shrugged. “Maybe if it gets far enough along.”

“Can I come hear your band play? When’s your next show?”

“Don’t you have studying to do?” he countered.

She snickered, “Oh, too many sharks with backwards caps, huh? Is that your crowd?”

“Too many women flirting with me,” he corrected. “You don’t need to see that.”

“Yeah, yuck, I don’t need to see that,” she agreed. “Don’t you play all ages places ever though? I’m going to text Soyoon or Yoongi, they’ll let me come see you. Maybe you’re not even telling me the truth about how the ladies love you. You know you don’t have to impress me, right?”

She was teasing, he knew that, but still he insisted, “Yah, you doubt it? I’m charming as fuck!”

“Ok ok geez. I just think if that was true you wouldn’t be spending your nights with Mara.”

“What’s wrong with Mara? You’ve never even met her.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not going to introduce you to the women I…” he trailed off. Ok, this was veering into not-appropriate-for-baby-sister territory. “Am acquainted with,” he suggested.

“Yeah thank god, I don’t want to meet them.”

“And I’m not failing at relationships or anything. I’m not trying to have one. I’m happy just…”

“Fucking around?” she asked.

“Haewon! Language!”

“Oh my god, does my own brother wear his cap backwards?” she teased. “Mo did.”

“Mo did,” Jungkook admitted and felt a pang. Yeah and Mo was a fuckboy the likes Jungkook could never aspire to. He was happily a fuckboy, successful, he loved the ladies and the ladies loved him to the bitter end. Jungkook could only dream of aspiring to Mo’s level of charm. Mo could talk circles around a woman until she was all knotted up and begging for him to unwind her. What few dates Jungkook managed to score on Tinder tended to go further downhill the more he talked. Context mattered for him; he needed the environment to make him look good, for his drumming or surfing to do the seduction for him.

“Well as long as you’re happy, I think it’s cool, but I’ve never heard anything about Mara that I liked so I don’t think she’s worth your time. At least don’t waste time with annoying ones.”

“Yeah, I know, I won’t.”

“Besides, you wear bucket hats. What would you warn me about guys wearing bucket hats?”

“Don’t date a guy who wears bucket hats either. Don’t you want to date a guy who wears like… a beret or something?”

“Uh… like a French guy?!”

“Rich, educated, maybe European…”

“Is that what you dream of for me?” she cackled in the passenger’s seat. “Oh my god that sounds terrible. I thought you liked me!”

“Yeah I just want you to wind up with someone really good! When you’re ready though. Right now, focus on your studies.”

“Ok dad, thanks. Anyway, what if I’m a lesbian?”

Jungkook considered this in earnest. As far as he knew, Haewon had never been close with a single guy, but she’d had some female friends. None that struck him as romantic, but it wasn’t like their family shared everything. She was keeping Yale a secret, maybe she had others too, even from him.

“Nah,” he finally decided. “I think you would have told me. I think you’re just school-sexual.”

“You say that like it’s lame.”

“There’s nothing lame about having more exciting things in your life!” he corrected.

“I don’t know what I am,” she admitted. “Everyone I’ve met is a clown. The guys would all waste my time. I know some cool girls but…”

Jungkook got very still. Wait, was Haewon coming out to him? He felt a mixture of panic and honor swirling in his chest. He hadn’t prepared for this. Honestly, despite half his friends being queer, he’d never much questioned that both his sisters were straight, because in the abstract Haewon had talked about a future boyfriend or husband, never anything else.

“That’s ok then,” he said, carefully.

“I don’t know how someone can date a girl though,” Haewon said. “Like they just make me feel crappy about myself.”

“You just haven’t met the right person,” he said, vowing from now on he would use gender neutral terms to make sure she knew he was cool with whatever she wanted in the future. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well… do girls make you feel good about yourself?” she asked. 

He thought about the safest answer to give his baby sister. The truth was that often women made him feel like a total piece of shit. But when it went well, when he fucked good or flirted good or played good, they made him feel like a fucking rock star, and he couldn’t stay away, he was constantly chasing that high, it carried him through the times he felt like a loser. Again and again he struck out but he kept swimming towards that ultimate dream, the one woman who could make him feel like a rockstar every day just with the touch of her finger…

“Yeah,” he said, keeping it simple. “But nothing feels as good as riding a really good wave though so I don’t think I’m in danger of settling down any time soon.”

“Maybe someday I’ll make enough money I can buy you a really nice beach condo and then you can just surf all the time and never worry about bitches,” she suggested, and he could see the twitch of her smile out of the corner of his eye, that she was trying to get a reaction from him.

“Are you just pissed you had to wait longer for me to pick you up this morning when you called me out of nowhere asking for a ride? Is that why you’re swearing like a sailor?”

“Yeah,” she giggled.

“Well stop it, you’re sounding too much like Yoojin.”

“Ok that’s one way to scare me.”

“Exactly, don’t do it.”

“Especially if I’m going to be the pride and joy of the family,” Haewon joked.

“Ok wait hold on now. I am clearly the pride and joy of the family,” he corrected. “I’m living exactly the life I want, the way I want it. That, my friend, is success. And I look fucking good doing it.”

“I don’t know, you haven’t written a song in two years…”

“I have! Just not any I want you to listen to.”

“Are they all about sex and drugs and things I’m not supposed to know about?” she asked, face curling up in disgust, intentionally pretending to be twelve again. 

“Why couldn’t dad pick you up again?” he asked to change the subject. He didn’t want to write songs like that but finding something more profound to write about had left him spinning in circles for literal years. Maybe there wasn’t more to life than just doing what you wanted and having fun with your friends and being the best son you could and avoiding drugs so you didn’t break your family’s heart, but he didn’t think that song would play on the radio and he didn’t know how to put it into words anyway. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure he believed that, but he wasn’t like Haewon, he didn’t have some big career goal for his life. He wasn’t even like Yoojin, with a commitment that should be giving her direction and purpose in pursuit of the best life possible for Max. 

“He took Max to his check up this morning,” Haewon answered, unphased. “Yoojin was working.”

“Do we really think she’s working?”

“You are asking the wrong sibling. I have hundreds of years of law and politics to learn, I don’t have brainspace for what’s going on with Yoojin and she doesn’t have brainspace for me either.” He wasn’t sure if she sounded hurt by it. He’d never pretended to understand their relationship other than that they had not seemed close in years.

“Yeah, maybe mom and dad shouldn’t have saved all the brains for you,” Jungkook lamented.

“You got a few of them.”

“Yeah, a few brains,” he agreed, then ruined it by adding, “But mostly I’m raw physical prowess.”

“You can drop me off here and I’ll walk.”

“I mean athletics. Drumming, surfing.”

“Sure you did. Don’t sound too much like Yoojin.”

“Sheesh. Fine. You didn’t have to punch so low.”

“That’s what you said a minute ago!”

“Yeah I’ve got to keep you in line somehow. Me? I don’t need lines.”

“Everyone needs lines,” Haewon argued.

“Spoken like a future lawyer.”

He’d meant it as a teasing insult but Haewon seemed pleased. At least she was going to be one of the good, non-asshole lawyers. She didn’t have it in her to be an asshole. Yoojin he’d be afraid to see show up in court because she was unhinged, who knew what shit she’d say or do, she’d get disbarred and her client convicted within ten minutes. But Haewon was going to change people’s lives, whatever type of law she went into, he was sure of it, and then their parents could be proud of at least one of their kids. And Max. Max was going to grow up great. And Yoojin… well, she could still turn out good if she just got her head on straight. Once she’d been funny and smart and charming too, before she got too wrapped up in men and dabbled in drugs and now sometimes it was like she just didn’t care anymore.

“Maybe we’re being too hard on Yoojin,” he mused as they neared his parents’ apartment. “She’s not all bad.”

“Did you know she has you as ‘Kevin’ in her phone?”

“Kevin? Who the hell is Kevin?”

“You know, like the Minion.”

“What? Why would she do that? And why would you know that?”

“She sent me a screenshot of your texts and didn’t realize I’d see. She’s sloppy with evidence.”

“But why?” he demanded. That Yoojin secretly named him after a Minion in her phone was so much more insulting than if she’d told him to his face.

“Do I look like the Yoojin-whisperer?” 

“Ok, message received. Time to bully. Is Kevin even the cute one?”

Haewon gave him a baffled look and demanded, “Which Minion is the cute one?!”

“You know what, nevermind, I’m suddenly feel pretty unsafe.” 

She had pulled out her phone and was grinning, he didn’t know if it was at him or at something on her phone.

“Hey, what am I in your phone?” he suddenly asked.

“Oppa.”

“Oh. Really? Didn’t I used to be JK? What made you change it?”

“One of my friends thought you were hot and tried to get your number from my phone so I had to put it into code,” she answered without even looking up. “Since none of them are Korean, now they think I text my grandpa a lot.”

Jungkook had no way of knowing whether that was the truth or not, since Haewon was the only Jeon kid who had any real skill in lying and simply chose not to do it (often) for moral reasons, so he took her at her word and asked, “Which friend?”

Her baleful look made him laugh.

“I’m not going to do anything. I just want to know. Who thinks I’m hot?”

“Girls are stupid.”

“That’s ok, for girls to be stupid,” he argued. “I don’t mind stupid girls. It’s hot.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m joking! I’m joking. She’d be your age, right? Bleh, I’m not interested in a nineteen year old.”

“I thought guys love younger women.”

“Haewon, listen to me very closely. If a guy my age hits on you, it’s because women his age are too smart and he’s hoping to take advantage of–”

“Yeah yeah I know,” she sighed. “Date your own age. Again, unless he’s 300 pages long about civil liberties and is literally a book, I’m not interested.”

“Good girl,” he beamed. “Ok here we are. Looks like no one’s home.”

“I know, Dad will be home soon and I’ll take his car. I’ve got my keys, you don’t have to wait. But thanks for the ride.”

“Call me anytime,” he said and waved her off, watching until she was safely inside the apartment before he pulled away.

Where did Jungkook go on a day like today where he had no responsibilities, no work, no pressing demands on his time? It was a total coincidence he’d gone through his full week of pools and had no lifeguarding shifts today. The options were endless really. He could head to the beach. He could dick around with drums or guitar at home, maybe try to siphon lyrics from his brain again. He could do something productive like clean or grocery shop. He should definitely hit the gym today but he could do that later, after lunch. Right now, there was laundry or literally anything else…

He tossed his keys and wallet down as soon as he was in the house, announcing his presence, feeling in a good mood about it because they’d know he got laid and hadn’t come home without him even having to say anything about it. Only Taehyung was home, eyes glazed over as he stared at PUBG on the TV.

Jungkook zoned out standing behind the couch, just watching, until Taehyung hit a lull and could split his attention.

“Hey, you want to join?”

“Fuck yeah. Let me pack up my laundry for later and get a breakfast bar– you want anything from the kitchen?”

“No, you wanna do my laundry for me?”

“I’m not touching your stuff, half of it’s dry clean only,” Jungkook pointed out. Taehyung was an avid thrifter, found some incredible stuff that way, and one time a shirt of his wound up with Jungkook’s laundry, utterly ruined. The fight hadn’t lasted long, but if Jungkook was the type to hold a grudge, he’d still be upset Taehyung had gotten so mad over something that wasn’t even Jungkook’s fault. It wasn’t like he’d taken the shirt that Taehyung had paid too much for and stuck it in his own laundry. 

But he didn’t hold grudges. Grudges made you old. Jungkook was chill –so chill he could hook up with a girl who’d dumped him and it didn’t make him feel bad about himself because why? It was just sex, the very definition of a meaningless good time. Like outside of trying to make a kid, it was the quickest way to feel good and chill out that didn’t require drugs. Empty balls, empty brain, full life as long as you could get some. And he could get some. Mara had called him up even though she’d said she wouldn’t again, so clearly he was the type of guy a girl kept thinking about.

Laundry packed up by the door so he wouldn’t forget to take it with him –laundromat and gym, big plans for the day– he grabbed a protein bar that tasted like a fool’s dream of cardboard but he’d grown to kind of like them.  

“All right all right let’s do this!” he cheered, jumping over the back of the couch to land beside Taehyung. On a whim, feeling good, he decided to text Mara during the matchmaking, to see if she wanted to meet up again later this week.

She’d blocked him.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he decided Haewon was right, Mara wasn’t worth his time anyway. He had other options. It wasn’t like she was that good. Plenty more fish in the sea and Jungkook was a good fisherman, when the weather was fair and the waters were calm. 

“You’re younger than I expected,” were the man’s first words as she shook his hand and welcomed him into the office. His name was James Alard, and he’d scheduled a meeting with Grace because he was interested in purchasing a new home in the Beverly Hills area. She had sold three homes in Beverly Hills already, but never been on the buyer’s side of a purchase there –whichhe ought to have asked but either didn’t think to or didn’t care. Grace deliberated whether to offer that information for transparency –it meant she wouldn’t classify herself as an expert in the neighborhoods there, but certainly she felt capable of it, it was nearby.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “You do this full time or as a side thing?”

“I’m selective with the number of clients I take on to ensure each has the time and attention they deserve, and this is my career,” she answered, trying not to prickle at the question. There was just a way he asked it that annoyed her, it felt patronizing. It made her think of Tim, even though the guy didn’t look anything like Tim really, blond hair and green eyes and only a light natural tan to his skin.  

“I bet you’re good at it,” he mused.

“I like to think so, yes. I’ve helped many people find their home, or sell their old one ahead of a move or upgrade, on terms they’re happy with. You’ll see plenty of satisfied testimonials on my web page –and I have no hidden bad ones.” This was practically a script, but still he laughed as if it were just a personal joke she’d made with him.

“You seem like the kind of woman who knows how to close a deal on her terms.”

Grace tilted her head before catching herself, not wanting to read into anything he said. Was he flirting or just testing her to see if he should hire her?

“When we’ve found the perfect house, I don’t settle for anything less than the best deal,” she agreed.

He laughed, a not unkind sound, and sighed, “All right all right, I get it. You can lower your shoulders. Not interested.”

“Not interested in helping you find a house?”

“It’s just not every day you meet a good-looking, hard-working woman,” he explained. “It’s usually one or the other, and I just can’t stand those leech women who cozy up to the nearest wealthy man in the hopes they never have to lift a finger again.”

Grace’s eyes flickered with annoyance, but she answered calmly, “I work because I want to, not because I need to. I don’t know that characterizing any woman as a leech for marrying well–”

“You choose to work, see? So you get it. It’s not just women, I’d judge a man who sat around on his ass doing nothing too! I’m not saying we all need to head to the mines but what’s the point of being alive if you don’t live it with some hard work and sweat, right? Even if I had as much money as God, it wouldn’t make me lazy,” he said.

Grace was not sure what to make of him. In theory she somewhat agreed with this, finding purpose was good, but she didn’t think it had to be a financial return, if that’s what he was saying. Chasing any passion in life could satisfy. She was glad to have her suspicion he was flirting concerned and even for him to recognize she was not responding, but she wasn’t sure why he was still off on this tangent.

“Answer me this, what do you do for fun?” he asked her.

She cleared her throat and tapped her pen lightly on the table before redirecting, “Let’s sidestep back to what exactly it is that you’re looking for.”

“I thought I knew,” he said. “But I admit you’ve got me all twisted around when you walked in here. I’m looking for a house in Beverly Hills, as I said in my message. Something big enough for my two kids and I to be comfortable, but not so big it feels empty. I don’t want them growing up wasteful. Our old house –it’s too empty, too many bad memories.”

Well, so much for moving on from her lack of interest. You’ve got me all twisted around, yeah ok. 

“How old are your children?” Grace asked, thinking it a harmless question because it might influence what types of rooms or the layout of the house or whether he wanted a pool.

“Eight and twelve. Been widowed three years now and I thought it was better to stay where we were but it’s holding us in the past.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. Widowed was a different sort of tragedy than divorce, and his children had been so young. 

“Thanks. It was hell, but I want my kids looking to the future now, I want to look to the future, and then you walk in here…”

She let out a sharp sigh and corrected, “Yes, a real estate agent, so let’s talk more specifics about what you’re looking for.”

“I didn’t know I was,” he said, and stared at her with a look that genuinely looked more longing than predatory, which was not what she’d expected. Grace could not for the life of her decide what to think about this. It wasn’t welcome right now, this was her place of business and she was trying to work. It was annoying and inappropriate, it didn’t matter how handsome he was. Maybe if he eased off and had met her in a different situation but he hadn’t so there, that was it. 

“For a house?” she asked, intentionally not taking that bait. “since you are specifically looking Beverly Hills, one of my colleagues who’s more familiar with the neighborhood would better be able to help you,” she said, rising from her chair now that she’d decided. No point taking on a client who made her even a little uncomfortable.

He stood as well and leaned forward, hand out, earnest as he suggested, “All right, if that’s better, no conflict of interest. Does that mean I can take you out to dinner?”

“I… I don’t think…” She was stunned to be so blatantly asked and glanced at her empty ring finger. In the past she could always make a dismissive joke I don’t think my husband would like that very much, because that tended to get a more immediate acceptance than trying to champion her own personal lack of interest. No ring this time though and she couldn’t stomach pretending to still have a husband.

“I know a great place. Do you like seafood?”

“I’m afraid I’m going through a divorce at the moment,” she said, instantly regretting it because this man didn’t need any of her life story. 

“So you could use a fresh start too. I promise I’m nothing like him,” he said. “I can’t say I’m entanglement free since I’ve got my kids but they’re great, don’t let that deter you, wonderful kids.”

“I… let me introduce you to my college,” she stammered out, and made for the door. “This is my place of work and it’s inappropriate and borderline harassment. I have not reciprocated your interest.”

The man quietly followed, not overly close which she appreciated. He behaved through the introduction and shook hands with her male colleague who seemed surprised by the generous hand-off of a potential client.

Before she left them to it, James Alard shook her hand and held it a bit too long as he apologized, “I’m sorry if I spooked you. I’m out of practice so I didn’t play my hand well, but I know a good thing when I see it. You have my email and my phone number. Please give it some thought and let me know if you’d be willing to give me another chance in a more appropriate setting.”

“Have a good day,” she said and couldn’t flee quickly enough. 

Without a client to meet, Grace dug through her inbox to find a replacement to reach out to, then browsed some listings and sent some suggestions to her current clients about open houses or things about to hit the market that might be worth their time. She found it challenging to concentrate with James Alard still down the hall; even once she saw him leave the building, she found her thoughts lingering.

Had he been inappropriate or opportunistic? Was it flattering for a widower to be completely agog at first sight of you, or patronizing that he was looking for a “hard working woman”? Love at first sight was all over the rom-coms but she did not feel like that was what had just happened –though objectively she had been so confused and unenthusiastic about the come-on while she was working that it wasn’t like she’d really given James a good look. If they had met somewhere else, would she have been so quick to dismiss him?  

Well, he was good looking, there was that. She didn’t disagree that having purpose was important –drive and ambition, within reason. Him having children of his own was neutral as far as she was concerned, unless he was a good father, in which case it was a plus. But she wasn’t exactly looking for a husband or commitment right now, which actually might mean it was a negative, especially if he was on the hunt for a new wife and a mother to his children.

Unwelcome advance, she decided. But he’d accepted the hand off without pushing his luck further. What if he was just a genuinely nice guy suddenly knocked sideways by a beautiful woman and it led him to be a bit out of pocket, but not egregiously so? Had that been egregious? Well, Grace had dealt with much worse come-ons. 

No, Grace decided by the time she headed home later in the afternoon. She hadn’t even cut ties with her old commitment yet, she was certainly not looking to engage with a new one. Getting laid would be nice but she didn’t want more than that any time soon and a widower with children was probably not a good no-string fling.

Would he be down for just that? She considered this in her car. He was clearly interested in her, eager. He’d been skilled enough and charming enough to get a woman to marry him, and it wasn’t like his marriage ended because he was a selfish prick or anything. Could he be an easy path to casual sex? What if that’s all he actually wanted too?

Maybe she just didn’t know enough to make a decision about this. She needed to see him in another situation. Maybe it was worth a reintroduction, just to see if the miss had been because it made her so angry to be hit on while working. She needed to understand if he was already rushing to the altar because he thought she was pretty or if he was just suddenly awake to his own desires at the sight of her which was ok, right? It was endearing if a guy was just flustered into stupidity, so long as it wasn’t a permanent state. 

Her phone rang, startling her out of her deliberation. She’d missed her mother’s last call so put it on speaker as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“Hi Mom.” 

“Grace, honey, hello. Are you busy?”

“I’m just driving home. Everything ok?”

“Oh yes, I just wanted to call and check on you and also, I just had coffee with Shirleen Eckle, do you remember her? Well it turns out she has a son a few years older than you who just moved to LA!”

“Uh huh. I don’t remember her. Interesting, mom. Is he looking to buy a house?”

“Oh no, he’s already bought a condo in Santa Monica, he sold his startup and left all that behind in San Francisco to start something new here. You’ll have to ask him what it was exactly, I don’t know, but I thought it would be a great idea if you met with him, maybe you can introduce him around to what society there is in Los Angeles.”

Grace’s mom had never made secret that she found the transient and fresh wealth of Los Angeles tasteless at best. She pitied all who moved there, though always had a fantastic time at the gyms and spas and shopping districts when she visited. Society was lacking, but “some of the foundations there are good, I know some good people who’ve been convinced to move there and made the best of it.” 

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“Are you trying to set me up on a date?”

“Oh! No! No no of course I wouldn’t do that, you aren’t even officially divorced yet and I can’t begin to understand your taste in men,” her mother’s voice bubbled out of the speakers, every word making the lie more obvious. There most definitely was something pointed in her wanting Grace to meet Shirleen Eckle’s son. 

“Mom, I appreciate it, but I’m really not trying to start anything new right now.” She did not think the son of an acquaintance of her mom’s was going to be the right outlet for sexual abandon. Besides… a startup guy? Grace was sure there must be some good ones. Somewhere. She hadn’t met any though and hey, if she was going to make her own choices and set her own boundaries and be honest with herself, cutting out tech startup bros as a whole class of people she did not want to land in bed with seemed fair. No CEOs either, she’d met too many and didn’t think there could be a single good female orgasm to be found in their collective histories. If one convinced her otherwise, ok fine, but considering what an easy time her mom had following the rumor mill from half a country away, Grace knew for a fact she could not have meaningless sex with this Eckle guy.

“Of course honey, I understand completely, except you must be lonely. Aren’t you? You were with Tim for so many years and now you’re in that big old house all by yourself…”

“It’s not that old,” Grace insisted, longing to be there already. “It doesn’t look its age. It has character. You’ll love it when you visit. And no, I’m not lonely. I have Foam.”

“... The cat.”

“For now, yes, that’s enough. I get to do what I want, when I want, and I just have to make sure I’m home to feed him and give him attention until he wants to go chase ghosts by himself again. That’s all the attachment I want.”

“I just worry about you.”

“I know you do, and I appreciate it. But things are getting better every day. I’m through the hardest part now, I just have to get this divorce wrapped up and then I’ve still got my whole life ahead of me.”

“Well…”

“Mom…”

“No, I know you’re correct, honey, it’s just that thirty-five is both young and not young. You don’t want to miss something good coming your way just because you closed your eyes.”

“My eyes are open, I promise.”

“But you’re not looking.”

“Is being alone really the worst thing in the world? I think it could be kind of nice for a while. I got married too young.”

Her mom’s voice was loving and heavy and serious as she admitted, “I was married by twenty-one, you weren’t exactly a child bride! I just can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine that for you. I want someone taking care of you, that’s all.”

“Maybe someday, but for now, don’t worry about me. I promise. Now I’m hitting traffic and need to concentrate but trust me, I am going home to my beautiful house to make a shrimp scampi and drink some fantastic wine and it’s going to be a perfect night. Far, far better than any evening I had while married.”

“Well that’s because you married the wrong man, honey. The right man will change everything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Love you, mom, bye!”

She hung up before her mother could say anything to annoy her further. It was sweet her mom was worried, she knew that. But obviously she wasn’t going to tell her mom the only thing she’d been thinking about lately was sex –not a thing to discuss with her mom, though probably she’d be proud to know Grace had taken pains to buy the toys to prevent future bad decisions! Even though they hadn’t prevented Tim. But they would prevent James and Matthew, she was sure of that! 

Traffic sucked but, like a divorce, once through it, things were better. They would be better. Her home looked inviting and cozy, more put together by the week. Foam  was waiting for her by the door, probably drawn by the vibrations of the garage door. The bottle of wine was chilled to perfection and the smell of food cooking as she let Spotify play whatever it wanted made her life feel very full. 

Did she want someone to slide his hands up under her shirt, swaying as they drank wine and cooked together, maybe bend her over the counter… Yes, sure she did. But then she’d be happy for them to go home and leave her to her space and privacy and things being just the way she liked them. She didn’t feel lonely right now in any way except sexually. 

Was that weird, that sex was so top of her mind lately rather than romance or companionship or emotional intimacy?  Was that a sign of divorce shredding her heart? But honestly, she didn’t feel shredded right now. In a way, she felt more whole and in control of her thoughts than ever before. A handsome guy blatantly came onto her and she was being very practical about what she wanted, whether she was interested. Picky, one might say, so she must not be too desperate yet. 

And outside of sex, what good was a man to her? Tim had never been a bit of good, really. Her life had become so much easier without him that it was impossible to remember what good he had ever contributed, and thus she missed nothing without him. She had plenty of girl friends to socialize with, who needed a boyfriend? It would just be nice to have a hand other than her own wringing pleasure from her body. Orgasms on her own were fine but they didn’t feel quite like what she remembered from her younger days, which she hoped was a lack of technique rather than some sad evolution of her sex drive over the years. 

It was normal to be horny when you’d been phoning it in on sex for years to convince yourself and your lying cheating bastard husband that everything was fine. It was ok not to want some close companionship when she’d been so completely betrayed and just wanted to support herself right now. It was perfectly healthy to be a woman in her mid-30s with no active sexual life to long for a good one. Regardless of what her mom said, thirty-five was not that old, and she would remind herself of that as many times as she needed to, because it was hard to remember sometimes. Tim had been ten years older than her and so often she forgot her own age. If you’d asked her, she would have said 40 without thinking about it but she wasn’t even 40 yet and it was time to reclaim that freedom to discover herself she had missed out on in her twenties.

Maybe it was even time to make some semi-reckless choices, chase what she was interested in just for the selfish thrill of it, not settle for anything less than her own happiness. 

Which right now meant she wasn’t going to call James, or Matthew, even though she had both their numbers now, nor meet with Shirleen Eckle’s son. 

But she was going to call Alicia and ask if she could show Grace the ropes for how to meet a safe, generous, clean, attractive guy who might be interested in showing a girl a good time, no strings attached. She didn’t want a widower to wonder if she was love at first sight for him, she just wanted to get fucked without worries or overthinking or expectations or risk of getting hurt or catching an STD or…

How do people do this beyond their idiotic twenties, she wondered, instantly backpedaling from reckless. You had to be willing to have some bad nights and mistakes and maybe a little chlamydia, was that right? She didn’t want a little chlamydia… Was she asking for too much?

Ok. Time to ask Alicia for help.

It was impossible to see beyond the first two rows of the bar; The Sand Bar had the stage lights way brighter than they needed to be. It was brutally hot because of them, even though the night had cooled off once the sun went down, and the ground was stickier, and the air smelled of salt and Malibu and weed. Jungkook laughed and shook his sweaty hair out of his face, smeared the beads of it from his chin and neck where they tickled in between songs. He’d been growing his hair out –for the look and to save on haircuts– but it wasn’t long enough yet to pull back, just long enough to drive him nuts. 

There was no way to know for sure if Grace had come, but he suspected she hadn’t. The small chance she had, that he couldn’t prove it because he couldn’t see beyond the stage lights, at least let him cling to the fantasy. Just for fun. He poured his heart, soul, and sweat into the drumming that night, did his best chatter in between songs even though he was often the silent mumbly type and let Taro and Yoongi handle the banter. He felt compelled to be his best, not only in case Grace was there watching, but also because Yoongi had put his foot down on Jungkook’s behalf and insisted they keep the Benson Boone song in the set when Taro tried to cut it right before, claiming it would make them run over. It wasn’t even the last song in the set but god fucking forbid they cut one of her favorites.

The song stayed. It brought the house down, Jungkook didn’t think it was too cocky in saying. It was at the height of radio play right now, and a slight departure from the rest of their set, just enough to catch attention and bring back any wandering interest. Drumming and singing lead was a challenge but he felt like he nailed it, felt the victory of it humming through his blood and buzzing behind his eyes and warming his ears. There was no high in the world like playing live music on stage except maybe the short ride of a killer wave, but that was over and done with so fast. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Haewon.

“Nailed it,” Jimin told him, clapping him on the back and handing him a beer as soon as he walked off stage. Jimin wasn’t the only one, there were so many hands and fluttery grins and a true throng of people who circled them once they hauled their personal gear off stage to make room for the next act. 

“Bet they regret not asking you to headline,” Taehyung said, which meant a lot to Jungkook and the others too, he thought. It certainly did to him, capped only by Yoongi clinking his beer against Jungkook’s and nodding,

“You fucked that song good. Glad we kept it.”

“Yeah me too. Stop trying to cut my stuff, Elizabeth,” he called over to her. She scowled and flipped him the bird, but a moment later draped herself over his shoulder.

“I admit it. It was great. It’ll be too played out for Flowerfest but you did good.”

“It’s too new to be played out,” Jungkook argued, even though it wouldn’t be on theme for Flowerfest anyway so he hadn’t been going to suggest it. “We should keep it in our set for a while.”

Soyoon nudged his arm and beamed, “I agree. Think you got quite a fan following, JK, why don’t you go talk to them?” She gave Jungkook a hard shove away from their group, towards several women who did in fact seem to be waiting to talk to him.

But for the briefest moment, he thought he saw Grace across the bar. It couldn’t be her�� right? But it might be, he really thought so much that it might be her that he found himself missing whatever the closest woman said to him, just didn’t hear her completely, even though the next band was still setting up.

“Sorry, excuse me, I think I see a friend…” he muttered and walked right past them. Was that what Soyoon meant? But Soyoon didn’t know who Grace was. He felt a weird flip in his chest as he pushed his way through the crowd to where he’d seen her. It wasn’t really her, was it? She wouldn’t really come. 

Oh fuck what if she did come to his show. What if she’d just seen that performance for real? Thank fuck it was a good one! He could be proud of that. He hoped she’d be impressed. He hoped she’d lean in close to tell him how good he did, and he’d touch her arm to keep her close so she could hear him offer to buy her a drink and thank her for coming and say how great it was that she’d come. 

What did it mean if she came? Just that she wanted a night out, now that she was single? Maybe it would depend if she’d come alone or brought friends. If she brought friends, she just wanted to listen to good music, and he’d delivered. If she came alone…

He took several gulps of his beer as he reached the spot and looked around. She wasn’t here now. He turned and traced the path he’d taken, wanting to be sure they hadn’t just missed each other. 

If she’d come alone, he’d buy her a drink and slowly lead her out to the part of the bar that spilled into the sand, so they could have some more space and talk. He wanted to hear what she thought. Maybe he’d suggest a walk, if it seemed like she wanted to get out of there. No, if she wanted to get out of there… well, his place was closer but no way could he take a woman like that to his bachelor rental.

He was getting way ahead of himself. Grace hadn’t come to his show to start something with him just because he’d fixed her pool. At best, maybe she came to listen to music and flirt a bit. At best best, maybe they’d drink together for a while, get closer, at most he’d put light moves on her –unless she wanted to start something… but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t start something with him. Unless…?

No, he was being stupid and hopeful based on nothing but beer and the adrenaline surge from coming off stage. He still felt the thud of the drum through his body and it made him want to feel a different kind of vibration, a more intimate collision. He craned his neck and looked around, trying to find her again, trying to ignore how ready and willing his body was to transition from stage adrenaline to beautiful woman adrenaline.

“Hi,” he barely made out as a hand lightly touched his back. He spun, only to be confronted with someone else, one of the women who’d been hanging out closer to the stage. Not Grace.

“Hi,” he returned. “Hey, did you see a woman around here, about this tall, like brown and blonde hair…” He trailed off, realizing he could be describing half the women in the bar. The woman looked confused and told him no, as if she couldn’t see half the women in the bar.

“Damnit,” he mumbled and stretched to look again, but he wasn’t seeing her now– oh! Wait, there?!

But the woman he’d spotted turned, and it wasn’t Grace, not even close. And now he felt more sure that’s who he had seen and gotten hopeful, confused. 

Fucking fuck.

Yeah, no, but of course she hadn’t come. This wasn’t the kind of place she would hang out on a Saturday evening. She’d said she would keep it in mind, not that she’d actually come. She was probably at a wine tasting or a steak house or a private club along the nice parts of the beach tonight.

He got the impulse to text her, tease her about missing the song. But of course he didn’t know her like that, they didn’t have that kind of familiarity, and he didn’t have her number. Well, technically it was in her file, but not in his phone. Sure, she’d put Neosporin on his cat scratches, but that was it. They weren’t a thing. Obviously they weren’t a thing, because it was Mara he’d bumped two days ago, not Grace.

Could Mara tell he’d been thinking about someone else when he closed his eyes? Now he worried, wondered if that was why she had blocked him afterwards. 

This was getting out of hand. He’d said before he needed to fuck whatever little crush he had out of his system and he was right, it needed to happen. If Grace had any interest in him, she would have come to see the show he directly invited her to. It had all only ever been in his head, whatever little flirtation he’d had with her, and now he was done fixing her pool so even that was done. He’d see her every two weeks to clean her pool and she’d leave some Cheetos out for him like he was a squirrel and that was that.

The woman was talking to him, he realized belatedly. He hadn’t heard a word. But she was attractive and tall and she had nice shoulders and long legs.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he blurted out. Might as well make a move to get over his disappointment that Grace was in fact not the one here praising his performance.

The woman gave him a baffled look and said, “Um, no, as I was saying, I work for a clothing brand and I wanted to talk to you about some promotional outfits because your style is perfect.”

“Oh yeah, right, sorry, I meant so I can hear you better,” he flubbed a cover. “Why don’t you, um, email me? It’s hard to talk business in here.”

That seemed like the right thing to say, though he wasn’t sure she was actually going to follow through. Nothing worse than thinking a hot woman was hitting on you and realizing you were dead wrong. She was just trying to sell some shit. No, to get you to sell her shit.

Eesh. His ego needed a quick recovery so he wound his way back to his friends, one eye partially on the lookout for Grace but he was pretty certain by now he had imagined the whole thing. He wasn’t going to cry about it, but it was disappointing. She would have liked the show.

“My beer is empty,” he realized, holding up the empty glass he’d chugged through his embarrassment. 

“Buy me another!” Corri called, waving her hand at Jungkook.

He made a face and snorted, “Yeah right, you can come with me and buy your own.”

“Charming.”

“I’m not trying to charm you, make Taro buy you a drink.”

Corri’s eyes got really wide like he’d said something shocking or horrific, which he couldn’t figure out. 

Before he could think too much about it, Hoseok had draped his arms over Jungkook’s shoulders and practically shouted in his ear, “I’ll go with you!”

“Hey don’t hang on him,” Jimin scowled and grabbed Hoseok’s arm. “People are going to think you’re his boyfriend.”

“Then he’ll never get laid,” Taehyung sagely agreed. 

“At least not by the people he wants to get laid by… you’d do numbers in a gay club, you know,” Jimin told him, not for the first time. Which Jungkook was obviously flattered by, even if the thought of being intimate with a dick left him absolutely and utterly blank. It wasn’t even a recoil, it’s just that it was a dick, what was sexy or appealing about it? The only good thing about a dick was getting his own sucked or fucked. Probably he could give a pretty good handjob, he’d thought of that before because he was familiar with his own, but it wouldn’t be gratifying to him. 

Belatedly he added, “I did just get laid, so I don’t even care tonight. There’s more to life than fucking, you know.”

“Who’d you get laid by?” Jimin pressed, instantly interested.

“He spent the night with Mara,” Taehyung answered before Jungkook’s mouth even opened.

“How did you know?!”

“You always come back from her place kind of sulky.”

“No, man, that’s not true.”

Jimin and Taehyung both nodded though, and Hoseok, sliding off of him, agreed, “You do. Doesn’t seem like it’s very good sex.”

“That’s probably why you played so well tonight. Sexual frustration,” Soyoon teased, taking Jungkook’s empty bottle and setting it with others on a nearby table. “The worst kind, because you got it but the getting was not good enough.”

“It was sex! What’s not good enough about it?” But even as he said it, because he felt like he needed to defend himself, he also knew exactly what they were talking about. Sex with Mara didn’t feel like it counted. Sure, it was release, it was good in that sense. She was fine. He’d been satisfied at the time. Once he’d thought she was pretty good. It was better than masturbating and it didn’t require much from him since she initiated, but he wasn’t exactly broken up that she’d blocked him and there would never be another round. He’d been thinking of another woman during it anyway.

“I’m not sexually frustrated,” he argued, “and that doesn’t impact my drumming.”

“I think he drums better when he’s been well laid,” Yoongi argued, his only contribution. “He’s a little rushed when he’s frustrated.”

“Yeah, and I was fine tonight,” Jungkook agreed.

“A little rushed,” Yoongi beamed, then disappeared, clearly heading for the bar for another beer and then to make his escape to the outskirts, away from the crowd. That’s where Jungkook wanted to be too. He didn’t feel like talking about sex anymore; was that all they talked about?  

“You’re all assholes, I’m getting another beer,” he said, and turned to follow in Yoongi’s wake. Jimin grabbed the back of his shirt to follow along like a tug boat, Hoseok behind him, all of them letting Jungkook fight his way through the crowd to their benefit. 

*

Jungkook lost count of the beers and the time but he forgot his disappointment and just coasted on the vibes of a fun bar on a Saturday night. Eventually he was all laughter and smiles, easy-going, carefree, riding the high of a good performance and the handful of hot, flirty women it brought into his periphery. After striking out hard with the woman earlier when he was all distracted by the thought of Grace, he didn’t push for anything and mostly just stuck with his friends, but it at least bandaged his ego. See? Girls thought he was hot, even if Grace was unimpressed.

Damn, he wished he could impress her.

But he didn’t, and he really needed to stop thinking about her or it would turn into something pathetic like pining. He was not the kind of guy who pined. If something wasn’t working out, cut your losses and roll on. Pining led to disappointment and dissatisfaction and those things led to depression or drugs or both and that led to your family crying at your memorial every year.

What a relief that just as Jungkook started to get introspective, Hoseok jumped on his back and off they gallivanted to the sandy beach for an impromptu drunk volleyball game. Other friends had joined, Jungkook was surrounded now by people he liked, people he could just relax and have a good time with. Even when Seokjin accidentally hit the ball backwards, directly into Jungkook’s face, it was funny and it didn’t hurt too bad despite his watering eyes.

He took it as an excuse to collapse on the sand for a break. It was the kind of early summer night that had him sweating and shivering at the same time, a cool breeze tickling the sweat on his skin. 

Nearby a gaggle of girls were sitting, clearly drunk and loud. One kept looking at him; he wasn’t sure how long it took him to become aware of it, but she was drunk and slow to look away, and erupted into giggles when he nodded his head at her. Instantly he regretted it; she looked young, probably Haewon’s age, and the older he got, the older his lower age limit was. He didn’t understand guys who wanted to fuck girls who couldn’t even legally drink yet. Couldn’t be him. The last thing he wanted was some young giggly drunk college girl right now, just thinking about it made his dick limper than limp. Nineteen was for baby sisters. 

Two other women walked in front of him, headed towards the water, and his gaze was drawn immediately and entirely towards them and the way moonlight and beach lights glinted off their long dark legs. They had a confidence, an attitude to them; they had lived at least as many years as he had and he found himself drawn to that so much that it got him to his feet, walking after them to wade in the water a couple yards away.

He should just go over to them. He should flirt, be his best charming self. Ask if they’d seen the show, since they’d come from the bar. Lead the subject around to his drumming, see if they were into that, make a couple jokes laced with innuendo to see if they nibbled. If they did, it was an opening, an opportunity they’d be down to nibble something else later tonight, at least one of them. On a night like tonight, he could have good luck finding a new woman to fuck for a night, even if that’s where it ended. There was nothing wrong with a night of fun when you could string them together. Mara was out but he could find a new woman to enter rotation, yeah? Maybe one of those women, and he’d have a great time and so would she, and that was all that mattered. Some people in life had these over-arching purposes like Haewon, and others had purpose though a person or relationship like his eomma and appa, or maybe even Jimin and Hoseok because they’d been together for a while now, and the rest of them were just living life and having fun and fucking around and there didn’t have to be any bigger reason for it and he was cool with that! He didn’t need more than that and he wasn’t just saying that, he was satisfied. He could die tomorrow and he would feel like he’d lived the best life he could, given the circumstances. Sure, he could have lived better with a million dollars and no stress and a girlfriend, but c’est la vie or whatever. That was about all he remembered from high school French, which he had taken because there were more girls than the Spanish classes.

“Hey, aren’t you the drummer for the band earlier?” one of the women asked, suddenly noticing him.

He grinned, internally pumping his fist, and drawled, “Yeah… you ladies like the show?”

“It was amazing– oh my god, how old are you? You look really young,” one said and the fist pump turned into a shake at the heavens. 

“I’m twenty-six, damn, you sure know how to flatter a guy,” he snorted. They couldn’t see his body in the low light, probably only his big beady eyes that yes, he was aware made him look younger. 

“Oh my god, sorry, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing!”

Annoying. Women didn’t think he looked so young once he took his shirt off, but he had a youthful face, whatever. Old women loved it! Younger women didn’t mind! 

“I bet you say that to every Asian guy you meet,” he joked. “You need a new pickup line.” The woman who said it looked shocked, but the other one was unbothered and smiling at him now in a way that still looked like it could be an open door. He might be able to land this one, and end his night balls-deep in a hot woman who had seen his show and enjoyed it. He wouldn’t let his mind wander like he did with Mediocre Mara. That was a mistake. He shouldn’t have bothered with her just because she was easy sex, so he thought right now when presented with more challenging sex that would therefore be more satisfying. Probably. 

Besides, maybe his friends were right, maybe even Haewon had accidentally been right without even knowing what she was talking about: who wanted to have sex with someone you knew didn’t really like you? He was an easy lay for Mara and that was fine because it was easy for him too but… but something was missing. His friends were right, he was sexually frustrated. Mara was right too, she was too same-old for him. He needed someone new and exciting, someone who thought he was hot and cool and really admired him. It had been a while since he’d fucked someone new and exciting. He wasn’t the kind of guy who tracked the weeks any more than he was the kind of guy who kept a body count, but it had been too long. He couldn’t have told you how many women he’d been with if his life depended on it –which women had, and he made up a number based on what he thought they wanted to hear, but he always got it wrong in the end but he suspected they were usually looking for a way out by that point anyway. Which was cool, some people were meant for sticking or being stuck to and maybe he just wasn’t that person. The sticking kind. 

He really, really hoped that someday he would be somebody’s sticking kind and that it would be worth the wait. 

They were asking him about music, about instruments, about drumming technique. Jungkook smiled and nodded and flirted and ignored this weird part of his brain that kept tapping him on the shoulder. He didn’t want to hear what it said. He didn’t want to overthink this. He was cool, casual, slightly drunk Jungkook, he’d just go with the flow. The love of your life had to start somewhere, right? When you least expected it?

“So what do you do during the day?” one of the women asked. “Or is this your full time gig?”

Aw shit.

Jungkook wished desperately he had something cooler to say than the truth, and many a failed date slithered up to his shoulders, but he wasn’t the sort of guy who would lie for pussy. 

“I’m a lifeguard and a pool technician,” he answered with a confident nod. 

“Ohhh,” they said, almost identical intonation. This, this was the problem, and he refused to let it make him bitter but it was starting to make a dent. Women his age in this town didn’t want blue collar, they wanted white collar, or at least something sexy like I’m waiting tables because I want to be an actor or a model. 

“That’s … cool. You must like to swim.” He could feel their eyes slide down and then back up. 

“Yeah, I spend all my free time at the beach. I surf a lot.”

Sometimes that worked, but this time it did not. He could practically see their attention melting away.

“Cool,” one said. And Jungkook sighed. Honestly he didn’t even think he could salvage sex out of this, and there was definitely no budding romantic connection. Time to cut his losses and salvage his dignity. Which was fine, he’d had sex last night. If he was really eager, he could wander back to the stage and let a woman approach him and do most of the talking, that tended to work pretty well. Not for dates, granted, but if all he wanted was someone to go home with, it panned out sometimes. 

His friends cheered over the game behind him and Jungkook got the restless feeling in his gut that he wanted to be anywhere but right here right now.  

“Well I’m glad you both liked the show,” he beamed at them. “Hope you have a nice rest of your night.” He could see they were surprised by the abrupt departure but that didn’t stop him from turning and jogging over to jump onto Seokjin’s back just as the game was breaking up and demand, “What’s everyone doing? Where are we going?”

“Oh, aren’t you going home with one of those chicks?” 

“Nah, I want to hit the beach early tomorrow. We calling it a night or going somewhere else?”

“You’re going to surf in the morning?” Seokjin laughed. “Won’t you be hungover?”

“I rarely get those.”

“Damn. Youth,” Seokjin sighed. “You won’t see me.”

“I’ve got work,” Hoseok sighed and flopped down on the sand. “Why can’t I be a kept man?”

Jimin laughed and kicked his leg, “Why can’t I be the kept man? You’re more capable than I am, you have to work.”

“We could both be the kept man.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s keeping us?”

“I’d keep you if I could,” Jungkook said grandly. “If I had a million dollars, none of us would have to work and we could just live like this all the time.”

“A million dollars really isn’t that much money,” Soyoon pointed out. She hadn’t been playing volleyball; Jungkook thought she had already left with Yoongi and was surprised to see her saunter over now. “You could take everyone on like one nice vacation.”

“Ok, I’d do that then,” Jungkook decided.

“Awww are you drunk and sentimental now? Is that why you bailed on ass to come back and roll around with us?” Jimin asked, curling around Jungkook’s feet and trying to drag him down. Jungkook easily lifted Jimin up, making him flail and shriek with laughter as Jungkook spun him in a circle and then tossed him back down with Hoseok.

“‘I’m not sentimental, I’m restless.”

“Yeah so go fuck one of those women.”

“Nah. Maybe I should take a break from sex for a while,” he mused. “It’s getting kind of boring.”

“Sex is… boring?”

“Bad sex is boring,” Soyoon snickered. “Bye for good Mara.”

“We talk about sex too much, it’s not that great. It always ends the same way. Let’s do something else tonight,” Jungkook insisted. 

“You’re kind of weird lately,” Taehyung laughed, squeezing Jungkook’s cheeks together. “Extra weird.”

“Nah, I’m cool. Let’s go.”

“Drinks and games at home?”

  “I’m going to Yoongi’s to smoke, if you want to join,” Soyoon shrugged. “And I’ve got my car and I’m sober to drive so…”

Jungkook didn’t really want to do that either, but he couldn’t put his finger on what he wanted to do. Maybe he didn’t even want to be surrounded by people right now but he didn’t want to be alone either, so being with his friends seemed like the next best thing, and he didn’t really want to go smoke at Yoongi’s place but that’s where everyone was headed so hey, he’d go with the flow. 

Maybe Taehyung was right, he was being a little weird. Usually he didn’t bounce around this way. Even his own thoughts were bouncy. It felt like he was just trying to pass the time until something… but what? There was nothing coming up in his life. He had no plans. He had no goals. There was no upcoming vacation or party or anything like that. Flowerfest, but it wasn’t that big a deal. Why did he have that weird tingle of anticipation in his belly –which would have made sense if he was still flirting with the girls and hoping to score with one tonight, but he’d backed out of that. 

Sex with Mara sure hadn’t fixed it, so fine, he’d see if weed with Yoongi did instead. 

“Shotgun!” he shouted and tore ahead to Soyoon’s car, barely slowed down when Jimin jumped onto his back. 

Nothing like a Tuesday morning spent across a table from Tim to ruin every modicum of contentment Grace had worked on for the last few days. Her weekend had been fine but busy bouncing between social engagements, followed by a perfectly fine Monday of work touring open houses with a client. Busy was good, she was busy with the things she wanted to be busy with. More exciting than that, she had already secured plans for Friday night out with Alicia, with Alicia’s guarantee Grace would end the night “fucked out beneath a hot guy.” Grace was desperately clinging to that promise because honestly she just needed some relief. Bonus points if the guy could want her, crave her, just be really overwhelmed with lust for her because damn did her self esteem need it right now.

“This is the breakdown of assets we agreed to take to the judge,” Lidiyah evenly reminded Tim and his lawyer. Robert Butts had the unfortunate appearance of looking like a butt with a deep cleft chin and jowls and only a thin layer of buzzed black hair, and looking at him filled Grace with rage because he was an idiot lawyer –Lidiyah had said it many times– intentionally saying and doing dumb shit to drag this whole thing out because that’s what Tim wanted. 

“My client wants to revisit the list. He doesn’t think it’s appropriate to include assets for distribution that your client never interacted with,” Robert Butts argued. Grace looked at the sheet of paper they had highlighted things on –the pool table, the stair master, the TV from Tim’s man cave. Even the fucking dart board which couldn’t have been more than $250. The craziest claims though were the ‘66 Chevy Corvette Stingray convertible and the Mercedes Maybach EQS SUV, which he claimed were his and only his because she had never driven the Mercedes and the Chevy Corvette should be considered a gift for his 40s or at least only appraised at the original sales price because he was the one who had “funded restoration.” (With joint funds!)

Grace saw red when she looked at the list, but looking at Tim would make her even angrier so she looked at her watch instead. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how angry he made her. She wanted to look like she was unbothered, like she didn’t care, like this was just a waste of her time.

“That’s not what division of assets means,” Lidiyah said again. “These assets were purchased with joint funds, including the Stingray. It does not matter who touched what items in the house for how many seconds.”

Today was just supposed to be a chance to finally agree on the list and both sign it so it could be brought before the judge as part of the official divorce proceedings. Today was not supposed to be a chance to reopen the list and argue over every fork and spoon.

Grace tapped Lidiyah’s arm and leaned close to whisper, “As much as I hate this, I don’t care about this anymore, just give him the shit and let’s sign it.”

“Give me one week to fix this,” Lidiyah argued, just as quietly. “If we budge on this, it gives him space to reopen other things. I would almost have gone in on the TV and pool table but not those fucking cars. That’s ludicrous.”

Grace didn’t want to give Lidiyah even one more week, even though she completely and totally agreed it was ludicrous. What next, claiming all the funds that had come from sale of the house and were currently sitting in escrow awaiting settlement? She was ready to burst, sitting in the room with Tim never directly addressing her made her so angry. How had she ever been married to this man? She had to believe he had changed, surely she would never have been so stupid to love someone this petty and stupid and selfish.

But Grace trusted her lawyer and sighed noisily, “Are you really this hard up for money, Tim?” It was a well placed blow; he immediately began to shout at her and Robert Butts dove in to quiet him down. 

“The list has to stand,” she argued. “If you really want to open it up further, my dad is going to want to revisit that loan he made which has never been paid back and which I think funded your Bentley alongside your career.”

“That was a gift!” Tim shouted. “An investment, not a loan!”

Lidiyah gave Grace a look, clearly annoyed Grace had poked, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was in Tim’s best interest that he stop dragging his feet about this and get it over with quick. In fact, her father had wanted to go after Tim for the money purely out of spite as soon as Grace told him about the divorce, but Grace knew Tim would fight it and it would slow things down. Now, since Tim was slowing things down so badly anyway, her strength was starting to waver. 

“You aren’t going to find it called anything but a loan in any of the paperwork,” Grace mused, settling back in her seat. Tim’s rage made her feel stronger. See? She had more power over him than he had over her.

She didn’t like the person this divorce was trying to make her.

Fortunately the appointment didn’t last much longer; Lidiyah called a stop to it, stating this was a waste of her and her client’s time if Tim and his lawyer were not there to move things forward in good faith. They could send over a counterproposal for the asset allotment if they wanted, but if it wasn’t received in 48 hours, Lidiyah and Grace would send one over.

“Which you will like even less than this one,” Grace added before Lidiyah ushered her from the room. 

“Don’t bait him, Grace,” her attorney reminded as they headed out to their cars. “Let him make an ass of himself.”

“At what point is he holding me hostage in this marriage?” Grace argued.

“I know. We’re getting closer.”

“Seriously, how long can he drag this out? I know you want the principle of it and I did too but I’m reaching my limit. At some point I don’t care about the money, I just want it all to go away.”

“What you don’t want is him trying to open the prenup,” Lidiyah reminded.

“He can’t. It’s ironclad.”

“He can try and it’ll drag this all out further.”

“So he has all the power right now. He can keep me from escaping –I just want to be free, Lidiyah.”

“I know. We’re getting closer. Just hang in there a little longer.”

Grace was tired of hanging in there. She got into her car and pulled a safe distance away with a plan to scream, just to get the bubble out of her chest. 

She couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t be as ridiculous as Tim. Instead she clenched everything way down tight and squeezed her eyes shut until she stars on the back of her eyelids.

It was bad enough, everything Tim had done, but she genuinely felt like this was worse than the infidelity. He hadn’t wanted her, so why the hell wouldn’t he let her go?She’d changed her name, she had a completely separate life and finances now, but she still had to dedicate brain space to divorce, time to these meetings, significant money to her attorney, and hey, you wanted to talk about principle, she had to still live with the knowledge she was legally bound to him right now. She had filed every paperwork she could making her family her beneficiaries, her emergency contact, her health care proxy. She’d taken every step she could to sever ties with him and yet he still had a chain around her wrist and she was about ready to strangle herself with it just to be free.

Her driving homeward was not the best she’d ever done but she made it unscathed, music up loud as she tried to drown out her own anger. She growled low in her throat as the gate took too long to open, then promptly shut up when it revealed JK’s truck parked in the corner. Well wasn’t that the last thing she needed right now, someone on her property who she didn’t want to be a bitch to right when she felt like being the biggest most outrageous bitch to someone because the small jabs at Tim were just not enough.

She couldn’t see him and tried to look casual as she turned her music down and waited for the garage door to open, but she hit the gas too hard and then the breaks too hard pulling in and the squeal of the tires definitely didn’t sound casual. She also hadn’t actually turned the music down as much as she thought because when she turned the car off, the sudden silence left her ears ringing.

Maybe she could sneak inside without him realizing she was here?

She leapt out of her car, yanking her purse so hard it sent the contents spewing across the floor of the garage. She clenched everything in her body so as not to scream, but instead it made her eyes prickle with the threat of tears. She emitted a choked scream instead, trying to hold it in and let it out at the same time. It hurt her throat.

“Hey, you ok?” JK asked from the driveway. She turned slowly, wanting to make sure she did not let any of this rage escape in his direction. He didn’t deserve that, just for innocently asking how she was at a really bad time. And he was so innocent, so kind, he’d been so nice and harmless and even supportive in the small moments her personal life had bumped against their professional relationship. He looked so sincerely concerned now, like he could see she was on the verge of going supernova.

“I’m having a bad day,” she said, hoping that would be enough. He took a step closer and it was too much because he was so handsome and nice and had never done any of the shit Tim had done, why couldn’t she have met and married someone more like JK, huh? JK wouldn’t act like this in a divorce, a divorce he had caused, she was sure of it, because he probably wasn’t the kind of guy who’d be screwing around in the first place. Or maybe he was! She didn’t actually know him or anything about him and her gut about men was clearly broken and couldn’t be trusted and she was going to ask Alicia to just point her to someone safe and that would have to be enough for the rest of Grace’s life because she could never go through this again. There had never been a golden time with Tim that was worth it now. It was not better to have loved and lost. 

“Ah, sorry to hear that. You–” He broke off whatever he’d been going to say when she covered her face. Probably he thought she was going to cry. She wasn’t. She was trying not to scream again. She wanted to throw a tantrum like a toddler, she wanted to hit and scream and punch something –preferrably Tim’s stupid fucking face.

“Here here here, punch punch,” he suddenly said, voice urgent as he dove forward. 

“What?”

He’d held his hands up and insisted, “Punch, really hard!”

“What?!”

“Come on, you won’t hurt me, just do it, punch.”

“I’m not going to punch you–”

“It’s just sparring! Boxing is the best way to get that feeling out. Come on, I can see you’re tense as shit, it’ll help, just punch my hand.” 

“I don’t know how to–”

He grabbed her hand, curled her fingers with her thumb out, and warned, “Your nails might hurt your palm but… seems like maybe it’s worth it… come on, right here, just punch.” 

“JK, this is…” But he had his hands up waiting, and the explosive rage hadn’t left her yet, and in the back of her mind she remembered the childhood guidance to punch a pillow or slam a stuffed animal against the ground if you were angry. Who had told her that? She couldn’t remember. Certainly not her parents; rage wasn’t allowed; there was no reason or room for rage in their privileged lives.

She hauled back and punched his palm, or rather glanced off the heel of his hand. He caught her hand, nudged it to the side, and said,

“Try again. Turn your body this time, not just from your shoulder.”

She followed his instructions, throwing another punch he easily caught. Her nails did dig into her palm a bit.

“Good, twist on your toes, keep your feet planted.”

She didn’t know how to punch. She knew she looked stupid as shit, but he didn’t laugh even a little, just caught her next punch, and the next. The thud of her fist against his hand felt good, good in a crazy way she couldn’t explain unless she was secretly a violent person and just hadn’t known all this time. Even the sound of it was satisfying. JK caught each punch until she’d done probably ten and her hands were hurting and she tried punching with the left one but over-balanced and nearly toppled to the side.

“Ok, body compression?” he asked.

“What’s what?”

“Uh… a really tight… hug? No? I don’t want to… overstep…” he said, hands up, eyes wide. 

“I don’t know, will that help me not murder my still not quite ex fucking husband?” she spat out without meaning too, because the punching had helped but now she felt like an active live wire rather than an imploding one.

“Yah, I hope so, I just finished your pool, you can’t go to jail before you even swim in it,” he teased. She wasn’t in the mood for teasing yet, but apparently this was her support system right now and even though everything in her head screamed at her that she should just go inside and kick a pillow and keep her feelings private and professional until they passed– when JK stepped forward with open arms, she stayed put to see what this was. She didn’t want to be hugged right now. If he hugged her or said nice things, she was going to have to work really hard not to scream and kick him in the shins. 

“Yes?” he asked.

“Ok,” she said, not sure what she was actually agreeing to. She felt wild with anger and frustration as his arms wrapped around her, tighter and tighter. He even adjusted her arms, pinning them against her chest between them. Then he squeezed tight, far tighter than was comfortable for a hug, so tight that when he leaned back, it lifted her from the ground. His skin was flushed and sweaty, which she couldn’t miss with her chin right on his shoulder. His t shirt stretched around his shoulder muscles as he squeezed tighter, so tight it would be uncomfortable to breathe, so she just held her breath.

She suddenly went limp in his arms. She couldn’t have explained it, but the tight hold pulled her tighter and tighter and tighter until suddenly her body just decided ok, enough, relax. She collapsed against him, so suddenly he stepped to catch her unexpected ragdoll weight. For one brief moment, her cheek pressed to his neck, his hands splayed across her back, and it felt like a normal hug –exactly the thing thirty seconds ago she thought would make her scream, but now felt warm and strong and safe.

When his arm dipped lower to hold around her waist, she realized this had turned into an inappropriate hug and that her pool guy was not the right place to be getting emotional comfort and also not the right person to see her throw a tantrum. She quickly stepped back, tripping over her own feet as her spaghetti-legs tried to firm up. He held her arms to keep her steady and gave her the sunniest, sweetest smile that had no place on a day like this. It was disorienting. 

“What kind of hoodoo magic was that?” she stammered out.

“Ha, did it help?”

Her arms and legs tingled. Her back buzzed where his arms had pressed into it. Truthfully, she wished he would hold her tight like that again, maybe he could squash her down completely, legs too. Why did she want that?! She couldn’t explain it.

“You looked like you needed to punch something and I was worried you’d kick your car,” he said.

“I’m not a violent person.”

“Your ex makes me feel violent too.”

“He’s trying to completely break me in this divorce, fighting with me over nonsense,” she admitted. “He’s holding me hostage. I just want to be done with it.” She felt the anger rising again, the frustration, the helplessness. 

“You’ve probably got a really good lawyer, right? You’ll be done soon.”

“I wanted to take the high road and instead he’s twisting me into this… violent, awful person,” she fretted.

“Eh, I don’t think that’s true. Needing to punch something is just like… that’s just physical, that’s just like fucking. You just need to get it out of your system when your body wants to… you know, uh… hey, want me to slash his tires?”

Grace stared at him, tugged all over by what he had just said. There was almost a kernel of wisdom in the first part, she thought. Maybe he was right. Fucking, punching, was any of it really that different from needing to go on a run or work out really hard? She needed the adrenaline out. Maybe that’s why her body had been so horny lately too, maybe she’d just been running too high for too long and her body needed to vent something besides tears. That would explain why her horniness had nothing to do with love or romance, she just wanted to get railed. Right now. If only–

“Oh my god you can’t slash his tires,” she gasped, the last bit catching up to her. 

“I was kidding. Mostly.”

“I’m serious, you of all people have to stay away from him.”

“Me? Why me of all people?”

“He doesn’t know you took the video and I have worked hard to make sure it stays that way,” she insisted. “God, the last thing I need is him coming after you.”

“Eh, I’ll be fine.”

She rolled her eyes and, impulsively, gave a hard shove against his chest that barely budged him as she scolded, “I’m serious, JK. I don’t need a misguided knight in shining armor. Don’t be like that.”

“What do you need instead?” he asked, eyebrow arched. Grace’s brain short-circuited. Yeah if you could just bend me over that patio table there and fuck me senseless, I think I’d be set for the day. His chest had felt hard beneath her palms, was that why her brain had leapt right there? 

“Why are you here today?” she asked instead. Then, considering it might have sounded excessively rude, she added, “Not that I’m not always glad to see you.”

He clapped his hand to his chest and laughed like he was playing along with a joke, and reminded, “I told you I’d be back to check your pool.”

“Oh, right. Need to show me anything?”

“Sure… want help cleaning up your stuff first?” he asked, and made to step around her. She couldn’t bear to watch him stoop to pick up her lipstick and kleenexes and keys from the ground though. That shit could stay down there, she was so angry at her purse for betraying her like that.

“Leave it,” she said, catching his arm, “I’ll deal with it later.”

“You might forget and run over your… diamond-encrusted lipstick,” he said, turning the tube over in his hand, the Swarovski crystal one her sister had given her for Christmas one year. Honestly she hated it, hence why it spent its days lurking in the bottom of her purse, forgotten. Jungkook popped it open and mused, “Bright red. That’s a good color.”

“I’ve never even worn it,” she sighed and grabbed it from hands to close it and tossed it back in the direction of her purse. She’d never worn it because Tim didn’t like that color, he thought it was too attention-seeking. “Whorish” was the word he’d used, actually. He liked darker shades which she didn’t think flattered her but she’d worn them anyway, trying to be the kind of wife who was adored by her husband. 

“Yeah and you never will if you run over it.”

“I’ve dealt with enough consequences for one day,” she sighed. 

“Ok ok. Need to punch some more?” he offered, hands going up.

She felt stupid to have let him goad her into that now. How silly. How immature. JK really just saw the worst of her all the time, didn’t he? It was mortifying, and now she felt her face heating up and a desperate urge for him to leave so she could be alone in her embarrassment.

“Just show me the pool please,” she asked, because she wasn’t sure how else to hurry him along. 

“You got it,” he said, probably thinking she was crazy. She trailed him across the patio and down the path to the pool, which looked like a heavenly oasis, sparkling under the sunlight filtering through the trees. Once there he turned to her and motioned with his hands like she’d won a prize. “Your pool.” When she just stared, confused, he admitted, “I didn’t need to show you anything about it. I just came by to check everything and it looks perfect. I did a good job.”

“You did a great job,” she agreed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Have you used it yet? Any concerns or problems?”

Her sigh was probably answer enough as she admitted, “No, I haven’t even gotten to use it yet.” 

“Well why not? You spent a lot of money on this thing.”

“I know, and you worked really hard.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I’d have been in this the second the pool guy drove away!”

“I mean to be, I just got… busy…” Busy maintaining social connections that were more important to her mother than to herself right now. Busy working on the house like she was in a rush to please someone other than herself. Busy trying to figure out a new normal that still somehow was not actually putting her needs first. 

“You’re right,” she said. “Why the hell not?”

 She then promptly leapt into the pool, fully clothed, one sandal dangling from her toes until the water swallowed her and carried it away. The water was cool, crystal clear, so clean she could see JK’s rippling figure leaning over the edge of the pool, staring down at her. She erupted up through the surface, her blouse and hair billowing around her. 

“You really did that, huh?” he laughed. 

“Yeah why not? It’s my pool, right? I can swim in it whenever I want.”

“Yeah.”

“Stop looking at me like I’m crazy,” she complained and splashed him, water arcing across his legs. “I guess I’m a little crazy today.”

“You’re not crazy. I worked fucking hard on this pool, I want you to enjoy it. Fully clothed? Ok, whatever you want.”

She didn’t know what came over her. Madness, recklessness, it didn’t matter. She splashed him again and demanded, “You come in too.”

“Me, huh?”

“You worked so hard on this pool. Come on in if you want. Or don’t! It’s whatever you want, JK. Do whatever you want. It’s a nice pool though, isn’t it? This pool guy I hired did an amazing job on it.”

She ducked under the water to push her hair back, wishing she had clipped or tied it today instead of leaving it down. She surfaced just in time for him to sail over her and land ass-first, sending a wave right into her face. She yelped and splashed back at him as soon as he surfaced. 

“I didn’t say drown me!” she laughed.

“Oh you can dish it out but you can’t take it, huh?” he shouted back, paddling his hands to spectacularly outdo her attack. 

“I can take it just fine, I–” she broke off as too much talking earned her a mouthful of water. They were like children, she felt juvenile and free and buoyant and couldn’t stop laughing long enough to clear the water from her nose and mouth. Suddenly he was gone again beneath the surface, the blue of his t-shirt and board shorts blending in with the pool tile. His dark hair stood out though, easily tracked as he surfaced right beside her, a hand sliding up her body to catch her arm.

Grace was not ignorant to the thrill that ran up her spine with his touch. She chalked it up to the crazy behavior of jumping into her pool fully clothed and inviting the pool guy to swim with her.

“What’s that? You’re drowning?” he asked. “I’m a lifeguard, you know.”

“I said you were drowning me–”

“I’ll save you!” he promised and caught her around the waist and dragged her to the shallow water. 

“JK!” she laughed, grabbing at his arm, fingers sliding across smooth, firm muscle. Damn. Did she curl around him playfully, just because she could? She did, grabbing his other shoulder, remembering how tightly he’d squeezed her not long ago. It took him so little effort to carry her along. His arms felt like warm, strong steel beneath her fingers. The water churned around the twist of their bodies.

She was pretty crazy today, but he was sort of a strange person too, constantly ignoring proper boundaries and behavior anyway, so maybe it didn’t matter!

“I’m not drowning you, your shirt is. Dry clean only?” he guessed.

“Oops yeah,” she laughed. He wasn’t wrong about either account; the gauzy material flowed around them, clinging to both their bodies, ballooning uselessly and transparently. She had wanted to look professional and perfect and proper at the meeting with Tim and for why? It didn’t matter at all. Now it clung too tight around her neck and shoulders and she tried to peel the ruffles off her skin.

“Need some help with that? I’m a lifeguard, ma’am,” he reminded, in such a low and serious voice that she burst into laughter. 

“Are you actually a lifeguard? They don’t sound like that.”

“Yes I’m– I’m actually a lifeguard,” he cried, suddenly so openly insulted that she doubled over. “I save lives!”

“How many lives have you saved?”

“So many, Grace!”

It was the combination, the fact that he’d shouted her name, the fact that he was insisting he was a life saver, the fact he couldn’t keep a straight face –she couldn’t stand it. Tears rolled down her cheeks, she laughed so hard as she battled her own clothing. At least her skirt was loose and less bothersome as it twined around her knees, unlike the shirt showing every ridge of her lace bra.

“So many!” she repeated. “Are you sure they aren’t just faking?”

His voice dropped again, lowered as his body rose from the water beside her, as he demanded, “Why? Why? Women don’t fake it with me. Don’t fake anything with me.”

“I would never,” she vowed, giggling nervously because he was suddenly so close. Women don’t fake it with me. Yeah they probably didn’t need to. JK seemed like the kind of guy who knew how to wring pleasure from a woman. “I meant faking drowning to get mouth to mouth from you,” she quickly clarified. 

“You think so?” he asked, cocky grin, lifted eyebrow, water cascading from glistening arms making her head spin as he pushed his hair out of his face. One of his sleeves had bunched up, showing off more of his shoulder and tattoo and one little very loud corner of Grace’s brain suggested lick the water off. Jungkook sank down on the step beside her and playfully demanded, “You need mouth to mouth? Nearly drowning?”

“Yeah, I might be drowning,” she mumbled without weighing her own words and leaned in without thinking of the consequences of her actions. 

He’d asked the leading question but she kissed him first, she was sure of it –as sure as he was that he’d kissed first, something they could argue about forever. In the moment though there was no first or second, only joined mouths and wet bodies suddenly pressed together as dripping hands pulled at drenched clothing and skin, tangled in hair with every caress. His fingers dug into her back, holding her so tight against his body she lost herself for a moment, lost her mind, lost all sense of time. Until the tug of her blouse disrupted her, tangled in the friction of their bodies until the neckline was chafing her neck.

“Wait, wait,” she gasped and instantly he sprang away. It gave her just the space she needed to grab the ruined fabric and try to wrestle it up over her head, where it tangled in her hair and around her ears. It was his hands that unhooked it, slid it free, and threw it to the ledge of the pool. She reached for his shirt too, then stopped her fingers just as they gripped the fabric. No, oops, too far, too fast. 

He kissed her again in her moment of hesitation, and murmured against her mouth, “You want it off, take it off.”

So she did, eyes blatantly ogling as he helped her drag the shirt over his head and send it arcing through the air as well. So much naturally sun-kissed skin wrapped around her as she slid her hands up his shoulders, his dipping around her waist, pulling her flush against him again. It felt like his skin radiated sunlight, she could feel it rising through her palms and washing through her body. His fingers burned wherever they touched her, his lips dragged away all thoughts of breathing.  

Should she stop this? 

She should stop this. 

She couldn’t stop this because she didn’t want to stop this.

His mouth pulled the sweetest sigh from hers, and his arms were so warm and tight around her, and frankly her body was on fire right now, held together only by him, like he had compressed her earlier and now unraveled her. She didn’t want to stop this. JK’s thumb tilted her chin up so his lips could trail down her throat and all she could do was wrap her legs around his waist so the water would stop dragging them apart and moan at what it felt like to be desired. It had been so long since anyone had grabbed her like this, kissed her like this.  

She swore he called her beautiful, swore he nipped the word into the skin of her throat as she let her head fall back. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip and thigh, exposed by her floating loose skirt. She didn’t know if he was trying to pull her but she ground against him anyway, seeking the friction her body desperately wanted. 

He moved higher in the pool, dragging her into his lap until they became a tangle of arms and legs, lips clashing, needy sighs churning around the water.

“Hey,” he said around the kisses he didn’t seem any more eager to stop. “Hey, hey.”

“Hmm?”

He made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a groan as she rocked her body mindlessly against his, only this time angled in such a way she felt him between them, felt his body’s response to all of this. She wanted that, wanted it so badly that the only thing she could think to do was rub against him again, grinding the ache between her legs against his hardness.

“Hey, baby,” he interrupted, and this time lifted her, holding her above his lap in the water, his fingers digging into her thighs. Getting called baby by this smug twenty-something was as disorienting as the realization she may have just gone too far and made a fool of herself.

“Oh god, I’m so–”

“How far do you want this to go?” he asked her, and licked his swollen lips, chest heaving. He stared at her with dark eyes burning in a flushed face.  

All the way. All the fucking way, she stopped herself from screaming. Her palms burned on his shoulders, her body ached for him, for fulfillment, for release. It had been so long since someone had done it for her, something more than the easy underwhelming release of a vibrator, and here was the hottest man she’d ever had her hands on holding her by the bare thighs asking her what she wanted and she didn’t trust herself to answer that she wouldn’t sound like an idiot. 

She felt the shift as he started to lower her to the side, as he kindly suggested, “If you need to think about it we can–”

“I don’t know how to say it,” she admitted with a nervous smile, aware that something important dangled by a thread right now and she may not be smooth enough to pull it off.

“Say what?” he asked. His expression immediately shifted into a smile. His muscles twitched as he changed direction, pulling her closer again –but not quite, not close enough. “Just say it.”

“I…” It was mean, this teasing. He knew he was teasing, she could see it in his face, could feel it in the way he pushed her away again, sliding her back and forth in the water. Taunting her. It made her want to kick him. It made her feel crazy. It made her want to bite him and kiss him harder and latch on so he couldn’t push her away until she’d had her way with him, until she was left spent and exhausted on the edge of the pool.

“You look so shy,” he teased. “It’s cute. No one’s ever made you ask for it before?”

“I guess not...”

“Ha!” He threw his head back. “I knew it. Pretty girl used to getting what she wants, when she wants it.”

“That’s not true,” she scowled. 

“Never has to ask to be dicked down. Well you have to ask me,” he said, pulling her close, so close she could almost press against him. She was hungry for him, but not sure about this power play, this bossiness. He was in her pool, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be getting something out of this. He knew she’d just got out of a terrible marriage where she did not get what she wanted, when she wanted it. He had to know she was wildly out of practice in the art of seduction and had no clue what she was doing and hadn’t even been properly fucked in years. 

“If it’s such a favor I have to beg then–”

He yanked her close and this time ground himself against her, nearly making her eyes roll back as he breathed into her ear, “I want you so fucking bad, but I’ve held off this long so I can wait as long as it takes for you to really want it.”

Was he lying? Did he mean that? How long? If he was just saying what she wanted to hear, she didn’t care. He was playing his part perfectly.

“Stop holding back,” she insisted and slid her mouth along his jaw and nipped at his earlobe. His fingers dug painfully into her ass, dragging her across the hard ridge in his board shorts. She heard his breath stutter in his chest and thrilled that she’d be affecting him this way. It didn’t matter if she was one of a hundred women he’d spoken to like this, she had him worked up in the pool, she had him hard and wanting, and her body thrummed with anticipation. She refused to be intimidated by his little display of dominance.

“Come on,” she teased this time, grinding again. “If you want me so bad.”

“But what do you want?”

“You’re so mean,” she complained, and bit his ear, wishing he would just do it already. “A bully…”

“I’m a bully?” He grabbed the fabric of her skirt suddenly and rocked more quickly against her, both of them groaning at the contact even though it felt too sluggish, too muted by the water to be just right, but so close. “You’ve got me ready to bust in my board shorts, you’ve got us both aching, all because you’re too proud to admit you want to be fucked by the pool guy.”

Was she too proud? Pride wasn’t the issue. Fear was holding her back, it would keep holding her back from every opportunity that crossed her path if she kept being like this. If she wanted a safe man for her first time, JK was as good as it was going to get. He’d already seen her shame, would it be ok for him to see her need to? Could he be trusted with yet another secret? He hadn’t held the others against her.

“Please fuck me,” she gasped. “God, I just want to be fucked. Will you?”

He kissed her hard as he pushed her through the water, so hard she saw stars before she could catch her breath, not until the ledge of the pool pressed against her back. His mouth was hungry against hers, like she really had turned the key to unleash them both. She grabbed his head to hold him steady, to kiss him back more, but he escaped and kissed down her throat. He lifted her higher, further from what she wanted, but the complaint died on her lips as he pushed her bra up and sucked her nipple between those kiss-swollen lips of his. His tongue flicked, leaving her distracted and not expecting his thumb to brush along the center of her underwear. The water lapping against her stomach confused her mind, made it feel like she had two bodies each being worked. His wet kisses dragged along her chest to her other breast, she felt every lick and suck and swirl of his tongue around her nipple pebbling from the cold exposure. She also felt every single stroke of his finger as it slid underneath her panties and pressed around her clit.  

“Oh god,” she gasped and slid her fingers into his dark hair tickling her chest, her body shuddering. He rubbed circles between her legs and sucked at her nipple and she felt sure she’d cum before he was even in her. If so, she wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t want this to end so soon. Everything he did felt good, everywhere he touched felt alive and electric in a way she did not ever recall feeling in her life. When his thumb circled her entrance and then sank in, she made a noise that had him chuckling against her chest. 

“It’s just my thumb,” he teased. “Think you can handle the real thing or you going to cum too soon?”

“Well sorry, one of us is a little touch-starved…”

“Are you kidding? You think I’m not starving right now?” His mouth was impossibly sloppy up her throat, up to tongue her earring, and then slide down to her mouth, trails of saliva and pool water everywhere making her skin rise in goosebumps. She gasped and rocked her hips against his hand working her to the edge, twining her arms around his shoulders to give her leverage. He could totally make her cum this way. Was that pathetic? 

His hand suddenly pulled away, leaving her reeling. She knew it showed on her face. She just stared at him, confused for the second until it was clear he’d pulled away to drag his boardshorts off –completely off, tossed to the edge of the pool as if he had no problem being bum-fucking-naked in her backyard. That drove her wild, for him to be so casual about it. Inspired, she unclasped her bra and tossed it aside, then dragged her panties down. He took them from her and threw them far away into the yard, grinning cheekily as he did so. When she reached for her skirt though he stopped her.

“Leave that.”

“Why?”

“Leverage,” he said, and bunched the fabric up by the waistband and used that to yank her close. Her naked chest against his, cold water against flushed skin, made her gasp. Oh shit. Oh shit, fucking JK in the pool, she wasn’t even drunk, what was she doing?

But she wanted this, wanted it so bad she didn’t care about the consequences, wanted it so badly she reached down to take hold of his cock herself and stroke. The moan that rolled from his chest delighted her; he kissed his next moan into her mouth, tongue dipping down to tangle with hers. He was naked, he was so naked and all wrapped up with her and Grace was somebody else right now, living an impossible fantasy.

“You got a plan for that?” he asked, taunting her as he slowly thrust into her palm. She wrapped her other hand around him too and dragged, trying to get another moan from him but driving herself crazy instead. She wanted that, she wanted it in her, her heart thudded up high and down low and anywhere but her chest, she felt wild with desperation to be filled by him. She tried to pull herself close enough to impale but the water was clumsy to move through, more resistant than she thought, and she found herself continuing to clench around nothing, longing for his thumb, his pinky, anything. But preferably the hard cock filling her hand.  

Her back hit the edge of the pool again. He kissed her again, distracting, but not enough that she missed his fingers gripping the insides of her thighs, lifting and pressing them apart, leaving her so brazenly open for him and yet modestly hidden beneath the water. She guided his cock, rubbing the hard head of it against her clit, rocking her hips until she got him in just the right place and he sank slowly into her. A groan rushed from his chest and she devoured it, tightening her arms around his neck as he began to move into her, slowly pressing deeper and deeper, pinning her against the wall of the pool as his cock spread her –but not deep enough, she needed deeper, she could feel how shallow his slow, encumbered thrusts were. 

“Stupid water,” he murmured, dropping her thighs to grab her ass instead and pulled her but his hands slipped. He grabbed the fabric of her skirt instead and yanked. His body bucked as if frustrated, his breath sounding like a desperate pant, and that made her feel even wilder, because this already felt so good she wanted to scream and he wasn’t even really getting to fuck her the way he wanted to, the way she wanted. 

“Stupid water,” she agreed, and tried sinking her weight into him. It got him deeper, deep enough she finally felt full and she groaned into his shoulder. She slid her feet around him as he moved her away from the wall, not sure his plan, but forming one of her own: she lifted from him, then used her feet on his ass to drive herself down again. He quickly caught on and matched his thrust to her rhythm. It felt so much better, she felt so full and snug that she wasn’t even embarrassed by the satisfied moan that rushed out around his lips. Their synchronized rhythm, the full press and slap of their bodies against each other, even the twitching of his shoulder muscles beneath her forearms were enough enough it was more than enough. 

Then he carried her up to steps so that she was mostly of the water and suddenly the jolt of his body fucking hers was much, much stronger.

“Oh my god,” she yelped with surprise when the kiss of water was gone, and she felt her full weight held aloft only by his arms. This time when his cock pressed into her, she felt it in ways she had not realized the water was muting. 

“Fuck, there,” he groaned. His hands slipped around her thighs and ass, fingers grabbing all over, looking for the right grip on her slippery body. In a stroke of genius, he hooked his elbows beneath her knees, and for a moment held her aloft and fucked into her so hard she screamed.

“What! You ok?”

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “Oh my god, do that, do that more.”

“Oh that was a good– yeah–” She couldn’t believe it, him holding her like that. Without having to support her own weight all, it left her free to just take it and holy shit. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to press down into the rapid thrusts and wailed into his neck. He fucked harder, faster, fingers digging for traction, holding her tight so she couldn’t run away from her own building pleasure.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she gasped against his neck and curled around his body and stopped making any noise at all as pleasure erupted from the drive of his cock all the way up to her scalp. A cry chased the silence as her body spasmed and jerked against him, unsteady, out of rhythm, her body reeling with the shock of orgasm, her vision blooming with impossible colors. She sounded like a woman drowned as she gasped for breath and felt like she couldn’t catch it, couldn’t find traction to hold onto him with her wet hands and feet, couldn’t re-solidy around the steady thrust of him into her humming core.  

He must not have realized it because he didn’t ask if she’d cum and she didn’t volunteer the information and he didn’t stop. He wasn’t done and she didn’t want to be done either, she wanted more. It was just the prelude, she understood from her body. She’d never been a two-time kind of girl but she was lost in him right now, wrapped up in this impossible scenario being fucked by JK in her brand new pool, and she’d hide a dozen orgasms before she asked him to stop.

At first when he moved she feared he’d realized and was stopping before she’d got to see him cum.

“Don’t step,” she begged.

“I’m not stopping, don’t want to drop you,” he panted out. Her disappointment was short lived when he sat his bare ass on the side of the pool, her bundled in his lap, his hands now free to roam her body as she took over and rode him hard enough she could hear the softest whine in his breath. The angle of his cock was just as good here, when she tilted her right hip just a little it made her see stars with such strong pleasure that she lost the rhythm just as he was synchronizing his pulls with her. Their bodies were slippery, she couldn’t get the right angle and rhythm back and so just sank down on him deep, as deep as she could take him, and gyrated. It was the perfect moment to catch her breath. Her hands slid up and down his body, finally free to touch the muscles she’d worked so hard not to notice before. She kissed his mouth and chin and his ear and was rewarded with him briefly holding her still, panting against her neck, hands clenching against her skin. She thought he was cumming 

He grunted some series of words she couldn’t understand, completely incoherent. She decided to be bratty and bit his ear as she jerked herself harder down on him. He pulled her off and slid back onto the steps of the pool, which she thought might be a punishment, but instead he gripped the twisted drenched fabric of her skirt and used it to drag her to the edge. She would have liked to see the water lapping at his ass, it wasn’t fair he had his cock out in her pool and she couldn’t really see but he wouldn’t stop kissing her and she wouldn’t stop it either.

“Your legs go so wide,” he grinned against her mouth, pushing them further and dragging her closer to the edge as he shoved his cock back into place. 

“Yoga.”

“Fucking yoga,” he groaned, leaning his weight onto his hands behind her and pressed deep. The angle was a little awkward but she loved the bulk and surround of him, the way his muscles flexed to support his own weight over her, the way his hair dripped water down onto her heated skin. She pushed herself closer to the edge to fix the angle. Groans rose from deep in her throat when he dragged her even closer by that damn sexy wet fabric, so close to the edge she thought she was going to slide right into the pool, held at bay only by his hips pressing against her, his cock pressing her to safety. 

His hands hooked under her knees, holding her wide; she caught herself with her hands to keep from falling backwards and his eyes dropped immediately to her tits, now pressed towards him. The slight distance gave her an eyeful too, of his tanned torso, taught muscles, the thatch of hair above his cock as pumped inot her.  He was so hot, every muscle of his body flexing, his lips pursing with the effort. 

“Oh god,” she murmured, feeling her body pull in tight around that thick intrusion. No, this was worse than before –worse in a good way– because now he had the leverage and freedom he had not had when trying not to drop her. Hard, hard, fast, so fast her breath hiccuped in her chest and her mind spun circles and she dug her nails into his shoulders to hold herself in place because it was the only help she could offer for her own undoing as her feet bounced in the air and the water churned around his thighs.

Suddenly he pushed her back onto the concrete and crawled over her, her knees still over his arms which slid down to cradle her, folding her, leaving her helpless beneath the frantic drive of his cock.

“Oh god, JK–”

“Yeah, pretty girl, scream, let me hear you cum,” he panted against her hair and she didn’t even mean to unleash it but it snuck out anyway as his relentless thrusts shoved her headlong into a second orgasm. She jerked and twisted beneath him but he held her in place, driving in faster, she thought, sloppier, until his stern expression crumpled.

He yanked out of her grasp and out of her body and stretched to the side to pump himself, cum shooting across the edge of the pool, then dribbling down onto his thigh. Without a thought in her head and barely any air in her chest, Grace reached out to smear her hand across the mess on his leg, her other hand gently rubbing her own clit to soothe herself back together. 

“Are you still–” he started and slid his hand underneath hers to take over the task.

She twitched and flinched and gasped, “No, soft, soft, I’m… I’m done, I… I…” His hand slowed, brushing gentle and slower circles over her clit until he was still, such an intimate and soothing hold. She relaxed completely, boneless. His eyelids seemed heavy above his smile as he flopped onto his back with a satisfied groan, spent dick draped across his hip. She curled more modestly onto her side and waited for the heady rush to settle so she could think straight. She didn’t think she could even sit up just yet.

For several minutes they just lay there. Slowly she returned to the silence of the neighborhood, to the distant sound of cars, to the bubbling of the filter in the pool.

She ought to say something. She felt like she should. 

“That was…” she tried.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Amazing.”

“Fucking amazing,” he said. Their sentences were all twisted up and they shared a chuckle. “It’s harder to fuck in the pool than you realize.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

“Easier if you wanted to be fucked slow but you wanted to be fucked, right?”

“I did.”

“So I was determined,” he said with a chuckle. “You asked so nicely.”

She shoved his head playfully but he caught her hand and deposited it on his chest. It was uncomfortable on the concrete though –rough, hard, hot, all sorts of things Grace had been oblivious to when letting JK screw her on it. Slowly she sat up, arms crossed over her naked chest as she looked around the yard. She had no idea if neighbors could hear or see them. And he was still so naked, sunning himself on the side of her pool, his feet in the water, full gorgeous body on total display.

In admiring him though, she saw too now the bloody scraped knees and one of his shins. His elbow too, one arm draped lazily over his forehead.

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!” That was easier to comprehend than that JK had just fucked her through two orgasms in her pool.

“Huh? Oh, just my knees? Yeah, it’s fine. You’re not scraped up are you? I tried to keep you off the concrete–”

“I’m so sorry–”

“Clearly didn’t bother me,” he grinned at her. “I’m cool with a little pain mixed in.” She stared at his face, startled, stunned this had happened, and torn between that shock and the desire to slide up against him again and kiss more. He’d protected her from the concrete even while fucking?! Her bar for guys might be low, but that was incredibly sweet.

“Can I get you the first aid kit and an ice pack or–”

“Nah, it’s fine. Seriously, I’m a surfer, I’m always roughed up for way less satisfying reasons than… that.” He pushed himself up to standing, showing off a muscular ass which she denied the unbearable urge to slap as he untwisted his shorts and wrestled them on. It prodded her into motion: adjusting her skirt, tidying her hair. Her blouse was too tangled so she only clasped her bra back into place and looked down at herself and failed not to giggle.

He held his hand out to help her to her wobbly legs and laughed when she actually did teeter and had to grab onto his arms.

“Damn,” he beamed.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Kinda think you like me cocky.”

“Bully,” she glared but couldn’t sustain even the pretense of it for long. She felt relaxed. At peace. Heavy and lazy and all kinds of wonderful things. This morning was a hundred years away. She wanted nothing in the world except a nap. 

He’d been watching her face and when she looked away with embarrassment at whatever dumb emotion was to be found there, he just playfully tugged the strap of her bra. 

“Well…” he drawled. “If you have no other questions or concerns about your pool… I really hate to fuck and run but…”

“Oh my god, seriously?” she laughed.

“I have three more pools to clean today…”

“What! JK,” she cried and laughed and gave him a playful shove. “Oh my god, you’re still on the clock… why didn’t you…” The look he gave her was answer enough. He wasn’t going to say no to pre-lunch sex when it fell into his lap. When the woman begged for it the way she’d done. 

“Where’s my shirt…” he murmured and found it and wrung it out over the pool before dragging it down. She saw some scratches and rubbed pink skin. It was a crime to put his shirt back on and cover all that delicious warm skin. 

He grabbed his bucket from the corner and she just watched as he scooped up some water and dumped it over the puddle of his cum. He gave her a playful grimace about it, then laughed at himself and ran his hand through his hair.

“Well, uh. Hope that was satisfactory.”

“It was.”

“Hope your day goes better,” he said. Grace wondered if he was waiting for her to say something. She had no clue what to say. If she said a single word, it would break the magic of this and she’d discover she had just slipped and hit her head in the shower and dreamed this whole thing up. She’d say something stupid and ruin whatever illusion she had cast to get JK to bang her on a Tuesday morning. She wanted to just savor this satisfied feeling.

Damn, she needed to buy some lounge chairs to sink into beside the pool. There was nothing, she had to just untangle her blouse and retrieve her underwear as he hopped into his truck. She waved as he turned around in her driveway and headed out. but didn’t see if he noticed or waved back. 

Instead she had to stupidly gather her things from the garage floor so she could get her house key to even get inside, where the air condition made her teeth chatter. Despite being soaked, she sank down on the living room couch and pulled the throw blanket around herself because she still didn’t quite feel like she’d come down from the high and she just needed a moment more to catch her breath because her knees were still knocking together.

Damn. 

Chapter Five | Masterlist | Chapter Seven

[melibemusca]

The Department of Holy Fucks

“The thing is, he’s not wrong.”

“But, God. At what cost?”

The Archangel Michael silenced her footsteps. Sometimes it was advantageous for the lesser angels to hear her approach, so they could work up a sweat over any recent transgressions, but this did not appear to be one of those times.

“He gave me the best orgasms of my existence, bar none. The sex absolutely lives up to the hype.”

“The ‘hype’ is him talking about himself. Did you hear him in the last all-hands? ‘Update from the department of holy fucks: last quarter Gabriel Jr. brought indescribable pleasure to thirty-four angels, seventy-two humans, and . . . we’re working on penetration to the market down under, if you know what I mean.”

Only a superhuman sense of propriety kept Michael from making a noise at this surprisingly spot-on imitation of her colleague. The other angel had no such restraint, and laughed so hard his wings popped out half a dozen eyes between the feathers.

“Hello,” said Michael, when one of these eyes met hers and widened in fear. Both angels made an adorable and pathetic attempt to stand at attention.

“We didn’t mean--”

“We didn’t know--”

“At ease.” Michael gave them a measured look, then sighed and shook her head. “It’s not as if I enjoy Gabriel’s pillow talk, either.”

*

“Sorry, sorry I’m late! Is this the support group for, uh, for the, um--”

The newcomer’s red face and fumbling words made it clear she’d come to the right place. Jill smiled at her kindly and waved to an empty chair. “The support group for sexual partners of the Archangel Gabriel, yes. Please take a seat. We’re just going around the circle now. Esteban, would you like to continue?”

“Yeah, thanks. So the first time I had no idea what I was getting into, right? Mind blown that I’d even gotten a prayer answered, let alone a prayer like that, you know?”

Heads nodded around the circle, including Jill’s, and, she noticed, the new person’s.

“The second time, well, it wasn’t just my mind he blew.” More nods and knowing grins. “And at least he didn’t talk with his mouth full, but I’d barely even stopped coming before he put that smarmy smile in my face and said, ‘You deserve the best, champ, and that’s me!’”

A chorus of groans.

“Insufferable!”

“He’s the actual worst.”

“A giant prick in every sense.”

“Well, he kept it small, for me.”

“He didn’t even have one, for me.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” said Jill. “We all hate him, and, at the same time, we admit that he’s the most considerate partner we’ve ever had. He accommodates our desires in ways that are quite literally miraculous. So, Esteban, what do you need from us tonight?” Jill saw a confused expression on the new woman, so she explained. “We’re here to help each other. Sometimes that means talking a person out of praying for a booty call, and sometimes it means talking them into it.”

“I can’t stand him,” said Esteban slowly. “But I’ve been so pent up. I think right now I need what he’s got.”

*

“Sex is overrated.”

“Yes.”

“Boring, awkward, unpleazzant and uncomfortable.”

“Exactly.”

Beelzebub glared at Dagon. “Stop agreeing with me.”

The Lord of the Files looked back innocently. “But you’re right.”

“I was right. I was always right, every single Satan-blessed time I tried it.” Beelzebub had only recently begun to entertain the notion that their own bleak expectations had something to do with this. “And then he comes along, with his unshakable fucking conviction that he’s God’s gift to sexual beings.”

“Just like an archangel. Inconsiderately showing everyone a good time, whether they want it or not.”

“Yes.”

“Inflicting orgasmic bliss left and right.”

“Exactly.”

“I can see why you’d want to visit him again.”

Beelzebub held out a hand. Dagon slapped a roll of duct tape into it.

“The least he can do, if he’s going to make me enjoy sex,” grumbled Beelzebub, as they straightened their coat and arranged their flies for a trip, “iz keep hizz angelic piehole shut.”

***

This ficlet was spawned by a discord server brainstorm with brilliant contributions from @ack-emma @charlottemadison42 @cassieoh @zehwulf @liquidlyrium @mirjam-writes @moondawntreader who are all extremely clever.

[ex-vengeancedemon]

Averting Disasters and Other Ways to Avoid Your Problems

Chapter 5

Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Mentions of things that occurred in Angel: The Series season 5.

Main Pairing: Buffy x Spike

Characters: Buffy, Spike, Giles, Willow, Xander, Andrew, Faith, Dawn

Summary: Set in 2008, five years after Spike’s resurrection at Wolfram & Hart. Buffy is living in Cleveland guarding the hellmouth. Spike has left Angel and company and is hiding out in Chicago. The Scoobies are scattered. When something starts going wrong with the slayers around the world, it’s time to get the gang back together.

Masterlist & Chapter 1

Chapter 5

"Buffy. Buffy! Slayer!" Spike yelled as he grabbed the pacing Buffy by the shoulders. "It's alright. You're home. The First is gone. You beat it. Remember?"

"What?" Buffy stared at him wild-eyed with something that almost looked like fear.

Apparently this was exactly the Buffy he remembered. Right down to her timeline.

"Buffy," Spike began slowly, "what's the last thing you remember?"

Buffy shook her head and tore away from him, resuming her pacing. "I- we were preparing to face The First. The plan was to go to the high school tomorrow and finish it. One way or another. I was going to give-"

She began frantically searching her pockets, almost ripping the lining of her already tore-up jeans. "Where is it? I just had it!"

"Where is what?" he asked. "Buffy, please. How about you just sit down on the couch and I'll go fetch some bandages. We'll sort the rest out after."

She shook her head vigorously. "No! I have to find it. Angel said-"

Realization dawned on him. She was talking about the amulet. The one that killed him. The one that brought him back.

Spike took her shaking hands in his own, trying his best to be reassuring, though he felt unsteady himself. "Don't worry about the amulet. I got it. It's over. The First is gone, Buffy. It's really gone. You won."

She looked into his face searchingly. He wasn't certain what she found their, but she stopped shaking.

"How?" she asked.

"I'll explain it all," he replied with no small measure of relief. "Just as soon as we get you patched up. Scout's honor."

Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly for an instant, a shadow of doubt crossing over her features. Spike noticed how accentuated those shadows had become. Her face seemed more hollow than he remembered, and dark circles hung under her eyes.

This wasn't how it was suppose to be. She was supposed to be better. She was supposed to be happy. She was... she was suppose to be free.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "I do."

"Good, then sit down."

Spike led her over to the tan couch that reminded him more of burlap than linen. She sat without protest, gazing over at the window without blinking. That might not have been a cause for concern... if the curtains had been open. He was hesitant to leave her alone, even if it was just to go to another room for a moment. Her behavior was nothing short of erratic and unpredictable. For all he knew, she could sprint out the door and be lost in the night in an instant. But that gash looked bad, and he couldn't just leave her covered in blood - her own or otherwise.

He would be quick.

Spike bounded up the stairs, taking pains to appear calm and collected until Buffy was out of sight. Once she was, he hurriedly made his way to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet behind the mirror that - blessedly - showed no reflection. Pill bottles spilled out, falling into the sink, some half empty, some completely empty. Spike wasn't exactly sure what most of them were for. He never really had much need of painkillers himself. Unless you count bourbon. He grabbed a bottle conveniently labeled 'painkiller' and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Continuing his tear through Buffy's bathroom, he found a red first aid kit under the sink. Jackpot.

"You know, you could've just asked me where the first aid kit was instead of totaling the bathroom."

Spike jumped, pulling himself out of the cupboard and hitting his head on the counter's edge. He cursed under his breath and looked up to find Buffy standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"You were supposed to wait on the couch," he replied, rubbing the spot on his head that had kissed counter.

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Spike looked pointedly at the gash on her leg and Buffy frowned.

"I don't know where I got that," she said finally. "I don't remember."

Spike stood up slowly with the first aid kit in hand. "It's alright. We'll get this all sorted."

It was all he knew to say.

Whether she was convinced or not, he didn't know, but she let him guide her to her bedroom. Buffy made her way directly to the bed and took a seat at its edge, her eyes downcast. Spike stopped dead at the threshold as if he was barred from entry.

The room was nothing like Buffy's old bedroom in Sunnydale. It reminded him slightly of a military barrack. Sterile, regulation, generic, and empty. The bedspread was a bright white, but it was stained with splotches of crusting blood. On the dresser were two picture frames: one with Buffy and Dawn, and another with a picture of the full Scooby gang. There was nothing else in terms of personalization. Nothing... unless you counted the walls.

All four walls of Buffy's bedroom were covered in newspaper clippings, photographs, and handwritten notes. Everything seemed meticulously organized by case. Mysterious killings. Suspected vampire attacks. Demon sightings. Everything a slayer would need to hunt down and track potential creatures of the night.

It was all wrong. Everything about the room was eerie. It didn't seem like Buffy at all. It wasn't her style.

The slayer stayed seated on the bed, looking down at her hands that were covered in some combination of dirt and blood. Spike ignored the walls for the moment and knelt down next to her.

He snatched a bottle of antiseptic from the kit and began dabbing it on the long gash on the side of Buffy's exposed calf. She winced but otherwise didn't react. Spike worked carefully to remove all dirt and caked-on blood from around the wound. He hoped it wasn't infected, but it might not be the worst idea to get her to a doctor later.

"You said you would explain," Buffy said, breaking the silence. Her monotone voice seemed almost worse than her previous panic. "Start explaining."

Spike didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to focus on cleaning up her wound. Really he just needed a minute to think of something to say.

"Where to start," he said with a humorless laugh. "Well, Willow did it. Activated all the Potentials. You, Faith, and a whole lot of newly made slayers beat back a whole legion of those Turak-Han nasties. It was really something to see." He grinned at her. "You were really somethin', Buff. Ask anyone who was there. The First is gone."

He paused and his grin faded. Now he supposed he owed her the less welcome news, she had to know eventually.

"But Anya didn't make it."

Buffy stiffened and she looked away. There were no tears. No nothing. Just a blank, emotionless expression.

"All the other Scoobies made it out alright," he continued, trying to add a happy note. "Xander, Willow, Giles, Dawn, Faith, they're all alright. Just saw Willow and Xander myself. Right as rain."

Buffy laughed. It was strained and slightly manic, but Spike sensed more relief than anything else.

He looked down. "But to do it, well, Sunnydale is nothing but a bloody hole in the ground. We leveled the hellmouth. It's gone. Permanently."

Buffy stared at him like he had started speaking Latin. "Gone? How?"

He chuckled ruefully. "Well that nifty little bauble of yours came in handy after all."

Spike finished cleaning the wound and began wrapping it with a layer of gauze and medical tape. When he was finished, he began wiping off her hands with the antiseptic before he realized that the blood wasn't her own. She stopped him and for a moment he just marveled at being able to hold her hand. Then he was hit with the sudden realization that he hadn't redeemed himself in her eyes yet, not according to her memory.

"Can you give me a moment?" she asked. "Just- wait downstairs. I'll be right there."

She seemed rational. Calm. So he just nodded and did as she asked.

***

After Spike left her, Buffy let out an unsteady breath as her hands began shaking again. Tears welled up in her eyes and she put her head in her hands. She didn't want to see the walls. Covered in those unfamiliar clippings, traced over with someone else's handwriting.

Sunnydale was gone. Anya was dead. She was a complete mess with no idea what was going on. And Spike was looking at her like she was some sort of ghost, some miraculous apparition. It reminded her of when he had first seen her after she clawed her way out of her grave. Maybe she had died in that battle with The First. Maybe Spike just didn't want to tell her they had snatched her from death's jaws yet again. She couldn't remember a heaven this time. She couldn't remember anything.

She shot up from her bed and almost ran out of the room, heading directly to the bathroom. When she got there, she threw the handle of the sink onto its hottest setting and scrubbed at her hands until they were bright red and not a speck of the blood or dirt remained. Moving on to her face, she washed off more grime with a soapy washcloth until she was satisfied. If she could just wash off the blood, she'd be good as new. The woman who looked back at her in the mirror looked paler than normal, with slightly bloodshot eyes. She frowned. Guess leading a bunch of Potentials into battle will do that to a person. Then she froze. No. That was over. Whatever the reason for her sorry state, it had nothing to do with The First.

She fixed her hair back in a hasty braid and returned to the bedroom, grabbing the first outfit she could get her hands on. She took the new clothes back to the bathroom, shutting the bedroom door behind her. If she never saw those walls again, it would be too soon.

She changed into what she realized must be some of her patrolling attire: all black pants and a long-sleeve shirt. It wasn't the most stylish ensemble, but it would do. She guessed this Buffy didn't have as good of a fashion sense. Oh god, I'm turning into a creepy hermit who only comes out at night, aren't I?

And from the looks of the house, it seemed she was the sole occupant. No Dawn. No boyfriend. No girlfriend. No roommate. No pet. And when all the current madness got figured out, she made a mental note to do something about the décor.

***

Spike roamed around downstairs where nothing seemed amiss besides the mud. It was a bit odd how all the doors were unlocked, but other than that there didn't seem to be any pressing cause for concern. There were no messages on the answering machine. The phone line still worked. So why hadn't she been answering her calls? Had she been getting the messages?

He heard the sink turn on upstairs and hadn't heard any windows opening, so he figured the amnesiac patient at least wasn't trying to make a break for it this instant. Tacked up next to the phone was a list showing two columns of names and phone numbers: Willow, Xander, Giles, Faith, Dawn, Andrew, Angel, and others he didn't recognize. He picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number. No time for second guessing.

The phone line rang five times before someone picked up.

"Hey Buffy, what's up?"

"Hey nibblet," Spike replied, keeping his voice low to prevent eavesdroppers. Well, eavesdropper anyway.

There was no response on the other end.

"It's Spike," he continued. "I think you better get yourself over to Cleveland. Now."

"I don't know what kind of sick game this is," Dawn hissed back, "but I'm not playing."

"Call Willow," Spike replied. "She'll catch you up to speed. Tell her you know about the slayers."

With that he hung up.

Ten minutes later, he heard Buffy come down the stairs and she found him staring at the phone. She looked much better than when he had left her. Her hands and face had been cleaned up, her hair was pulled back in a braid, and she had gotten a change of clothes. The wild, bloodstained Buffy he had first seen had been replaced with a more familiar version. She seemed to have shook off most of her earlier fear and panic - outwardly, at least. Always the soldier.

"Alright, so what the hell is going on then?" she asked. "Why can't I remember any of this? Seems like a battle that would be kind of hard to forget."

"We don't know yet."

"We?"

"Willow, Xander, Andrew, and Giles are working on it. It's happening to all the slayers."

Buffy frowned. "Has anyone checked on Faith?"

Spike shook his head. "Not that I know of. No one's been able to reach either of you for days."

Buffy sighed, crossing her arms. "Great. Anything else I should know?"

He pursed his lips as if in thought. "No, I think that about covers it."

"Alright, let's go meet up with everyone then." She made to turn toward the door before pausing. "How long has it been?"

"Not sure I quite followed you there."

"Since Sunnydale."

"Ah. That."

This would be easy. Just tell the slayer that it's been almost six years now since we leveled your old residence, destroying all your high school and college memories forever along with your family home and all your childhood keepsakes. Also I have no idea where your sister is and you haven't seen your old buddies in a couple years. And, oh yeah, I died and came back from the dead six months later and never told you about it.

Instead, he simply settled on, "It's been almost six years. Year's 2008. The U.S. just elected its first black president and they released a truly horrible film about sparklin' vampires."

Buffy's eyes widened, but she masked her shock admirably. "Oh. And so, I've just been, what? Guarding the Cleveland hellmouth?"

"Well, yeah, for some of that time anyway."

"And what have you been-" she started, then seemed to switch tracks. "I mean, where'd you end up? You know, after."

Spike looked down at the floor, making the pebbles scattered around seem like the most interesting thing in the room. "Los Angeles. Ran with Angel and his merry band of do-gooders for a beat."

It wasn't exactly a lie. It wasn't the whole truth either.

"Oh. You ran off to LA," she said tonelessly. "Everyone seems to love it there."

Before he could respond to what sounded almost like an accusation, the front door flew open and slammed open hard enough for the doorknob to leave a hole in the drywall.

"B! We need to talk," Faith said, storming in without invitation and startling the both of them.

The arm of her leather jacket was torn at the seam and barely hanging on and a shallow cut ran across her forehead. Her dark brown hair was matted from the blood. She was similarly disheveled as Buffy had been earlier. Seemed to be going around.

She froze when she caught sight of Spike. He guessed the jig was up.

Faith pulled a stake out of her boot and lunged at him. "What the hell are you?" she growled, as he jumped back from her parry.

"Faith, stop!" Buffy ordered, grabbing her arm before she could attempt another blow. "What are you doing?!"

Faith ripped her arm away and raised up a hand at Spike. "Buffy, that's not Spike! I don't know what the hell it is, but Spike died in Sunnydale. There's no way anyone survived that!"

[dw-writes]

Dial Tone Devil - Chapter Five

Summary: Lucifer’s reputation of granting favors is the second best thing his known for. So when you ask for one - point blank - and offer him immediate repayment in the form of a coin he thought to be long gone, he immediately agrees. But you come with baggage, and series of suspicious circumstances, and Lucifer finds himself full invested in your story.

All because of a suspiciously familiar coin.

Interesting.

A/N: HI GUYS!! I’m SO sorry that this is late, but it was, honestly, giving me a little bit of trouble there at the beginning! I had to sit down and figure out the chapter, go over my outline, and it finally dawned on me what I wanted. So I hope that its okay! There’s a little more hints to some future chapters and reveals in this, too! I hope that you enjoy this chapter! :D As always, let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this series, and your thoughts on the chapter in general!

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fifteen

More Content: Dial Tone Christmas || The Keys to Lux || Quarantine

To Tag: @revinval @spotgaai2000 @measure-in-pain @kittenlittle24 @broadwayandnetflix @i-am-fandoms-and-satan @scxrletwitches @yourwonderbelle @katelicon

You literally stared at the seconds tick up towards five o’clock. The music had already started to pulse through Lux, and you just wanted to go upstairs, and sleep. Was that actually going to happen? No, and you knew it, but what harm did a little wishful thinking do?

Ten seconds until five, and Lucifer threw open your door.

“Grab your things, the Detective has a case.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have jinxed yourself. You still found yourself standing and grabbing your coat. “I’m not a detective.”

“You can’t say you aren’t excited by a little mystery.” Lucifer shut your office door and trailed after you. He danced around your shoulder and led you expertly around a man in a tan trench coat, whose shoulder clipped yours. You glanced back. His eyes flicked between you, then Lucifer, before he continued towards the bar. “Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s a regular,” Lucifer commented. He tilted his head, and absently said, “Or should I say constant.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. He took your arm and led you outside. “Do you want to hear what this case is about?” he asked, “Or.” He tapped the doors of the Corvette. “Do you want hear about your class situation?” You arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should tell you both, and see which one you like better.” He opened the door, and dramatically gestured to the seat.

You climbed in. “I really don’t want to be out long, Lucifer,” you mumbled.

“Nonsense!” The car roared to life before he touched the ignition. You squinted. You’d never noticed that he could do that before…maybe it was an AutoStart? “It’s a Friday, and the weather is lovely – perfect for staying out all hours.”

“N….no….”

“Anyway, let’s start with your professor.” He pulled out into the street. You opened the glove box. “After visiting his house—”

“You found his house?” You snapped it closed when you found nothing of interest.

“Maze is very good at finding humans, it’s thrilling,” he continued, “You should follow her on one of her hunts! I think you’d both learn a lot from each other.” You leveled him with a withering stare, and he smiled. “We got him to confess. Someone had been buying him off to fail you. Maze is looking into the others on your impressive transcript, but one would assume it’s the same for the rest.”

You leaned back in your seat. “Someone wanted me to fail?” you whispered.

“To be fair, you were very well liked amongst your professors,” Lucifer pointed out. He pulled up to a light, revving the engine as a car crept into the lane next to him. “Now, what is the next problem, hm?”

You stared at him beneath the L.A. street lights, watching the way his brown eyes caught the light. They looked red, like iron rich clay. “What, do you have a laundry list of things you wanna solve, and my problems are at the top?” you murmured.

“I told you I would figure out why you were failing your classes, and I did,” he replied. He shrugged as he pulled away from the light, and turned down another road. “Perhaps I just want to solve the rest of your problems!”

“You already have,” you pointed out.

“Why were they going to boot you from your apartment, hm? I have been curious, you don’t seem the type to shirk on your payments.” He turned down another street, and a third, until he was in a residential area of massive homes and manicured, green lawns. The street lamps were bright white, and the stop signs were pristine. You watched the lights of the neighboring houses flick on as you grew closer to the crime scene.

“I didn’t,” you answered. Lucifer opened your door for you. “I never once missed a rent payment.”

“Exactly!” He shut the door harder than necessary. “Is that not strange?”

“I live in a beautiful building with the most impressive apartment I have ever seen? I really don’t care anymore,” you said.

“Well I do!” Lucifer exclaimed. He straightened his coat. “So I’ll look into it!”

You started up the driveway, slowing as someone behind the crime scene tape met your gaze – a short girl, with large glasses, and a bowl cut. She smiled, lifted her hand in a small wave, and then Lucifer stepped between the two of you to gain your attention. “You don’t have to,” you finally commented.

He shrugged as he fell in step with you. “I want to. And I don’t believe you have the power to stop me.” He smiled as he spoke. You rolled your eyes.

An officer, one taller than you, with enough muscle to strain the sleeves of her uniform, stopped you both with a brilliant smile. “Sorry,” she chirped, “But this is a closed crime scene!”

Lucifer tilted his head. “I’m sorry, do I know you? You look awfully familiar…”

She tilted her head, and you watched her silky brunette ponytail swish behind her head. “I’m not sure? I mean, we might’ve spoken in passing—”

“No, it’s not here that we met, I’m sure of it…”

Chloe’s voice cut through his musings, “He brought you again?” She patted the woman’s arm and smiled, asking her to secure another part of the crime scene, before she took her place in front of you.

You shrugged. “I’ve stopped trying to tell him no, it doesn’t really work when he wants to drag me somewhere.” She glanced at her watch, looked at you, then turned her gaze to Lucifer. You nodded. “I’m well aware that I’m off the clock,” you commented.

“Not when the case came in!” Lucifer pointed out. He looped an arm over your shoulder. “Did you know that my lovely assistant has a transcript just riddled with criminal justice classes?” he asked. Your voice mixed with Chloe’s in a litany of confused questions and musings on how it was important. He waved his hand. “I could use another set of eyes, and this is just proof as to why—”

“I can be them?” you cut in. You shook your head. “I’d rather not, thanks.”

Chloe sighed. “It can’t hurt,” she mumbled, “I mean, we already have Lucifer.” The Devil clapped, and slipped between the two of you to head into the house. “You’ll at least wear gloves, right?” she asked you.

You turned to her with wide eyes and a whispered question of, “He doesn’t wear gloves?” She shook her head. A wheeze pushed through your lips and you sighed. A box of purple latex gloves sat in plain view, right next to Lucifer. You made a point of yanking out one pair, and held out another.

“Oh, no thank you, they make my hands sweat,” he commented. You flapped the gloves at him. He turned to you with wide eyes, and mouthed ‘no’.

“Don’t be a prima donna,” you hissed.

He turned sharply, and smiled, sighing between his teeth. “Will you let me look into your land lord if I put the bloody gloves on?” he asked.

“Seriously?”

“I’m the Devil, I’m always serious.”

“Bullshit.”

“I also never lie,” he added. He held his hands out to you, wiggling his fingers as you tried to slip on the first glove. “I’m a little offended that you would think that of me.” You snapped the edge of the glove against his wrist. “Oh! That hurt!” He leaned in. “Do it again.”

“I will stomp on your Louboutin’s if you continue to be nasty,” you whispered.

He hummed. “I’m impressed! Not everyone can tell they’re Louboutin.” He grasped your shoulders and turned you towards the crime scene. “Precisely why you should be here. Use those sharp human eye balls of yours to find any clues.”

Chloe stared at the both of you. The woman kneeling next to the body looked up with a confused smile. “Uh…”

“Miss Lopez, this is my assistant,” Lucifer said, introducing you with a smile as he led you around the body. You nodded slowly, and sighed, and held out your hand. Lucifer repeated your name as he released you, “This is Ella Lopez, the forensics scientist behind the LAPD.”

Ella jumped up and threw her arms around you. “It’s so nice to meet you!” She released you with a grin. “Finally, I mean, you’ve been the talk of the precinct – Lucifer has an assistant? That’s so wild!” She leaned in to whisper, “Does he do the method acting thing all the time, or is it just around all of us?”

You smiled, slowly, and shrugged. “Hard to say. All the legal paperwork for Lux says Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Enough talking about me,” Lucifer scoffed. He waved to the body between you. “There’s a case to solve, isn’t there? Come now, I can’t be the only one focusing on it.” You rolled your eyes, stepped back, and waited. Maybe if you just didn’t touch anything, it would make you being there alright.

And at least Lucifer had gloves.

That was a plus.

[maiagomez]

❝ It’s the road that leads to nowhere. But all I want to do is go there. ❞

✗ — Name: Vanessa Gutierrez (Maia Gomez)

✗ — Age: 22

✗ — Kingdom: Bolivia

✗ — Sexuality: Pansexual

— Personality; Although she can be a hard worker, Maia tends to like to take the easy way out. If there’s an alternative solution then she will sniff it out. She’s the life of the party. Wherever she is, Maia always brings her upbeat and fun loving personality. Even when stuck in the worst situation she will do her best to distract others from it. She learnt quickly that in the real world her compassionate side needed to be hidden. It didn’t make money and only wasted time and energy.As far as anyone needed to know she was just a flirtatious and feminine woman. Even after taking up the role of princess Vanessa, she was still up to her same old tricks. Although she knew she was being watched she felt like she was able to live a little more care free since she didn’t have the burden of money weighing her down. She’s known to be quite flirtatious and charming. And although she knows how to get things done on her own she tends to gravitate to the company of others.

— Biography (at least two hundred words); When Gloria married it wasn’t for love. It was an arranged marriage. Her husband wasn’t a kind man, he was physically and emotionally abusive to Gloria. Nobody saw that side of him because of the act he put on in front of the crowds. Being a high ranking royal he couldn’t risk any of that getting out. Luckily for him, Gloria wasn’t going to just spill everything that had happened to her. It wasn’t like she had anyone to tell since her parents had basically sold her off to a man without a goodbye. When Gloria found out she was pregnant she was both excited and nervous. It was one thing being a person hanging off the arm of someone and smiling like she meant it, it was a whole other dimension her becoming a mother. Her husband was excited, a younger generation Gutierrez to help rule the kingdom and one day take the throne. All was going well, her husband had even backed off of her and gave her the space she needed. He became attentive and caring.

One night while 36 weeks pregnant, after coming home drunk he tried to have his way with her, which Gloria wasn’t in the mood for. When she resisted she was met with violence before he left the house for the night. Gloria fell asleep crying, before being woken up in the middle of the night by strong contraction pains. Gloria had enough sense to call an ambulance who took her to a local hospital because she was in premature labour. After a couple of hours Vanessa was born. The doctors only let Gloria have a quick look at her daughter before Vanessa was whisked off to a special care unit due to her being born premature. It wasn’t until Gloria was in recovery that she realized the danger that her husband really posed. She decided she was going to take her daughter away and keep her from her father. All in Vanessa’s best interest.

Ignoring the texts from her husband for a week wasn’t hard to do, and it wasn’t uncommon. Regularly after he initiated a fight Gloria would go stay with friends for a while until she was ready to come back home. Gloria was able to change her number and get her daughter transferred to a different special care unit further away. She had enough money saved up to last them for a while. It was a month after Gloria had her daughter transferred that she was released from the hospital, and on top of it was a pile of hospital bills for the care they had received. Gloria became a hardworking mother who took care of her daughter by herself. Picking up extra shifts if she came down with the flu and needed to go to the doctor or when she had to change numbers again when her husband or their family would find her other ones. She was everything to her daughter that her husband never was to her. They didn’t have a lot, but they had enough to have a substantial life.

When Vanessa turned 18 she told Gloria she wanted to go to university. Gloria told her that they’d find a way and that she would pick up more shifts at the diner she worked at so that Vanessa could do it. So Vanessa packed her bags and traveled a few cities over to go to university. Gloria had a bit saved up so was able to help with the first month’s rent on a place and tuition. That drained most of her savings though and Gloria soon realized that she wasn’t going to be able to help pay for Vanessa to keep going to school. Once again, Gloria’s number was found out. This time she was being contacted by her husband’s mother. Apparently during some news report Gloria was seen in the background with Vanessa. And picking the age they knew it was their granddaughter. They wanted to meet her and help her go to school if that was something she wanted. Money had been set up in a trust fund before she was born, but they needed to see her to have access to it.

While closing down the diner, a young girl (Maia) who somewhat resembled her own daughter walked in. Honestly, for a while Gloria was unable to think what to say but the longer she sat with her thoughts the more she got an idea. Desperate to help her daughter, Gloria did the only thing she could think of. She hired the girl to pretend to be her daughter and meet her husband’s family so that she could gain access to the trust fund. When the girl met with the family they just wanted to know about her life. Gloria had given some guidelines of what to say when pretending to be Vanessa so to start with it wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t until a couple of days later when she was meeting the father that things began breaking down. He was so relieved to see her because after  years of not hearing from Gloria he assumed that his baby was dead. She was able to actually spend a little time with him and she didn’t think he was all that bad. Then again she didn’t really know anyone from this life. It just seemed like he wanted to have a relationship with his daughter. He told Maia that if she wanted to access her trust fund that she was going to have to go to Royal Pains Estate to learn some of the things it took to being a royal. Maia was hesitant, but when she spoke to Gloria about it she offered her a bigger cut if she played along and went with it to get access to it. With the offer of a bigger cut Maia agreed to the father’s terms and agreed to go to the estate.

———

Growing up Maia had the ideal perfect family. Her mother and father were happily married with three daughters, Maia being the oldest. She grew up being taught the value of hard work. Being taught how to be kind and compassionate in a world that was at times so cruel. They didn’t have the most lavish lifestyle but they were able to afford occasional treats and trips that the family were able to go on.

When she was a teenager her father became ill and her mother walked out on the family not long after, not being able to handle the stress the situation brought. Her younger siblings had barely started school which left all the responsibility to Maia to provide for the family, so she quit school. At first all she could get was a few part time jobs here and there, bagging groceries or cleaning jobs because she lacked experience. They barely got by but Maia was able to get enough to pay for food and her father’s medical bills. When she was 18 she got a job working in a bar where she learned that a smile and a little flirtation was enough to make the world her oyster. Maia began flirting with customers, making them feel special so that she could earn more tips to take home to her family.

As time went on though, Maia found her father was in a worse state physically. He ended up in hospital which only accumulated more bills to pay. After a couple of months of being in the hospital her father passed away. Maia didn’t take the passing well. She felt a major loss from it all that she started to using drinking as a way to cope. A lot of alcohol that she drank, she stole from the bar that she worked at. When the owners began noticing regular alcohol missing at stock take they went over the tapes and found dozens of Maia drinking on the job. She was fired with the understanding that if she ever came back that the police would be called and she’d be arrested for theft.

As Maia was packing her stuff up and leaving she ran into one of her regulars. He had overheard the whole thing and offered to give Maia a job as a clothing distributor. Not having any alternatives, Maia agreed since she didn’t see helping sell clothes as being an issue. Her job mainly required helping keep stock of the clothes and listing them on a website. She even started finding comfort in the man and sleeping with him on the side of their business. Nothing seemed off until one morning after sleeping over at the male’s place there was a sketchy looking van that came up with the clothing inside. Maia confronted her regular about it who came clean about how the illegal fake brand name clothing scheme he was running. Maia left the place without a second word, still processing her thoughts and the fact that she had been involved. The thought began to weigh on her that if she didn’t get another job that they wouldn’t be able to keep their little rundown apartment.

She began going around places with her resume, hoping to find anything at that point. It wasn’t like it could be worse than cleaning the bar’s toilets after a Friday night or running the risk of jail time. When she walked into a diner, she was told they weren’t hiring but the lady there did offer her another job. It was the strangest thing she’d heard about impersonating someone to get access to a trust fund but desperate times called for desperate measures. Maia agreed to do it. One more scheme to get out of that life for good. That, and she knew that she would be able to have money sent to her sisters and live a somewhat normal and carefree life for a while without responsibility weighing her down.

✗ Secret; Maia was hired by Gloria to pretend to be her daughter Vanessa so that she could gain access to Vanessa’s trust fund.

「 Faceclaim: Diane Guerrero 」

[nitewrighter]

Zen and the Art of Hovercycle Maintenance (Part 2)

Read Part 1 Here

----

“So you lost him,” said Genji, pressing his hands together in front of himself. His image on the collapsible table screen warped slightly and Jack glanced up at Junkrat, holding a makeshift antennae to allow for vidcom communication over his head. 

“Not... lost,” said Jack, “We should know where he is as soon as he comes online.”

“If he comes online,” said Genji. Jack could feel the glare from behind his visor.

“He transcended as soon as the explosion happened,” said Jack, “McCree’s searching the bottom of the gorge right now and we’ll be joining him as soon as Orisa’s patched up. We were just calling you in case...”

“In case...?” Genji tilted his head.

“In...case you might have anything on you that might narrow our search,” Jack said a little sheepishly.

“Jack, I--” Genji started but was cut off by the sound of pulsefire.

“Genji, any time you could join us would be nice!” Tracer could be heard offscreen as more pulsefire sounded in the background.

“Give me another minute!” Genji shouted back before turning his attention back to the vidcom, “To answer your question, no. I don’t have anything. We don’t keep track of each other like that. He’s not a mission partner, Jack, he’s my teacher. You know I had my misgivings about this mission as soon as I heard Torbjörn and Junkrat were on it--”

“We’re spread thin and we needed a medic--” Jack started.

“And I took your word on that,” said Genji, “And now he’s missing.”

“Admittedly, the only reason I brought him along was because Zhou’s performance proved that you didn’t necessarily need military training to keep up with our current strike teams,” said Jack, stiffly.

“You didn’t think he could do it,” said Genji, “...at least not like Angela or Captain Amari could do it.”

“We didn’t anticipate medical assistance would be that needed,” said Jack.

“So you brought him around for what? So he wouldn’t feel left out?” said Genji.

“We still need a medic, it’s protocol!” said Jack.

“Genji!” Tracer could be heard offscreen again.

“30 seconds!” Genji shouted back.

“Did you think he could do it?” Jack fired back, “When you brought him on board with us, when you and he agreed that he could help out on field missions, did you really think he could handle everything Talon or anyone else could throw at us? Or did you just need him around because you weren’t sure of yourself?”

Genji visibly flinched at his words. “I--” he started but was cut off by more pulsefire in the background.

“Genji!” Angela’s voice could be heard this time, “We need you flanking!”

“You don’t have time for this,” said Jack.

“Update me as soon as possible. Shimada out,” said Genji, clicking out of the comms channel.

The vidcom channel blipped to a blue screen and Jack huffed and massaged the bridge of his nose and the migraine that was just starting to bloom there with his thumb and forefinger.

“Do I still need to keep the antennae up?” asked Junkrat.

“No,” said Jack rising to his feet and squinting in the dry desert wind, “Let’s just get back to searching.”

---

Zen’s gyroscopics were completely out of whack as his vision flickered back on. Immediately he realized he was no longer under the baking sun of the southwest, but rather, in a large, somewhat grubby but well-kept workshop—maybe a garage? A bunker? A massive mechanical hand passed in front of his face and he nearly flinched but then realized his body wasn’t responding enough to him to flinch.Two omnics were stooped over him, one a hulking yet polished multi-use unit donning a fur-collared leather vest and derby hat, and the other a basic laborer unit that had clearly heavily self-modified with yellow and blue visual receptors and a green hood.

Zen’s vision cut out again.

“Oh whoop,” said one, he couldn’t tell which with his orientation still malfunctioning and his vision off, then it flickered back.

“Sorry about that,” said the Omnic with yellow and blue eyes, tweaking at something below Zen’s neck.

“I-I-I-I” Zenyatta’s voice was caught in a loop.

“Hang in there, I got this,” said the skinnier omnic. Zen felt the pressure and brief shock of wires connecting and then being wrapped up in insulating tape, then his voice seemed to return to him.

“Where am I?” he said, trying to move his head but finding even his neck unresponsive.

“Somewhere safe,” said the skinny omnic, “We found you at the bottom of the gorge… y’know, most units with your make would be bricked by that kind of fall.”

“I am not like most units,” said Zenyatta. He tried to move again. The larger Omnic, who was working on Zen’s shoulder, glanced up and made a hand waving motion while shaking his head.

“Don’t try to move just yet. We had to shut down most motor functions to make most of the repairs,” said the skinny Omnic.

“And you know what you’re doing?” Zen tried to ask the question as respectfully as he could.

“More than most,” said the skinny omnic.

“Who are you?” asked Zenyatta.

“I’m Bars. He’s Bob,” said the skinny omnic.

“…Bob hasn’t said anything,” said Zen.

“Bob doesn’t say anything,” said Bars, “He gets his points across fine though.”

Bob started motioning with his hands then. ASL, Zen recognized it but hadn’t downloaded the language into his memory banks from the Iris. Most cochlear implant technology of their day had rendered the language pretty rare, but still Zen resolved to learn it. There were plenty of Omnics who opted for binary over organic languages as a point of pride and distinction, but the Shambali had prided themselves on being ambassadors, and thus had equipped themselves with countless organic languages. ASL was… an interesting choice, all things considered, but there was a gentleness in Bob’s motions as he signed, a strong sense of dignity and purpose of speech.

“Bob says the Boss will want to talk to you about how you got to the bottom of the gorge.”

Bob signed something a little more insistently and Bars moved his head in an exaggerated movement that imitated a human rolling his eyes. “You know I ain’t calling her that. She’s the Boss. Only you get to call her ‘Miss Ashe.’”

“Ashe!?” Zenyatta said the name in alarm. Bob turned around to grab a small screwdriver off of a nearby counter and Zenyatta saw the decal on the back of his vest: the words, ‘DEADLOCK REBELS, EST. 1978’ arching over a winged skull biting down on a padlock and chains.

“Yep!” Bars answered, apparently mistaking the shock in Zenyatta’s voice for excitement, “The Calamity herself! You’re real lucky we found you! You’re in the safest place in the Sonora!”

Oh I very much doubt that, thought Zen.

“You almost done, Bob?” said Bars.

Bob held up one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture, tightened a screw, then gave a thumbs-up.

“All right,” said Bars, “Restoring motor functions.”

Zen felt sensation flood back into his limbs and he pushed himself up off of the table he was splayed on. He circled his wrists and worked his fingers, finding them in suitable working order. He swung his legs over the side of the table.

“Take it slow,” said Bars, “Gyroscopics might not be 100%--”

Zen stumbled off the table and was caught by Bob.

“...calibrated,” said Bars.

“I---My thanks,” Zenyatta managed as Bob helped him up to his feet. Zenyatta glanced down at his feet, clanking awkwardly against the concrete of the workshop’s floor. The nine lights on Zenyatta’s forehead glowed brightly for a few moments before he perked up. “I cannot seem to access most holo-networks,” he said with conern.

“Oh yeah. Security measure. You need clearance for that,” said Bars.

“...may I have clearance?” asked Zenyatta.

“That’s up to the Boss,” said Bars.

Almost on cue the door swung open and an intimidating woman, all black and white and red and gold, stepped in. She gave a sharp look to both Bob and Bars and instantly they shuffled off to the side, practically fading into the background as she stepped toward Zen. She stared down Zen on that worktable, her winged-eyeliner framed eyes narrowing and her lips pursing, before her expression immediately softened (practically collapsed) and she suddenly seized Zen’s hand in her own. 

“My friend, I cannot fathom what kinda hell you just went through for us to find you at the bottom of that gorge, but all I can say is thank God Almighty we did. How are you feelin’?”

Zenyatta was caught completely off-guard by the hospitality of the woman who, up to this point, Jesse McCree had described as ‘The most terrifying force of nature this side of the Rio Grande.’ 

“I... am well,” Zenyatta managed.

She released his hand, “Good to hear,” she said tilting the brim of her hat back with her thumb, “Well, sir--Can I call you sir?”

Sir??? Zenyatta was still trying to figure out how to adjust to the fact that this woman wouldn’t tear him apart and sell him for scrap with one look.  “’There is no need for such formality. ‘Zen’ is fine,” said Zen.

“Well Zen,” said Ashe with a slight smile, “I don’t mean to intimidate ya, but I’m basically the law out in these parts, so I’m gonna need you to tell me how you ended up at the bottom of the gorge. It’s for security reasons, you understand. From what I gathered at the scene of the explosion, some punks calling themselves the ‘Sidewinders’ showed up and blew your convoy straight to hell-- but I’m gonna need you to tell your side of the story so we can... piece the whole picture together, as it were.”

“The whole picture?” said Zen.

“Yes, indeed,” said Ashe, leaning against the worktable next to him. She gave a low sharp whistle and Bars picked up an Orb of Destruction from the shelving behind him and tossed it to her. “Care telling me what this is? We found them scattered along the bottom of the gorge along with you. Figured they might belong to you,” she put the orb in Zen’s hand and that still-half-panicked part of him briefly considered using it, causing enough of a disruption to get out of there, but he knew he was outnumbered here and even if he transcended he wouldn’t get far. He realized he had taken too long to respond because Ashe spoke again.

“You’re still a bit shaken, I take it?” said Ashe.

“Y-yes,” Zen said, desperate to buy time while he came up with any possible excuse for what he was other than ‘I’m with Overwatch.’

“Probably a sensitive type,” Bars spoke up behind her, “Artsy-type omnics might take longer to process than Omnics like me or Bob, boss.”

Artsy? Zenyatta thought, and then he blurted out, “Yes! Art! Yes! The orb is.... art. It represents duality. Destruction and Harmony. We omnics exist at the cusp of that. The parts of a machine clicking together to form a greater whole as well as... destroying... things...” 

“Guess the triplets were right, for once in their goddamn lives,” said Bars.

“Mm,” Ashe gave a nod before turning back to Zenyatta, “The scene showed signs of a scuffle. Pulsefire indents in the road.”

“Yes, the uhhh, the gang, the...”

“Sidewinders.”

“The Sidewinders were shooting. A lot.” 

“Some indents show they came from your rig too,” said Ashe, folding her arms, “Now, ain’t no law against protecting yourself. If you have some ‘pacifist artsy’ reputation to maintain, ain’t no one’s gonna blame you for not letting yourself be a sitting duck on Route 66.”

She really does keep a close eye on these roads, doesn’t she? Zenyatta thought, almost panicking. “Yes. The rig was... equipped with...” Zenyatta’s mind was racing, “Hard-light drones. Of course, those dematerialize completely when they are destroyed, thus having no wreckage alongside the road.”

“Hard-light drones...” Ashe strolled around the room thoughtfully, “Pricey stuff, that Vishkar tech. You must be big stuff in the art world, huh?”

“Yes! Yes, I am... very famous,” said Zenyatta.

Bob seemed to perk up and started signing very eagerly, prompting a laugh from Ashe. 

“Slow down, slow down, big guy!” said Ashe, knocking the side of her fist against Bob’s arm. She looked at Zenyatta. “Sorry, he’s excited. Bob’s a little starved for culture out here. I tell him he always was the classier one between us.”

Bob made an ‘Oh you,’ gesture with his hand before signing again.

“He says your work is beautiful,” said Ashe, picking up an orb of destruction.

“Oh... thank you,” said Zenyatta.

Bob continued signing.

“You can’t expect me to say all that--” Ashe started but Bob signed a gesture that was probably ‘Please?’ and Ashe huffed. “He says the intersection of---” she looked back at Bob who signed some more, “The intersection of contours and spherical symmetry evoke the astronomical, but the etchings seem almost religious--likely non-Western. Tibetan?”

“Oh--yes--that... that is what I was going for,” said Zenyatta, “It’s Nepali, actually. You have an excellent eye for art, my friend.”

Bob seemed to swell with pride.

“A famous artist.... I used to keep better track of all that,” Ashe was tossing the orb of destruction up and down in her hand with a sigh, “My folks were always throwin’ these galas and whatnot. More of an oil tycoon crowd than the avant-garde, though. Maybe if I went along with that life, we might have met under better circumstances,” she caught the orb, “But that’s the price of makin’ your own life, and choosing your own family.”

“I... still think the circumstances we’ve met under are fortunate,” said Zenyatta, “Your uh...Bob and his compatriot have done excellent repairs to me.”

“He’s really somethin’ ain’t he?” said Ashe, smiling at Bob.

“Yes, well,” Zenyatta tented his fingers a bit nervously, “If you have any more questions...”

“Not particularly,” said Ashe, “You’re welcome to stay and re-orient yourself as long as you need here, Bob can fix you up a glass of Glenwales--”

“I really must be going,” said Zenyatta, stumbling toward the door, “I still need to connect to your holonet to arrange my transportation.”

“The gang and I can drop you off,” said Ashe, “It’s the least we can do--”

“Thank you, but the... art gallery I was heading towards will probably be very concerned as to my whereabouts.”

“All right, suit yourself,” Ashe shrugged.

“I’ll... still need to connect to your holonet to get in contact with my friends,” said Zenyatta.

“Clearance code is Caledonia-9,” said Ashe.

Zenyatta focused briefly and made a chiming sound. 

“My thanks--” He started but suddenly winced from loud feedback of this comm.

“Oh--sorry--Must be some residual damage from the fall--” Bars started but was cut off by the sound of McCree’s voice over the comm.

“It’s connected! He’s got a signal! Zen! Zen are you there? Tekharta Zenyatta are you alive?! It’s McCree! Zen, just ping me if you’re alive!”

“McCree?” Ashe’s face twisted and her red eyes flicked to Zen with fury.

“I--I can explain---” Zenyatta started.

“Bars,” Ashe said the name in command, her voice flat. 

Zen barely managed to turn his head in Bars’ direction when felt something jam itself into his neck and suddenly electrical currents were running all over him. His limbs spasmed, and he saw Bars looking at him with that steady bicolored look before his vision cut out. The pain itself was only a brief burning metallic throb before unconsciousness swept over him once more.

---

Zenyatta wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he came to once more. Only this time he could tell all functions below his neck had been shut off. He glanced down to see that, as what was apparently an additional precaution, he was bolted into his seat by several semi-modified industrial clamps, like a vehicle held in place by a parking boot.

“Right,” Ashe’s voice was the first thing he heard when he came to, “Let’s start this again. And I think I should establish that I really, really do not appreciate being lied to.”

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 54

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS:  In the White Room, Madame Cheung is now in the hands of Madeline and defiantly awaits her fate.

*N.B. Some text alludes to violence in this chapter

THANK YOU to all the lovely people who are reading and liking my story. Much appreciated.  As promised Chapter 54  is the first instalment in the White Room xox

Chapters 1 - 53 can be found at …https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

   CHAPTER 54 (V)

Madeline closed the White Room door behind her and stopped for a moment. A Mona Lisa smile enigmatically but fleetingly bowed her mouth as she softly began humming. The melodic sound echoed in the stark room bouncing off the walls a strategy she knew would unnerve the stoic figure of Madame Cheung who sat shackled in the centre of the room.   Section One’s second-in-command, a specialist in psych analysis, interrogation and pain techniques enjoyed matching wits with the targets and eventually breaking them by any means necessary and now, this woman was her latest victim. 

Within Section, Madeline was the primary person responsible for analysing and predicting the behaviour of the enemy and she didn’t flinch at using torture in this capacity.   In contrast to Operations, she was calm and methodical; when she wanted to, she could be charming and gracious, but the warm façade could drop in an instant to reveal an arctic iciness. The White Room was her domain and Madeline knew she was going to enjoy this grilling of her latest victim. Her skills were unique and beyond belief but she always got what she sought … eventually and Madame Cheung would reveal what she wanted to know regardless of how long it took.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Known by Section operatives as the “ice queen” and the “high heels of death”, she was a cold-hearted bitch, as calculating and humourless as her partner Operations. She was also unemotional and ruthless. Her cold intelligence coupled with her brilliance as a shrewd strategist, could manipulate everybody without any feeling of remorse or hesitation. Madeline was an outstanding psychological puppet master whose mantra was to get the job done no matter what. The level of emotional and mental cruelty that she inflicted on terrorists boarded on sociopathic but extreme measures were often necessary in her job prescription.  Information is what they required at Section One and Madeline merely carried out the Section mandate to its logical conclusion.

The woman however, was an enigma.  

Emotionally, she was detached, analytical, and almost shockingly unsentimental. She would literally do anything to further Section One's interests, no matter what the sacrifice, and she expected the same effort from others under her command. If they wouldn't make those sacrifices willingly, she had no compunctions about manipulating or even coercing them to do so. Her recruitment to Section One, her background or her life prior to Section was unknown and the only thing that anyone really knew for sure was that Madeline had been in Section for a long time.  Beyond that, people knew very little and that’s how she liked it.

The main thing that was known about her background served to make her even more enigmatic and the few details from her past held clues to the woman she became.  When she was just a child, she and her sister Sarah fought over a doll they both wanted but neither was willing to give any ground until Madeline made the deliberate choice to push Sarah down a flight of stairs killing her.  “I wanted the doll,” … was her emotionless statement about the incident.   This was a clear indication that the accident was indeed malicious and that perhaps it was always in her nature to take what she wanted from others regardless of the consequences.  However, that event wasn’t what brought her into Section One. There were rumours that she repeatedly stabbed a lover to death after suffering years of physical and mental abuse which would partially explain her uncanny gift of doing the same thing to others.

Although she could manipulate anyone into revealing their deepest motivations, Madeline herself was the most secretive Section operative of all.  What made her tick? No one knew, not even Operations to whom she was so closely allied.  Colum from Oversight referred to both of them as Siamese twins because of how the two worked in lockstep. She is always by Operations’ side to help him make vital decisions including who lives and who dies. Dougal Mackenzie could rely on Madeline and her counsel but that didn’t mean he understood her, and that was likely the way she preferred things.

Madeline is the most elusive of the agents at Section One whose power flowed from the perception that the limits of her knowledge and abilities seemed infinite. Always with a secret agenda, her modus operandi involved stepping back, assessing the captives and using her keen insight to pry deeply into their minds. She is cunning and beautiful and deadly and those traits are what make her formidable. In some respects, Section’s second in command is more ruthless than Operations himself, for it is difficult to believe that she had any respect for human life when she appears to think everyone is expendable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alone with her thoughts, Madeline quietly observed Madame Cheung strapped into the chair in her foreboding domain before proceeding towards the target. Walking across the cold, unadorned floor her footsteps echoed with each step she took. 

With a self-belief that she would do what she had to do in order to extract the information about the Rising Dragons for Section's benefit uppermost on her mind, Madeline approached the lone figure of their latest incarcerated triad member. Now at long last Madame Cheung was her latest victim. From what she had observed so far, she knew that this woman would be interesting to say the least and there would be no holds barred. She’d read Jamie and Claire’s debriefs and had viewed the mission tapes. Therefore, Madeline was well aware of Madame Cheung’s strengths but her forte was finding weaknesses. She left no stone unturned in her pursuit, for it was in so doing that she gained the higher ground, and she had every intention of finding Madame Cheung’s Achilles’ heel. 

Although the triad member had proved to be ruthless, little did she know that Section One’s chief strategist was more so. Madame Cheung was in her domain now, and there would be no escape from her fate there. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The target sat manacled in the metal chair lost in her thoughts. Reciting the Rising Dragon’s mantra in her mind in some way gave Madame Cheung comfort and strength.

“Death with Honour” its way of life With motto “Strength by Dare” Once you yield fear nought … but When it seeks you, beware! The Rising Dragon! She had been in this stark room for some time, but how long she did not know. There was little she could do except wait to see what would happen next. It was obviously some kind of interrogation room as it was devoid of colour and furniture. Her hands were shackled and she had little chance of escape although she’d tried to loosen the restraints on her wrists but to no avail. No one had entered since two men had placed her in this chair. So, she had little choice but to play the waiting game ... then she would know where she stood and what, if any options she had. Madame Cheung’s steely resolve was exacerbated, particularly when she relived the duplicity of her protégé Claire Beauchamp. She had been betrayed by Claire and her bitterness at her treachery knew no boundaries. Le Comte St. Germain too had deceived her. They had totally fooled her after having won over her confidence. To think that her uncanny wiles had let her down was unforgivable. She had failed to see their subterfuge ... and at no time had she suspected them of being anything other than who they were pretending to be. They had ingratiated themselves into her world of the Rising Dragons for ulterior motives. She had trusted them but they had betrayed her. Now because of their ruse, she was a captive in this place. She had meant every word uttered to Claire when she’d been captured. Not only would she need to be wary but Le Comte St. Germain... James Fraser ... would also need to be vigilant. When Sun Yee Lok found out about her betrayal at the hands of these individuals, as she knew he would all in good time, then he would seek vengeance as only the triad could ...the triad way. It was her one consolation for her stupidity in being so gullible and being deceived by this slip of a girl who had got under her guard. As another consequence she had lost face ... not only with herself but with her leader. When Sun Yee Lok found out, he would be merciless in his retribution of her, so whatever she was dealt here in this place of incarceration, would be nothing in comparison to what he would do to her if they should meet once more. She was after all part of his trusted inner circle. How had she been fooled so easily? Betraying the triad was reprehensible and because she had been duped this played more heavily on her mind. It was now perfectly clear that other members of the triad had gone before her and had met a similar fate at the hands of these mercenaries. Sun Yee Lok had been most displeased with the death of Tony Wong but his suspicions had led to another rival triad rather than other foul means. The other deaths had not been suspicious, however, knowing the ruthlessness of these people perhaps they were suspicious after all.  Now it was she who was on the receiving end ... one that found her in a predicament ... and one that she may have trouble getting out of. What was this place? Who were these people and what were their motives? As her thoughts reverberated in her head Madame Cheung felt a wave of doom course through her body at what her fate might hold. Although she would never show it, she was afraid. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Unable to see when someone entered the room because her back was to the door, Madame Cheung was aware she had company. She listened to the sound of the creaking hinges as the door was pushed wider and wider, then came the closure and the clack of a bolt moving into the locked position. Shackled in the chair, she wondered who had entered. The unwavering gait of light footsteps resonated on the flooring as a woman, most probably, came into the room. Then she heard the humming sound. Her eyes narrowed as an expression of determination crossed her face not dissimilar to that of other Triad members who had been Section One’s guests here in the White Room before. Hearing the footsteps draw nearer, Madame Cheung steeled herself for what may come. However, little did she know, but her fate had already been sealed … a fact she would soon discover. Madeline stopped behind the target and addressed her back. “Hello, Madame Cheung ... Can I get you anything? ... Some water?” The woman’s voice chillingly reverberated in the quietness. Madame Cheung’s body tensed. She opened her eyes slowly and focused on the voice that had spoken to her. Saying nothing in reply she just stared down at the floor in defiance. A wry smile crossed Madeline’s face at her noncompliance. Circling the chair in her usual interrogation manner, her next verbal banter began to increase her advantage over Section One’s victim by destroying the subject's defences. “I've looked at your file. ... You present similarly to our other detainees from the Rising Dragons triad. Bright ... well connected ... very attractive, but ruthless ...” Madeline stopped talking and stood in front of Madame Cheung resolute, determined and unflinching. Brown eyes as cold as steel never left the woman in her sight and watched her straight-faced and emotionless. They missed nothing. They saw everything. Neither woman flinched as steely looks passed between the two women. Two pairs of cold eyes appraised one another as they sized each other up. Although one woman was in control, the other would never admit defeat and she waited to see how things would pan out with the formidable woman dressed so austerely. With bravado and venom Madame Cheung hissed in reply, “The triad will seek vengeance.” Madeline smiled her Machiavellian smile letting the target know in no uncertain terms who indeed had the upper hand. As she studied her opponent too, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she did not like to be bettered on power games. Her greatest talent was her mind, so if Madame Cheung wanted to play mind games with her, she would come off second best. 

“Interesting ... but I think not. Tony Wong, Alain de Marillac and Oliver Chan ... have been our guests ... All were members of the Rising Dragons ... All are dead!”

“The triad is much bigger than the individual. It will atone for the deaths of its members,” Madame Cheung retaliated with as much audacity as her inquisitor now realising that her earlier thoughts had been confirmed.

“Perhaps ... then again ... How will it atone for yours Madame Cheung?” A cold, piercing stare angrily held Madeline’s gaze.

Section One’s head strategist scrutinised the hostile watching for any facial movements that would betray that her words had hit a nerve. Bravado by the victim was the first stage of capitulation and Madeline relished the chance to pit her wits against this new adversary. Bit by bit she would wear her down as she always did. Some targets were more obstinate than others but, in the end, there would only be one winner. After she had finished messing with her mind, acting on her fears, Madame Cheung would wish she had never been born. Not only was she the one in control, but the White Room was her domain after all. No one bettered her perception about people and she had Madame Cheung figured out. The woman was a carbon copy of herself. As Section One’s resident torture expert she definitely had the upper hand. Madeline knew exactly which buttons to push, when to push and how to push them to get the required results. Her cold demeanour allowed her to torture people for information without batting so much as an eyelash. Her methods were succinct, purposeful and she got the job done with as little fuss as possible. Given her confidence in the face of adversity, Madame Cheung may prove to be difficult. Madeline, however, relished the thought of matching wits with her for there was nothing she liked better. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Reciting the Rising Dragon’s mantra in her mind had calmed Madame Cheung’s nerves and given her the burst of courage and confidence needed to face her foe. Although she was unable to see her adversary at first, she had known the very moment that her interrogator had stood in front of her. She’d felt her presence while the woman’s words had cut through her with the underlying cynicism of someone who had the upper hand. The humming had obviously been a ruse to unnerve her, but her training in martial arts had prepared her for such tactics. Nothing much fazed her and a little humming certainly hadn’t. As the attractive, brown haired and well-groomed woman approached, she’d observed her more closely and had seen a cold and calculating opponent. Neither of them had flinched when their eyes had met. Madame Cheung had known immediately that this woman, who showed no emotion, was composed, stoic and unflinching, and ... she was used to winning. Unequivocally she’d seen a mirror image of herself. Her bravado was an effort to diffuse the situation and catch the brown-haired woman off guard, but her boldness had backfired. She was a bit taken aback when the woman had mentioned the members of the Triad who they’d thought had met their demise by natural causes. Little did they suspect that Alain de Marillac and Oliver Chan had met with foul play. Sun Yee Lok had blamed their rival triad group the Black Panthers for the death of Tony Wong but now she knew it was indeed these people. What were their motives? Who were they? Perhaps they were some kind of anti-terrorist organisation. Did they want to see the triad implode in order to eliminate the Rising Dragons? Or were they taking down its hierarchy one by one in order to destabilise the triad? Would another less powerful triad better serve their purposes? There were too many questions that she could only hazard a guess at. One fact that was obvious though was that she was at their mercy and had little prospect of finding a way out of her dilemma. She was conscious that any facial movements would be a sign that the woman’s words ... “How will it atone for yours Madame Cheung?” ... had hit a cord with her. However, it had taken all of her willpower not to flinch as the meaning hit home ... Her death! She’d swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat ... So; she was to die at their hands if she refused to cooperate? For a moment she’d been afraid ... not of death, because death didn’t frighten her. She wasn’t afraid to die ... there were always others who would take her place within the triad. She had meant it when she’d said that the triad was bigger than the individual. It may suffer for a while but like the Phoenix it would rise stronger and more defiant in its adversity. Sun Yee Lok was astute enough to work out that there were forces working against it and take affirmative action against the perpetrators. The triad would indeed rise up. These people would do well to take heed and be cautious of its merciless ways for when the triad sought you out there was no escape from the wrath of the Rising Dragons! No ... she was afraid that the rhetoric she’d espoused may be for nought, unless there was a way that Sun Yee Lok would indeed piece together the chain of events that had occurred to the triad over the past months. If there was no escape from this place of incarceration for her and her death was inevitable, how would he know that she too had met her demise by subterfuge and deception? She was afraid of what may come and the pain they would inflict to make her give in, but she hoped that she had the steely reserve to counterbalance whatever they may do to her. The woman in brown had scrutinised her features watching for any sign of capitulation that her words had unnerved her ... but she would not show her any fear. Fear was a weakness that was to be exploited ... a means to an end. If she showed them no fear, then she would in turn unnerve her interrogator.

Madame Cheung wondered what this woman had in store for her, but whatever it was ... she had the resilience to offset it. And so, she waited for one of them to strike the first blow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Madeline moved closer, deliberately moving into Madame Cheung’s space yet watching her surreptitiously. Her next statement to her, however, was cause for alarm and the matter-of-fact way in which Madeline spoke sent chills up and down her spine. Her tone indicated to Madame Cheung that she was indeed a fearsome and cold-blooded opponent. “Trust me ... you do not have the strength to withstand the pain our technology can inflict. The question is simple: will you cooperate now ... or will you force me to modify you?” Madeline watched and saw a slight flinch in the target’s eye at her words, but raising her head even higher in defiance, Madame Cheung said nothing but merely stared her down. “Madame Cheung ... you have a business relationship with a man named Sun Yee Lok.” “So that’s why you got me here? Sun Yee Lok?” She laughed. “Ha! Classic! Sun Yee Lok!” “Yes Sun Yee Lok ... the supreme head of the Rising Dragons’ triad.” “Now why would you want him?” As Madame Cheung’s insolence continued, Madeline decided to shut her up once and for all. Without any warning, she grabbed her by the throat closing off her windpipe. She gasped as the last vestige of air began to escape her lungs leaving her spluttering and choking unable to breathe. Leaning in to the target and with eyes that were merciless Madeline whispered just loudly enough to be heard. “Now listen carefully. We have our reasons for wanting Sun Yee Lok, and you will help us. Usually, I’d extract what I want and you’d be disposed of. You’re a very lucky woman, Madame Cheung.” Madeline released her fingers from her wind pipe so that she could respond. Coughing, Madame Cheung moistened her throat but her eyes showed no other emotion other than contempt. “Oh? How do you figure that?” “You should be dead by now. It would only take one slight movement to your carotid artery and ...” Gasping for breath she managed to say, “In other words, you’ll keep me alive until you get what you want.” Looking Madame Cheung in the eye, while playing her cat and mouse tactics, Madeline replied. “Actually, we know that you are a member of the Rising Dragons and Sun Yee Lok’s inner circle. I have a much better offer for you.” “Oooh. I’m afraid.” “I think there’s an opportunity here for someone with your skill set.” “Really?” “Yes ... seduction techniques are always in demand for luring unsuspecting targets. Don’t you agree Madame Cheung?” “I don’t want to work in your organization.” “I disagree. I think the work here will appeal to you; after all you’re very good at seducing clients. But I digress ... we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First things first.” “What do you want me to do?” “Tell us the whereabouts of Sun Yee Lok.” “Go to hell!” “Very well, if that’s how you feel ... you leave me little choice.” Madeline turned her back to her and smiled inwardly. She had plans for Madame Cheung ... plans that included Henry and Elizabeth, Sections One’s pre-eminent torture technicians. They had yet to pay a visit to her but when they did, she would know it. They were so good at applying that extra little persuasive pressure that was sometimes needed to tip a terrorist over the edge. Madeline knew that Madame Cheung would “enjoy” their little session. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ No sooner had the words had left her mouth than the sound of a door opening filled the eerie silence of this cold white room. Madame Cheung heard two pairs of footsteps in unison approach to where the interrogator stood. Glancing up she noticed a man and a woman carrying what looked like a suitcase each. The be-speckled pair was dressed sombrely in dark suits, but it was their demeanour that unnerved her. She had seen their likes before ... people who specialized in interrogation through the use of torture techniques and who were indifferent to their victim’s pain. This deadly duo had evidently been called to the White Room in order to acquire information from hostiles swiftly and efficiently and Madame Cheung knew that that meant her. Obviously, they had a variety of medical equipment and devices in their cases that would persuade their victim to relinquish information quickly. The Rising Dragons also used such people and Madame Cheung knew what awaited her because of her insubordination to comply. Her fate was now in their hands. “Madeline?” “You know what to do.”

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

[seenashwrite]

Hello, I’m Gone

Word Count: 5.4K   Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Baby/The Impala; Choices; Personal growth; Heart-grabber; Life, love, and family  Rating: Teen & Up  Character(s): Reader/Female O.C.; Male & Female O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A  Warnings: Mild coarse language  Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post, minus tags and links, in an effort to make it show in searches; more post-story Overall Summary: Chuck told us a story about Baby’s early days. And we know how she’s spent most of her life helping the Winchesters get to where they need to go. Here’s a little of what happened in between.

The Lucchese brothers set out for America from Italy, climbed off a boat in Galveston, Texas in 1882. Enterprising fellows as they were, Sal and Joe already had a nice little thing going, a boot-making shop out at Fort Houston, over in San Antonio, by 1883. Sal was a nut for machinery, really turned his crank - any word he got about something that might rev things up, well, he wanted to be the first to try it.  

The Luccheses became known for their hands-on approach, helped by those machines, sure, but only so’s they could give their work a boost. And they refused to cut corners, not even a little. The brothers believed that you should do things right, didn’t matter how busy you got.

Right around the turn of the century, their boots were coming in at around ten bucks. By the early parts of the 1900s, they were around $40 a pop. Then came the Hollywood bandwagon, handfuls of actors showing up wearing the Italian-meets-Western creations as word spread - back in that day, couldn’t just turn on a TV or expect to see ‘em plastered on billboards. Word of mouth and reputation go a hell of a long way.

The singer-songwriters and actual cowboy-types came along. And in the 60s, when style was starting to take a left turn, those boots were still hanging around. Hell, even the White House got in on the action - I’d heard some of the Kennedys got measured and fitted. Johnson, too.

Which, you should. I did. It wasn’t cheap, but worth it. You plan to surround yourself with something, day in and day out, you best make sure it’s a good fit. So I dished out some of the precious savings I’d squirreled away and got two good fits. Just in case I needed to walk.

And I would’ve walked, all the way, if I’d had to. I had 'em for a year, good and broken-in, those dark cherry-red dreams that came almost to my knees. Short legs, short strides, but I was determined.

They’d turned into what I thought were the most important boots - maybe the most important things - in the world. They kept me going, just needed to glance down at them, like they were a talisman. If I believed in that sort of thing.

Still. Funny how things can do that for you, and the people around you can’t. Won’t.

I’d been planning over that year of boot-breaking. To get out. Get gone. Away from that shithole outside Dallas, out of Texas completely. The boots set me back, my waitressing tips and the cash from hocking what little jewelry Momma’d had never quite plugging the hole. Especially when lots of it kept disappearing from my purse, went to his beer and liquor. And his girls on the side.

I stole his piece of garbage truck. I had the spare key, made sense with all the driving I did in it, picking him up from the bars when they’d announced everybody didn’t have to go home, but they couldn’t… well, you know the rest. And sometimes he wouldn’t head home and I’d find him wandering back from a cheap motel along the potholed road that led to the house. His house. His TV. His food. His furniture. His guns.

Stole one of those, too.

The world had sailed into the 70s while I was sailing nowhere. I had nothing to my name but some clothes, my picture of Momma and Daddy the day they got hitched, and my boots. Only brought what I couldn’t do without. A small start, but I figured it was better than nothing.  

I still lacked a surefire way to get me where I wanted to go. Wherever that was. Figured I’d know once I got there. I knew the boots would be loyal long as they could, but they weren’t gonna take me all the way. I wasn’t sure what could.

I got a feeling that would change when I spotted that big black dream, parked all lonely in somebody’s yard. A handwritten “FOR SALE BY OWNER” sign was taped inside the back window. It was dirty as all get-out, had a crack in the passenger side window, a bent fender, and one of the back tires needed air in a bad way.

But it hung with me well after I’d passed it, walking towards civilization and a phone, after I’d gone and got the truck stuck in reverse. Not too bad, though. Gotten as far as Lubbock without doing worse.

I’m not proud of it, pulling my gun on the guy I’d hitched a ride with. It was after my suitcase wheels had long got useless, my boots all muddy, and I was a wet rat, trudging down the road in a quick summer rainstorm, a mile gone from that car my brain kept chewing on. He had kept putting his hand on my knee, though. Wouldn’t listen to my polite - or my not-so-polite - rebukes.

So I tolerated it til we were close to a service station, and that hand sure did fly off quick when he heard the cock of the hammer.

I’d now chewed on that car til all the flavor was gone, even as I got a tow for the truck. I had plenty of cash for the tow, didn’t let on, though, as I talked the guy down with a little flirting. I’m sure changing into a sundress in the service station’s bathroom helped that along.

Had to cruise around a touch, before I found the turn-off from the paved to the unpaved, then about four more miles to the modest older house with the huge yard. As I pulled in, I saw it. Saw clean through all the bumps and bruises, right to the beauty underneath.

I’d parked and turned off the truck, then just stared at it with a slightly dropped jaw, my hand lingering on the keys that were still stuck in the ignition.

The creaking of a screen door and a hearty chuckle startled me out of the reverie. My hand reflexively shot from the keys to my purse. But the sweet, round, smiling face of the portly man in overalls leisurely coming down the porch steps, then across the yard towards me, set my mind at ease. Long time since I’d been this close to a man that didn’t give me the willies. Still. I rolled down the window but didn’t get out.

He finally reached me, resting a forearm on my door, but not intruding, the cotton of his rolled-sleeve shirt just peeking in. I briefly let my eyes close. A breeze had wafted by, and I caught the heavenly scent that told me his clothes had been hung on out on lines to dry in the Texas sun. It reminded me of Momma. His well-worn ballcap reminded me of Daddy.

The chuckle still floated over his words as he spoke.

“Well, we were waitin’ on you to knock, but I told the Mrs. we’d be waitin’ awhile, since you’d gotten a good look at 'er!”

I blinked, said, “Oh. Oh, I… how long have I been sitting here?”

Another chuckle.

“Not too long, just long enough. You want to come sit on the porch? I got hollered at before I came to get you that lemonade’s almost ready.”

I nodded, and he opened the door, seemed to understand when I hesitated and wanted him to walk ahead of me instead of the other way around. I snatched my purse off the seat and brought it with me. Just in case.

We had barely sat, he on a crate that I wondered at, not sure how it was managing his size, and me on the porch swing, when a woman came out of the house, rear-end first. Her backside pushed open the screen door, her hands busy with a tray. A pitcher full of what turned out to be the best lemonade I’d ever had in my life sat atop it, alongside three plastic tumblers.

I drank two-and-a-half’s worth before I spoke, and they were kind enough to keep pouring, waiting patiently. They looked about the age Momma and Daddy would’ve been, though maybe not as worn. Seemed peaceful out here where they were.

“I don’t like the truck,” I said when I finally spoke, a real great opener.

They had easy smiles on their faces, but didn’t reply.

“I like that,” I clarified, turning my head slightly, pointing back to the car.

“You know anything about cars like that, hon?” the man asked.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, then just shook my head. But after a second thought -

“I know they’re fast.”

Now, I couldn’t tell you what my face looked like when I said that last part, but I can tell you that woman’s eyes shifted from bright and shiny to something a little more somber.

Her husband didn’t seem to notice anything, just kept smiling and nodding his head.

“A little too fast for me, I tell ya what,” he said. “We’ve only had 'er a few years, I’ve kept 'er in shape, she’s always run like a dream—”

“She?” I cut in.

“Oh, something that pretty ain’t a boy,” he informed me, and his wife’s eyes went to sparkling again as she laughed.

“We have two boys,” she informed me. “Rough and tumble, right out the gate.”

“I’m afraid that’s how the crack happened,” he went on, then paused, but I could tell he wasn’t angry.

“Long story?” I asked, a smile of my own starting to appear. It was infectious. These people felt like family, and I’d known them about five minutes. Those were damn lucky boys.

Another rumbling chuckle.

“Well, it’s just a crack, anyways. No sense in getting worked up over the little stuff, ain’t that right?” he replied, looking over to his wife, who’d come and sat by me on the swing.

She nodded, then looked at me. "You got any kids?“

I shook my head. "No, ma'am.”

“Just as well. That car….” She trailed off with a bit of a tsk and a head shake. “I never felt quite right, when he’s run around with the boys in it. Fast, like you say. Made me nervous.”

“Aw, honey, now, we can’t keep 'em home forever,” her husband said, but with love, not criticism.

“Why’re you wanting to sell?” I asked.

He sighed, said, "Just too tight on me, on my knees and such. Need a little more room now-a-days.“ He glanced to his wife as he patted his belly. "If your cookin’ wasn’t so good—”

“Then we’d have never stayed married this long,” she finished for him. She looked back to me, saying, “And we’ve got a station wagon that’ll do just fine for now. No sense in keeping it.”

I nodded.

A few moments of silence, all of us taking sips of our lemonade.

“I, ah… what price were y'all thinking of?” I asked, hating how tiny I sounded. Maybe even how desperate. Well. I was.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she put her hand lightly over mine and spoke first.

“You say you don’t care for that truck - well, what if we make it part of the deal?”

She and I both glanced to him.

He raised his eyebrows, thought for a second. “That might not be a half-bad idea. Got good leg room?”

I nodded. “Yessir. I have to have the seat scooted all the way, and then my boots help some.”

“Those are lovely boots,” she commented.

“Thank you.”

“You are a slip of a thing!” he said. “Let’s get you in the Impala, though, make sure those boots’ll get you to the pedals, whatcha say?”

Now I nodded like crazy, I couldn’t help it. They were going to take me for all I had, I was starting to believe. Or it would be too rich for my blood. At least I’d get to sit in it, just for a little while.

It was clean-as-a-whistle inside. The way they’d talked about their boys, I’d have expected stale french fries and milkshake stains everywhere, but there wasn’t a sign telling me this car wasn’t anything except beloved. I laid my hands on the steering wheel.

Hi, there, pretty lady.

“Oof!” I muttered.  The door had stayed open, and he’d pushed the seat forward abruptly.

“Well, look-a-there, like a glove!” he announced, and he was right.

Granted, the seat was up all the way, but I wasn’t just using my tip-toes. My foot was centered on the pedals. I sunk just the right amount into the seat.

“I don’t reckon you’ll need 'em to drive, but them boots, they look awful fine in there,” he commented, in only a slightly leading tone.

But he wasn’t trying to woo me, he was just stating a fact. They did. It was a perfect fit.

I was sold.

“Now, she’s up to date on 'er check-ups, you ain’t gotta worry about that or oil changes or whatnot anytime soon,” he went on. “And ain’t nothing wrong with that back tire, it was just a little nail and it patched up fine, I just haven’t got around to fillin’ it back up.”

I ran my hand along the leather seat. My purse was still hanging across me. They were older. They were sweet. I could’ve stolen it, I bet.

Could’ve stopped in a grocery store parking lot, changed the tags. Be long gone out of the state, just keep changing them whenever I crossed a county line. Make our time together last as long as I was able.

“Your face is all wound up,” he pointed out, and I looked up at him to find that steady kindness staring back.

“I don’t have a lot of money,” I said softly.

“We can talk that over, hon. I need something—”

I nodded.

“—but I’d rather take less than, to have 'er go to someone who loves 'er, instead of lining my pockets three times over.”

A glance over the roof of the car. I followed suit, looking through the cracked window. The porch was empty.

“The boys are stayin’ over at a friend’s, and I know that woman’s still cooked enough to feed everybody in town. You wanna have a little supper before you head back out?”

It was the best meal I’d had in years.

“I was thinking,” I began timidly, once the meal was over.

She had stood, picked up her plate and was reaching for mine, when she slowly sat back down. I wasn’t looking at them when I began. When I brought my head up, they had something akin to sympathy on their faces.

What I must’ve looked like to them.

“I have about four hundred dollars,” I said, pulling the strap over my head and setting my purse on the table, then opening it. "And, then this… um… please don’t let me scare you or anything.“ I gingerly pulled out the handgun and set it next to my scraped-clean plate. "This can be part of my pay, too, and the truck, well, it tends to stick in reverse, but I took care of that earlier, and I don’t know what size shoe you wear, ma'am, but these are Luchesses, I don’t know if you know of those, but they’re real real nice when they’re not muddy, they’re only a year old, and you could probably get good money for 'em….”

I let my rambling drift off, those sympathetic stares still trained on me.  

“Never… never mind,” I said quickly, scooting my chair back and standing. “Y'all have been real kind, I appreciate the supper.”

They shared a look, and when I moved to pick up my purse and the gun, her soft hand once more covered mine.

“Now hold on there, missy,” she said in a slightly firm tone, one I assumed she typically reserved for the menfolk of her home.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself - take that chair, then take you a deep breath,” he chimed in.

I nodded, did as instructed.  

“That gun’s not scary,” she told me, after I’d sat and looked back to her, her hand now holding mine, resting them both on the table. “We’re in Texas.”

The reminder set that twinkle to spark in her eyes, and I laughed.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“That truck run good otherwise?” he asked.

“Yessir,” I said, then paused. “It ain’t as clean inside as the… the…”

“Impala.”

“The Impala. Um, I… didn’t stop to… I didn’t have time to get all the beer bottles and cans and… well, it’s messy.”

“Messes can be cleaned up."

It was an easy-going response, and I gave him a look that I hope conveyed my thanks for it before I went on.

“Oh, the tires! I know two new tires got put on last summer… I don’t remember which, though.”

I was combing my brain for anything else I could tell them. Anything to make them want anything of mine. Anything of worth. I had so little of worth.

She released my hand and patted it, then looked to her husband. "Help me get these dishes to the sink,” she requested, standing and beginning to gather.

“I can—” I started, beginning to stand.

“No no no,” she fussed good-naturedly. “You’re company.”

He heaved himself up with a grunt, picking up his plate and following behind her to the kitchen. I stood the rest of the way anyway, glancing around. The dining area bled into the den, and I found myself looking at the pictures on the walls, drinking in the stories they told me like they were porch lemonade.

Good. Those boys were loved but good.

They came back in then, and I turned, kneading my hands behind my back.

He had papers in his hands, and they both had tiny grins on their faces. He set the papers down on the table, ambled towards me, hand outstretched, palm up.

“Gimme yer keys, lemme go see about how that truck’s running.”

I felt a flutter in my heart. Quickly retrieving them from the table, I handed them over immediately. After the screen door slammed shut in his wake, I looked to her.

“And that’s a .22, ain’t it?” she asked, pointing to the table, to the gun.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Well, we’d been on the lookout for a little something for me to have when I’m out alone, which is gettin’ to be more routine these days, since the boys seem to be off on adventures all the time.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I repeated. Then I looked down to my boots.

“No,” she said, again in that firm, no-nonsense voice. I looked up to stern eyes and a jerk of a head shake.

“Yes, ma'am,” I whispered, feeling a touch of moisture hit my eyes, and it hit my cheeks, but two quick swipes from her and they were gone.

“Go on, bathroom’s down the hall on the left.”

When I came back out, he was sitting at the table, the papers in front of him, my keys nearby. She was peering over his shoulder, pointed at something, and he nodded, bringing his pen to that spot and scribbling. They looked up at the sound of my boot heels on the floor.

“Hon, I glanced in the glove box, didn’t see any registration,” he said almost carefully.

Damn. I couldn’t think of the last time that shitbird had kept up with things like tags and insurance and registration. And I could’ve kicked myself for not tearing apart the house for the title. I just hadn’t been thinking. Just packed, went to the diner to quit my job, and drove.

“I don’t– it’s not– it’s not actually–”

“I’m gonna be straight here, sweetheart, and you shoot me straight, too.”

“Yessir.”

“Anybody gonna be lookin’ for that truck?”

Is anybody gonna be lookin’ for you?

I shook my head, and this time my voice came out with one-hundred percent certainty and conviction:

“No, sir.”

A nod, then back down to the papers, more scribbling. She caught my eye, gave me a wink. The tiniest of smiles came to my face, and I found myself working my hands behind my back again, this time a different sort of nervousness coming over me.

Once he’d set his pen to the side, he looked over at me. "That’ll be three-hundred and a couple of John Hancocks, young lady.“

I inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath, practically lunged at my purse, pulling out the wad of cash, all three of us soon counting aloud. I had a $50, but other than a smattering of $1s, the rest were $20s. It ended up with $310 on the table.

"Keep the change?” I offered.

Two nods, two smiles.

I signed the paperwork, one a copy for them, then he picked up mine and walked over to a hutch, pulling an envelope out of a drawer. She handed me a - my - shiny key.

“What all do you need off your key ring?”

I looked at her with a grin that made my cheeks ache. “Not a thing.”

He sighed as he stuffed the papers into the envelope. “Well, Junior’s gonna have a fit, sharing a truck with me instead of the Impala.”

She snatched the envelope from him, passed it to me, then grabbed him in a one-armed, but fairly tight, sideways hug. She was the picture of bliss, knowing her sons wouldn’t be speeding around town like a jet bolt of lightning. He freed his arm, put it around her and squeezed back, letting out one of those chuckles that sounded like music to my ears.

I clutched the key to my chest like they clutched each other.

“Oh, your purse, honey,” she suddenly said, seeing as how I’d been turned towards the door in a bit of a haze, staring out the screen at my new partner in crime.

He helped me get my suitcase into that canyon of a trunk, then they guided me as I backed it up, doing a slow three-point-turn in the yard, straightening out onto their unpaved driveway. They came up to the driver’s side window, which I’d left down to hear their instructions. Now they fussed over me like I was one of their own. It was nice.

“You know where the closest gas station is?” she checked.

I nodded. “I was there earlier.”

“Now, you get straight there, get that tire filled all the way up, hear? Don’t get on no highway til you do,” he said.

Another nod. “Yessir.”

“You’ll be safe in ‘er,” she told me, leaning in to give me a little peck on the cheek.

“She’s traveled a lot in ‘er short life,” he added, patting the hood. A pause, a bit of a side-eye. “You don’t sell Bibles, do ya?”

They both snickered.

“Ignore him, hon,” she told me. “My best friend in Iowa’s the one we bought the Impala off of, she hated to sell, though - it had got her the hell out of Wisconsin after her husband died. He was one of them 'come-to-Jesus’, 'the-end-is-nigh’ types, went all over the state passin’ out the Good Book.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The booze and the fried cheese caught up to him, dropped dead before he got to see his apocalypse,” she responded wryly and with an eye roll.

Then, despite her claimed nervousness and dislike for the Impala, I watched as she almost lovingly stroked the door beside me.

“Never thought that was a good enough life for her,” she commented softly, then brought her eyes to mine.

“I’ll make sure,” I whispered, answering her unasked question.

“She’s gonna get you there,” he told me. “Fast as you need, far as you need.”

And I believed him. Believed in them. Believed in her.

I topped off the gas, watched as one of the station attendants filled the tire with air. I leaned back in, opened my purse to go pay - and I gasped. The gun was there, a small sliver of pie inside a plastic sandwich baggie tucked next to it.

It was seventy-two degrees as I sailed out of Lubbock, and not too dark, but I turned on the headlights anyway. Sweet lord, did they cut through the night. I would see anything coming at me.

I laughed out loud, letting the wind whip my hair with fury, glad for once that it was still on the short side, else I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the feeling as much. I hadn’t bothered to check the radio before signing on the dotted line - it didn’t seem important. I could live without music if I had to, it would be fine.

So before I got on the highway, at the last red light before the on-ramp, I took a moment to unwrap my little slice of love, setting it in my lap. Moment of truth. I put my fingers to the knob.

CLICK

“Son-of-a-bitch!” I squealed, flooring the engine as soon as I hit the highway, banging my hands against the steering wheel, laughing like a maniac in between taking bites of the pie.

The speakers were not as loud as that engine, but goddamn, were they close.

“I’m sorry!” I yelled over the wind and the engine and the radio, apologizing to that heaven-sent hunk of metal for my sticky fingers as I reached for the dial, turning it off of one of the more recent hits that they’d been playing incessantly at the diner.

Anything that reminded me was like nails on a chalkboard. That would fade. I would learn to ignore it.

But not tonight.

“Aaaaahhhh!”

I was screaming again, couldn’t believe it when I heard the start of a song which was very familiar, had good memories attached to it.

“You hear that?!”

I patted the dash rapidly a few times, like I was getting the car’s attention.

“This was one of Momma’s favorites! She and Daddy would stop and dance when it came on!”

I cranked it up more, singing so loudly I’d almost drowned out Mr. Buddy Holly himself.

Maybe baby, I’ll have you Maybe baby, you’ll be true Maybe baby, I’ll have you for me

It was an old song, one from the fifties. I was little, but in my mind, I could still see Daddy’s huge smile and see Momma’s shocked expression, followed quickly by a fit of giggles as he’d whip her around, then dip her down when that song came on the radio. I always wondered why she was surprised - he did it every damn time.

“Love you, baby,” he’d tell her, when the song ended and they were standing close, still swaying a bit.

“I love you back, baby,” she’d reply, like clockwork. Every damn time.

A few tears slipped out, but they were replaced with a smile. I turned down the radio when the song ended. Then with one hand, I folded up the baggie, stuck it inside my purse, never even crossing my mind to toss it on the floorboard or in the backseat.

There were signs up ahead giving me a few options.

“Whaddya say, babygirl - I was headed west, but we can always do somethin’ different!” I reassured the car, giving another pat to the dash.

I chose.

“That okay, me calling you babygirl?" I thought on that for a moment. "You’re not a little girl, though!”

Another moment. My thoughts went back to Buddy’s voice. To Momma and Daddy.

“I don’t got anybody to call Baby, that okay by you?”

If a steady engine and headlights with beams like stars meant a happy car, then I was gonna take it as a sign. If I believed in signs. Which, I suppose, I did.

“Oh! And…”

I had taken off my boots before driving away from the service station, laid them on their sides in the passenger seat. I’d got all the mud off of them in the bathroom after I’d paid. They had their nice touch of a sheen back, even over the scuffs, my older babies seemingly just as happy as my new one.

“…these are the boots that got me to you! Get used to 'em, they’ll be in here a lot!”

I sang along to what felt like a hundred songs til my throat got sore. We drove quietly for awhile. I was a nervous wreck leaving her alone, but I was plumb exhausted, and had to get some sleep. Chasing shadows too long’ll do that.

Even so, I kept peeking out the little motel room window off-and-on for awhile. I’d asked for a ground floor room, so she could be right outside from me. I knew it wasn’t as safe for a single gal to be just off the parking lot, but I didn’t want her to be too far. Besides, I still had the handgun.

Those guardian angels of mine sure were somethin’ else.

I stopped to make a phone call before I hit the road hard. Well, two phone calls. The first was to kill the last speck of doubt.

“Yeah?”

“Hello,” I replied calmly, gazing out the phone booth at Baby.

“Where the hell—”

I smiled. “I’m gone.”

Daddy had relatives in Kansas, second cousins, but I remembered their kids from when I was younger, when we’d drove up to visit a few times. Pen-pal’d for a little bit with one of the boys, we’d kept up over the years. So I dropped in a dime, dialed a better number.

“Wow! You did it!”

I giggled. “I know!”

“You need to come stay with us?”

“If you don’t care—”

“Stop that! We’ve got the room, at least for five more weeks - I still haven’t got rid of the bed or put the crib together.”

“Well, then, I’ll help you. And listen - you’re gonna die. Or hate me. Or have a heart attack, because I’ve got a baby, too!”

My cousin’s reaction was priceless, even more so when I pulled in his driveway. I’d never seen somebody so happy for me and jealous of me all at once. And I had the same reaction when his daughter was born. It was one of the best days of my life, and before I knew it, better days kept coming.

I think the saddest day of my life was letting you go.

It’s strange, how much can change in a year. My cousin had set me up on a blind date with a friend of his, and I thought, shoot - a girl’s gotta eat, so I went. And oh, Baby, was I smitten. But you know - you were there for plenty of the kissing.

And you were there when we made our baby, did you know that? I can’t remember if I thought to tell you. Kansas tornadoes are just that way. Swoop you up into all kinds of craziness.

It felt like a piece of me was getting cut off, watching my husband shake hands, that dealer coming towards us. Your key was cutting into my palm. My other hand was on my belly.

I didn’t do it for the money. I had to do it for the baby. The new baby. And, you know, my ankles are so swollen, I don’t get to wear my boots, if that makes you feel any better. Doesn’t me, though.

We’re moving away. Just have to drop you off, under the rainbow, how funny is that? Then we’re gone.

I owe you my life. You saved me. You’ll save others, I just know it. You’ll get 'em out of tight spots, keep 'em safe, be there for hard stuff, but you’ll be part of so much good stuff, too.

I’m leaving this for you. I’m gonna pull up a little bit of carpet somewhere, slide it in. I don’t know where yet. Just so you won’t be alone. But I don’t think you’ll be by yourself for long.

I hope whoever you end up with finds this, reads this story. That they’ll remember some roads are gonna seem far too long, but if you’re with them, time will fly. That they’ll love you as much as I do and throw on some boots and floor it and zoom into the night and go raise some hell.

I got a feeling they will.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you. 

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘 

.

Author’s Note #2: This was originally written for the SPN Writing Challenge “Baby’s Big 50″, a celebration honoring Baby for her 50th birthday via 50 song prompts, courtesy of @butiaintgonnaloveem

Challenge Prompt: “Maybe Baby” - Buddy Holly [featured lyrics in the story]

Author Prompt: “Hello, I’m Gone” - Trisha Yearwood [full lyrics below]

.

Hello, I’m Gone ~ Trisha Yearwood [written by Kevin Welch]

Somebody’s waiting back home in Dallas With no idea where she has gone Got her suitcase all packed up in the back of a pickup Got her red knee-high Luccheses on She’s on any old two-lane, westbound she knows She was chasing her shadow when the sun finally rose And, man, she’s just running, it don’t matter where She figures she’ll know where she is when she’s there And she didn’t leave nothin’ she can’t do without That’s enough reason for leavin’ no doubt She rolls down the window, turns up a song Laughs at the weather and says Hello, I’m gone She broke down in Lubbock, got it stuck in reverse So she hitched down the highway, a little gun in her purse Got to the station, and stared at the phone Found herself thinkin’ bout calling for home But she didn’t leave nothin’ she can’t do without That’s enough reason for leavin’ no doubt She dropped in a quarter, made herself strong All that she told him was, “Hello, I’m gone.” Then she called up a tow truck, said - “Fix up what’s wrong. I’m paying in cash, boys.” Hello, I’m gone

[ledstripiron-blog]

The way to select the Right LED Reel Light?

led strip soldering machine Led strip lights lights, wide lace or heurts have turn into one of the almost all popular ENCOURAGED products offered on the market. Many people did but not only replace amoureux ribbons, while some other people of often the fluorescent tubes likewise, along with definitely gave endless ways for advertisements and decoration associated with bars, hotels, and different open places. With the actual fast progress the BROUGHT technology, automobile available within very bright variants way too, allowing users to put on the idea as task, or in very unlikely cases, even as a new main method to obtain lighting. All their application is actually popular equally in home in addition to professional use, therefore we compiled the main characteristics regarding deprive lights consumers have to have to think of if many people want to make the particular right choice.

led strip soldering machine

Determined by each of our purposes the following attributes may help us consider anything you have to employ.

- The type or variety of LED bundled instructions the number of LEDs with a metre of typically the strip -- the shades or color temperature involving the LEDs : often the flexibility of the tape rapid the direction connected with LEDs on the reel - holding capacity instructions heavy duty -- IP rating - Discorde : dimmers and remotes

Connected with all the determining components already stated, the most critical is probably the style as well as size of the actual LED provided, both associated with which determine it has the purity or performance. That change has already been talked over within a of our preceding articles in ArticleBase. com: how the effectiveness regarding different LED technologies (low power, SMD power and also high power) ranges, in addition to the size of the diodes. Definitely, the more new the technological know-how of the particular LED is, plus the much larger its size is, typically the brighter it will become.

Another deciding factor involving the performance will be connected with course the number associated with LEDs inside strip inside of a metre in particular. The particular higher this number is usually, the brighter the remove is, though extremely substantial numbers within a metre typically require special engineering, just like double width pieces rapid where the GUIDED are placed besides a single after the other playing with two or three series next to 1 another. Having strips including a variety of LED always look at all their arrangement, because LEDs inserted too close for you to each other may discharge too much heat along with sufficiently shorten the life expectancy on the strip.

The coloring range of often the DIRECTED is now endless, due to the fact any colour can end up being including RGB technique. At this time there are commonly two or perhaps three shades of light readily available: bright or wintry white-colored - the bluish, definitely bright version regarding whitened, the warm bright instructions which is quite yellowish much like the sun, in addition to the natural light -- which is a collaboration of the 2 main in a variety of degrees. The heat range involving the white colour is definitely measured in Kelvin, along with the higher colour temperatures (from about 5000 K) are definitely the cold, or bluish white cloths and the lower people (2700 - 3000 K) are classified as the warmer white colorings.

Sole colour LEDs are generally available in most tones now, but the RGB LED strips can in addition release a large wide variety of colours. RGB whitening strips need a controller to run, and decide whether the actual shade of the deprive should be just one continual colour, or need to adjust along with setting the particular pace of change. Exclusive pixel RGB strips will be able to change the colour inside a line, creating the run-down effect. All the different colouring changes of the RGB strip largely depends about advantage of the controlled too.

The prospects of typically the LED strips may be a finding out factor in their app. Rigid strips are great for swapping fluorescent cylindre for instance, however at this time there is hardly anything anyone would be unable to do having a flexible tape often. On flat materials the item is sometimes easier to help consult with rigid strips, nevertheless applied to ceilings or partitions : I guess quite a few of you have find this problem before rapid what exactly appears to always be flat for the vision is far from immediately the moment examined with any spirit amount. So, mobility is more ordinarily a style than a burden. Tape are usually flexible in order to one age only, which will is exactly the woman often the direction of the LEDs can be significant. Typically the most common sorts of strip have LEDs light in place, so if for case in order to enlighten a controls you should look for side-mounted or side-view strips to be able to be able to design these individuals the right course.

The having capacity connected with strips is often very very low. Heavy-duty strip lighting usually are not usually sold intended for home use, but considerably relatively for commercial employ on cruise ships and throughout factories for instance. With home use, where taking volume matters - with an borders of some sort of stair for instance instructions the use of dating profiles is the widespread alternative.

The IP standing associated with strips or any power goods is made right up of two statistics, articulating the degree of safeguard given against the breach of privacy of sound objects (including body parts similar to hands and fingers and fingers), airborne debris, animal contact, and normal water with electrical enclosures.

When you plan for you to install strip lights from wet or humid sites, outdoors, or maybe perhaps under waters, then your personal items need to possibly be moderately or completely watertight. 100 % waterproof items include the IP rating regarding 68.

Often the Voltage involving LED strip signals really should always be checked previous to plan. Strips running with droits are often employed, but most with the ENCOURAGED strips require a transformer, since they run on minimal voltage (usually 14 or maybe 24 V). In the event your tape need a new transformer, make sure it can be suitable for LEDs, mainly because electric power transformers most connected with the time ruin LEDs.

The variety of feelings or atmospheres that can certainly be created with reel equipment and lighting is incredibly substantial and a lot is dependent upon the accessories you work with along with them, like dimmers as well as remotes. Although the major variety of RGB side effects are created with individual panels, where there is not any limit into the effects made use of other than all of our thoughts, there is a ton you can apply with strips far too, utilizing complex controllers, including the DMX, allowing you actually to set the groove of colour change to help new music. Dimming is generally simply plausible, though nearly all strips have to have a dimmer specially manufactured to get LEDs.

[robertjacobsugdens]

30, robron

tourist/knowledgeable local au

thank you, Anon! I hope you enjoy it!

Aaron’s lived in Rome his whole life. A life lived at the edges of thebar his family owns, tucked away in a corner of Garbatella, in the vicoli of Testaccio and Trastevere,between the sunny ruins of the Colosseoand the Fori Imperiali. Between theancient and the destitute.

A city almost three thousand years old and sometimes even just breathingin it feels like sinking in a quicksand of limestone and smog.

He should leave.

-

Aaron’s in Piazza di Spagnawhen it happens. Between wearing all black despite the fact that it’s aboutseven thousand degrees, the fact that he’s very late meeting his friends, andthe throng of tourists everywhere, he’s not in the best of moods.

That’s why when a man stops him, he’s very tempted to ignore him andkeep walking.

Then he looks at him. The man’s British, with an accent Aaron can’tquite place, with blond hair and green eyes. He’s not Aaron’s type, not really,but there’s something about him that makes Aaron stop in his tracks.

“What?” Aaron asks, maybe a little bit more forcefully than strictlynecessary. The man doesn’t even blink.

“I said, do you know how to get to PiazzaVenezia?” He asks, apparently again, his accent mangling the Italian wordsbeyond almost all recognition.

Aaron nods. “Just get back to the main road there and go right. Can’tmiss it.”

“Are you sure?” The man asks again, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.He’s wearing jeans, a shirt with rolled up sleeves, and he’s carrying a suitjacket on his arm, none of the stuff tourists usually wear, which is probablyalso why he’s sweaty and irritated.

“No, I’ve lived here my whole life and don’t know where Piazza Veneziais.” Aaron deadpans, deliberately pronouncing Piazza Venezia in the correct way even though it throws off hisEnglish pronunciation.

“You’re the third person I asked and they’ve all given me differentdirections.” The man huffs out.

“You’ve either asked other tourists or idiots.” Aaron replies, takinghis phone out of his jeans. He fires off a quick text and brings his attentionback to the guy. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

“Really?” The man asks, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“Really.” Aaron replies. “Now it’s a matter of principle.”

“Okay, thanks -”

“Aaron.”

“I’m Robert.”

-

They walk towards Piazza Venezia, careful to stay on the side of theroad where there’s shade. Once back on Viadel Corso Aaron could have just pointed out at the Vittoriano in the distance, guiding every lost tourist back to Piazza Venezia, but well, as he said,it’s a matter of principle now.

“So, you live ‘round here?” Robert asks.

“Do I look like I rob banks for a living?”

Robert’s eyes dart to Aaron, quick at first, then slowly dragging overhis body. It shouldn’t send a little thrill down Aaron’s spine but it doesanyway.

“Honest opinion?” Robert asks, fake sincerity dripping from his voice.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “You know, I could just strand you in one of theselittle side-streets, you’d never find your way out.”

-

“There you go. The Vittoriano. Have fun.” Aaron says, assoon as they’re just outside the gates.

“I’m not going in.” Robert replies, bringing a hand to shield his eyesfrom the sun and he looks up at the marble monument.

“Then why are we here?” Aaron asks.

Robert shrugs. “I was here on a business trip, but I ended up finishingearly. I’m leaving tomorrow morning and I’ve already seen the Colosseum and theSpanish steps, this seemed like the next logical step.”

“No, it’s not.” Aaron says.

“Okay then, what now, Italian Yoda?” Robert asks.

Aaron snorts. “Offer me lunch and find out.”

Robert laughs. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of the road, wecould go there.”

“Nah, we’re not eating over-priced garbage, follow me.” Aaron replies, turningback and walking in the opposite direction.

-

“Really?” Robert asks, eyeing the little pizzeria al taglio in LargoArgentina like it’s personally offending him. For all Aaron knows maybe itis. It’s still definitely over-priced by Aaron’s standards, but at least it’sgood food.

“Really.” He replies, walking in.

He orders a little bit of everything, the woman behind the counterputting all the pizza slices on a paper tray while he grabs two sodas from thefridge. He lets Robert pay for it.

They sit down on one of the marble benches right there on Largo Argentina, their lunch betweenthem. They’re facing the ruins and Robert looks enthralled by them.

“Roman history buff?” Aaron asks before sinking his teeth into a sliceof pizza margherita.

“Something like that.” Robert replies. “Why are there so many catshere?”

“Cat colony.” Aaron replies, nodding towards the ruins and looking at acat stretching lazily to the tourists’ many ‘oooh’s and ‘awww’s.

“Not a cat fan?” Robert asks.

“They’re alright. More of a dog lover, me.” Aaron replies, shrugging.

-

“I just hid him in my room for a week.” Aaron says, between bouts oflaughter.

“And your family didn’t notice?” Robert asks.

“They just thought I was sneaking my boyfriend in.” Aaron replies.

“Please tell me you have pictures.” Robert says.

“Of the dog or of the boyfriends?”

“Both.” Robert replied.

“And you? Any pictures of dogs or girlfriends?” Aaron asks.

“No pictures of dogs, girlfriends, or boyfriends, sorry.” Robert says,flirts, really.

“Don’t be.” Aaron flirts back.

-

“What now?” Robert asks, getting up to dispose of their paper tray andempty soda cans.

“You’ll see.” Aaron replies, getting up and stalking towards Via Arenula.

-

“What?” Aaron asks, looking at Robert who’s looking at Aaron’s car butnot moving to climb in.

“Just considering whether I should get into a car in a foreign countrywith a near stranger.” Robert replies.

“Bit too late for that, mate.” Aaron says, getting in.

-

“So, what do you do here? Besides playing tour guide to British tourists.”Robert asks.

“Only some British tourists.”Aaron replies.

“Yes, I’m sure your services are very exclusive.” Robert says, withenough of a straight face that Aaron flips him off. “Tourist board material,you.”

“I’m a mechanic.” Aaron replies, making a very sharp left turn. Robertdoesn’t say anything, but he’s been gripping the car’s dashboard the entiretime.

“I work sales.”

“Boring.”

“Yes, because being a mechanic is right there in the ranking ofthrilling professions with international spy and professional footballer, Iforgot.” Robert snarks.

Aaron laughs.

-

“Here we are.” Aaron says, his hands in his jeans pockets for a lack ofa better placement.

They’re on top of the Gianicolonow, where there’s fewer tourists and more locals just enjoying the weather.

“What’s this?” Robert asks, getting closer to the railing. It’s a clearday, which means from there they can see most of the old Roman city center.Robert is looking out, eyes wide, taking it all in.

If Aaron were a more sentimental man, he’d sneak a picture, but he’snot, so he settles from committing Robert’s profile to memory.

“I figured with just a few hours in Rome left this would be the best wayto see as much as possible.” Aaron shrugs, feeling suddenly self-conscious in theslight breeze.

“Thank you. This is beautiful.” Robert replies.

They stand there for a while, looking out, arms brushing against eachother’s.

-

“So, what now?” Robert asks, climbing back inside the car.

They’ve spent the better part of two hours talking and eating ice cream.By this point Aaron would be ready to get rid of anyone, he could do it easilytoo. He could just remind Robert that he’s leaving tomorrow morning and heshould probably go pack or something.

He doesn’t.

“I’m telling you, I could probably stretch for dinner too.” Robertcontinues.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

-

“This isn’t what I had in mind.” Robert says, examining a tomato withway more wariness than it warrants.

“Not those ones.” Aaron says, grabbing a handful of cherry tomatoesinstead. “And trust me, this is better.”

They’re inside the supermarket and it’s weird.

Domestic.

Nice.

It’s freaking Aaron out a little bit, so he’s refusing to think aboutit.

“Didn’t take you for the cooking type.” Robert says, bumping into Aaron’sshoulder.

“I’m not.”

“Not keen on food poisoning, mate.” Robert replies, making a face.

Aaron still finds him attractive, fluorescent lights and all. It’s… notideal.

“I can cook pasta, Robert.”

-

Turns out, Aaron can’t cook pasta that well.

-

“It wasn’t that bad.” Robert says.

It’s weird, Robert being in his kitchen. It almost feels like a movie spilledinto his real life. There’s the wall where his and all his cousins’ heightshave been measured for years. And here’s this British man Aaron met a few hoursago. Over there, on the fridge, are the magnets he brought back from hisholiday in Greece, and over here are a pair of green eyes.

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never had proper Italian pastabefore.” Aaron replies.

“I’ll have you know I have been to Italy before. I went to Milan for abusiness trip a while ago.” Robert says.

“If you say Milan is better than Rome you can leave.”

“It’s a nice city!” Robert protests.

“Out.”

-

They migrate into Aaron’s room because it’s inevitable and because they’veboth been waiting for it.

It’s quiet now, the air shifting around them, Aaron’s life story leakingfrom the walls and shelves in the room.

The A.S. Roma poster still upfrom when they won the last championship, DVDs, CDs and magazines stackedhaphazardly on every available surface, pictures stuck to the walls with tapeand pins, friends, family, and exes frozen in time.

They all seem to be watching Robert, waiting with baited breath for himto judge them, but Robert isn’t looking at all.

His eyes are on Aaron.

Robert cradles Aaron’s face as they kiss, as they crash into each other,a flurry of hands and clothes and want.

They fall on the bed, half naked already, speaking two languages betweenthem, and then a new one altogether.

Aaron falls asleep tangled into Robert, lulled by the whirring of thefan and Robert’s hand into his hair.

-

It’s still dark out when Robert kisses him awake.

“I have to go.” Robert says, quietly.

“I’ll take you.” Aaron replies, happy Robert can’t see his face in thedark.

“You don’t have to, I’ll take a taxi.” Robert says.

“I’ll take you.” Aaron says again, getting up.

-

They’re outside the airport and it’s too early for it to be hot already,but Rome is giving it her best effort.

Aaron is wearing the shirt Robert had been wearing the day before, whileRobert is leaving with Aaron’s black t-shirt on. It was an accident due to themgetting dressed in the dark, but neither one of them has mentioned it yet.Aaron isn’t going to.

“You should visit.” Robert says, he’s still sitting into Aaron’s car,one of his hands is on Aaron’s.

“I don’t even know where you live.” Aaron replies.

“I saved my number in your phone earlier.” Robert says. He turns to lookat Aaron, and gently, quietly, leans in and kisses him. “Text me, I mean it.”

“I will.” Aaron replies.

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

-

Aaron watches Robert walk away.

[stahvie]

I’ll keep you warm pt. 4

Masterlist     First     Previous     Next

Pairing: Kylo x reader

Word Count: 2336

Summary: Your assessment didn’t go so well and now you’re left with questions.

It had not been a good last few days.

You’d failed your assessment, been removed from Theta Squad, were dismissed as a TIE pilot altogether, and probably worst of all, the memories of your recovery were hazy due to a mixture of the heat and bacta, but you had the terrible feeling that the Supreme Leader may have seen you in your underwear.

The only bright side seemed to be that you weren’t being kicked out of the First Order, but it had also become clear as you were escorted through the halls of the Supremacy, that you weren’t headed for the trooper barracks. It made sense, your blaster skills were what you scored the lowest on during your assessment, so with your lacking skill there was no chance you were being reassigned as a trooper. The officer that guided you was being less than helpful and you’d given up questioning her about what was happening.

The officer left you once you arrived at a vacant private room. She informed you that these were your new quarters but failed to leave you with any instructions or answer any of the many questions that plagued your mind.

The room was large. It was smaller than your last living quarters but then, you’d shared it with your squadmates, and this was your own personal space. You’d never had privacy before, you’d always lived with your peers and teammates and excitement sunk in. You were going to decorate the shit out of this room… you just needed to get some personal items to do it.

You threw your bag onto your own personal table, took a quick tour of your own personal refresher, finger-gunned at yourself in your own personal mirror, and once you were done exploring your room, you collapsed onto your own personal bed. Your old bed had a spring that poked into your thigh as you slept but your new bed was soft and comfortable. You’d believe anyone if they told you it had never once been slept in.

As you let your head get enveloped by the marshmallowy pillow, the questions came back. What the kriff was your job now? It had to be pretty cushy to get you such a nice living area. How could it be, though? No TIE pilot could live like this… maybe those in command, but you’d been kicked from the Elite TIE pilot program completely. You didn’t have any training in leadership either so you weren’t going to become an officer. Nothing added up. Not to mention you weren’t even sure if someone was going to come around and give you instructions on what was happening next. Were you just supposed to wait here?

Screw that. You rolled lazily off the comfy bed and made a bee line for the door. You couldn’t be expected to wait for an undetermined amount of time, so it wouldn’t be your fault if someone finally delivered the details of your new situation and you were off exploring.

Exploring was probably the wrong word for what you were doing since you already knew the ship pretty well, but you weren’t as familiar with this area. The facilities in this area of the Supremacy were frequented by officers so you’d rarely find yourself in these halls unless you were just wandering around aimlessly to clear your head.

You visited the gym, mess hall, and cantina closest to your new room and they all had one thing in common; the people in each facility outranked you. There were no troopers keeping in shape in the gym. The mess hall was nicer and didn’t seem to be constantly on the brink of a food fight. The bar was free of TIE pilots gloating about their latest flight. It was obvious everyone here was of a higher rank, you didn’t belong here and it was alienating. You decided to head back to your room.

Turning the final corner to the hall your new room was in, you saw him. For a brief moment panic took over you, like you were a kid again seeing your crush unexpectedly, and you hid behind the corner before he could see you. Ren was probably just there to let you know what was going on. Why him though? It didn’t matter, he was there. You regained your bravery, put your big girl pants back on, and turned the corner.

The black figure disappeared around another corner and out of site. Shit. You rushed from your corner to his, trying to not seem too suspicious in front of a pair of officers giving you the stink eye. Ren was faster than you’d anticipated, sure you’d catch up if you moved quickly enough, but the longer this went on the weirder it would be when you finally reached him. Maybe it would be better to call out to him.

“Sir?”

No response.

“…Sir?”

Nothing.

Ren kept up his pace as he seemed to be unable to hear you, but he was nearing another corner and you didn’t want to lose him. Then it hit you. You weren’t supposed to be calling him that now that you were back. How could you let yourself forget that? You half-jogged towards the corner and tried again.

“…Supreme Leader Ren?”

Ren finally stopped which took you by surprise making you stop in your tracks instead of continuing to close the gap. He turned to face you and you were stumped. What now? As he stood and stared in your direction, it hit you just how intimidating he was. It definitely didn’t feel like it did back on that icy planet. You moved towards him meekly hoping you’d find the words you needed or at least something acceptable to say, however, once you reached him your mind was still blank.

“Has no one been to tell you about your new position?” His eyes scanned you and he seemed mildly surprised to find you still in your pilot uniform.

“Oh.” You took in a deep and let your mouth try to pluck something from your brain. “Maybe. I dunno. Someone mighta… they coulda… See, the thing is, the officer that brought me here from my old room didn’t exactly talk much. She kinda just walked. The only thing she said to me was ‘this is your new quarters’ and then she just left. The entire time we walked she just ignored whatever I said and I dunno if she was just being rude… or if I was being rude for asking…”

There was a brief pause as you sucked in air.

“So then when she left I was just alone and I wasn’t sure what to do or how long I was supposed to wait so I tried my bed out… which is so much softer than my old one by the way… and my brain was just all over the place wondering what I’m supposed to be doing now that I’m not a pilot anymore… which is stupid because I know I’m a great pilot! I mean, yeah, on that mission things didn’t go so great but normally I’m really good… but anyway, I wasn’t sure how long it would be before someone came and got me again or if someone was even going to stop by at all so I thought I’d have a little look around just to check things out and I was shocked that there’s just officers around and it makes me have even less of an idea of what’s going on so I was hoping…”

Your eyes caught sight of two officers that had stopped in their tracks to stare at you. It was clear what was going through their heads. One looked on with disgust because of how informally you were talking toward the Supreme Leader, the other one stood in fear expecting the Supreme Leader to strike you down with his saber.

“…So, I was hoping that maybe you knew what I’m supposed to be doing, Supreme Leader Ren, Sir…” The pace of your words had slowed considerably and you now took your cue to shut up.

“Right.” Ren ushered the onlookers away while keeping his eyes on you. “Follow me.”

He was away and you did a small skip to stick behind him and tried to keep up with his fast strides. Leading you further and further away from your new room you marked your route on a mental map to make sure you found your way back in case you had to make the return trip on your own.

“Need repairs again, Supreme Leader Ren?” A squeaky voice called out from the room Ren had just entered.

“Not this time. I’ve brought along RN-1799 for her fitting.” He replied.

You joined the two of them in the room and stood behind Ren but far out enough so you could see who he was talking to.

“Oh! I expected you sooner!” Said the plump woman with rosy cheeks. She pulled you out from your hiding spot behind Ren and whipped a measuring tape from what seemed like nowhere. “I think you’re going to like the design we settled on. Practical and durable but still stylish, if I do say so myself. Three different sets of armour, your regular set, you’ll get a few of those, then some cold and hot weather sets.”

She led you behind a partition and gestured for you to undress.

“That reminds me.” The tailor continued. “Supreme Leader Ren, the offer still stands. I’m more than happy to make you some warm weather armour. It must be hotter than Mustafar in that set up you’ve got… by the way, sweetheart,” She said turning back to you. “Are you alright with the Supreme Leader here or would you prefer if this was a girls only event?”

You were unexpectedly pulled back into the conversation. Your eyes darted back and forth between the tailor, the partition, and Ren. Ren’s eyes parted from you, he found a seat near the door and busied himself by picking at the armrest.

“It’s okay.” You told her quietly. At most, he’d be able to see down to your shoulders, which if your suspicions were correct, paled in comparison to what he’d already seen of you. As much as it had already embarrassed you to think about, this was the first time he was present while you tried to figure out if your foggy memories of your recovery were real. It felt much worse. Heat bubbled under the skin of your chest, up your neck and across your cheeks.

Once the measurements had been taken, the tailor informed you that your new wardrobe would be ready the next day. Your armour was given top priority. Ren guided you around the ship taking you further and further away from your quarters. In the armoury you received a blaster that was coded to your fingerprint and a few spares that weren’t. Turning back in the opposite direction and passing your quarters, the Supreme Leader stopped at a large window that overlooked one of the hangers.

“See those?” He asked, a gloved finger pressed against the transparisteel. Almost a quarter of the large hanger was taken up by the construction of what looked to be five TIE silencers. “When they’re done you can have first pick.”

The day had started in confusion and it looked like it was going to end the same way. Sure, you felt like you were being led to an answer but you were going as slow as a sarlacc’s digestive system. As much as you enjoyed being in the presence of the Supreme Leader, if you didn’t get answers by the end of the day you felt like you were going to explode.

“What the hell is going on?” You blurted out, losing control of your mouth. Your head snapped forward and you stared ahead afraid to acknowledge your small outburst. That had to be overstepping a line.

“This way.” Ren said. Without looking at you, his hand landed on your shoulder and trailed down your arm until his hand engulfed yours. He was off again and you had no choice but to keep close as he stormed through the halls. You could feel your heart throbbing against your sternum and cursed whoever it was that invented gloves. Their invention had created an unwanted barrier between your skin and his.

The Supreme Leader’s hand dropped yours as you reached a corner. Without being led by hand you still managed to keep up. A small group of lieutenants paused their conversation as the two of you passed them. Most avoided eye contact though a pale one with dark hair seemed like he was too scared to look away.

Moving around another corner and out of sight of the lieutenants, Ren reached his hand back toward you. There was no way he was offering it for you to hold, right? His gloved fingers grabbed at the air, motioning for something to be placed in them. Your pockets were empty, you had nothing else to give but your hand. You sped up so you were close enough and tenderly touched your fingers to his. Without hesitation his hand wrapped around yours again.

Ren’s pace quickened again and you assumed that he just wanted your hand to make sure you kept up with him. Him dropping your hand before was probably just to avoid those lieutenants from gossiping. The Supreme Leader couldn’t get involved with an ex-Elite TIE pilot. Still, there was no harm in you imagining the two of you together. His hand squeezed yours a little tighter, no doubt to make sure he wasn’t losing his grip, and all your focus went to trying to force the corners of your mouth from curling upward.

“You wanted answers?” Ren asked, dropping your hand, as you came to a stop at the door of a conference room. His mouth twitched upward ever so briefly as your eyes met his. “This is where you’ll get them.”

 Tags: @marvelanimelover @sophiatomlinson23 @secretlygrantaire (sorry if I’ve missed anyone, I definitely need to keep a better record of people who have asked)

[redditnosleep]

There Was A Series Of Unexplained Deaths In My Town In 1988

by crystakat

In the winter of 1988, bodies began appearing on the border between my town and the surrounding woods. A group of campers had stumbled upon a man in his early thirties, completely nude and almost perfectly preserved by the cold weather. By the end of the day, two more had been found within a quarter-mile radius. All three were naked, found lying on open ground as if there’d been no attempt to hide them. One woman and two men. None bore any visible wounds.

The news exploded. It was a little backwoods town where not much happened, so when three strangers turned up dead hardly a mile off of Revell Street, it became all anyone could talk about. I was just a kid then, a few months into sixth grade, and the rumors that spread around school were ridiculous.

Family breakfast that morning was quieter than usual. Mom was horrified, poring over the newspaper as she wondered aloud if it was safe to send my eight-year-old sister and me to school by ourselves.

“Jesus,” she said, gesturing at the paper. “Look at this, Michael. They put their photos in. That’s just not decent.”

Dad glanced over. “I’ll bet you it’s drugs, and this whole fuss is for nothing.”

“Can I see?” I asked, reaching out to take the paper from mom.

She pursed her lips. “Fine, but don’t show Mandy.” I grabbed it and looked it over: three grainy pictures of nondescript faces. It was kind of disappointing, though I didn’t dare say that out loud. While mom was washing the dishes, I let my sister have a peek.

Mandy stuck her tongue out as she looked them over. “That one looks like William,” she giggled, pointing at the leftmost photo, a man with dark hair and a rasp of stubble. “He’s a boy in my class.” It was so innocently morbid that I couldn’t help but laugh. I got up to help mom with the dishes, though even as I occupied myself with chores, I couldn’t help but linger on the strange deaths.

My dad insisted there was a logical explanation for it all. Three young people, drunk and stumbling lost in the woods on a below-zero night… well, he said, you can imagine what happens next.

In the following week, he was proven wrong. The autopsy was published: no trace of drugs, medicinal or otherwise, in their blood. No alcohol either. The cause of death couldn’t be ascertained; there had been no physical trauma, no blood loss, no pre-existing medical conditions. The article in the newspaper declared it most closely resembled death by shock: a sudden, massive rush of adrenaline essentially stunning the heart into inaction. That only seemed to open up more questions. One person might have been explainable, but three? What’s enough to shock three people like that?

A chunk of the woods had already been put under police patrol when a new body turned up, nude yet unharmed like the others. It’d been snowing pretty heavily that winter, blanketing the woods in a thick white layer, and at night I’d lay awake and think of how awful it was to die like that, freezing and alone with only the shadows of trees stretching over you.

Before the week was over, there was a fifth body, sprawled in almost the exact same spot. Somehow, nobody had seen where it’d come from. One police officer interviewed by the press said he’d been passing through the area just minutes prior, and in the time that he was gone, it was like it'd just “blinked into existence”.

A fresh wave of rumors emerged at school, though now they were less nervously excited, more tinged with fear. Though the evidence was frustratingly nonexistent, the unspoken consensus was that they had to be murders.

When a sixth body popped up, a 10 pm curfew was imposed on adults and children alike. If I remember correctly, that was around the time the FBI caught wind of the case. The whole stretch of forest had already been cordoned off with police tape, the perimeter constantly surveilled by a flock of solemn-looking officers who made sure no one got in or out. I’d used to play in that forest all the time with my friends, and seeing it suddenly made into the site of six bloodless deaths was surreal, to say the least. That was what the media started calling it: the Bloodless Murders. Sometimes the bodies came in pairs, sometimes alone. By the tenth or eleventh, there was a definite pattern: while they varied in ethnicity and sex, they were all relatively young, twenties to forties, and all found nude. Some even looked as if they’d had clothes on minutes before, with the indentation of a watch or waistband still etched into their skin at the time of discovery.

Have you ever been in a room where everyone’s holding their breath? Every person just waiting for the ball to drop, the silence so bad that you could almost drown in it? Now imagine a whole town.

You want to know the strangest part about all this? Weeks dragged on, and none of the bodies were ever identified. Their fingerprints were intact, but there were no known matches. DNA testing came up empty. A public campaign to find the identities of the Bloodless victims turned up nothing. It was like these people had emerged from nowhere. Deprived of their names and backstories, the victims went unmourned, blurred into one murky entity.

Shit really hit the fan about a month into the case. Some up-and-coming journalist—a guy by the name of Walton, I think—claimed to have uncovered the truth behind it all, and wrote a tell-all article divulging the details that hadn’t been released by police or FBI. Apparently, the Bloodless Murders weren’t so bloodless after all. It was true that most were found untouched, but four of the dead practically had had bites taken out of them, whole sections of their bodies just gone. One guy was missing almost half his right side, and one of the women was short an arm. “Bites” might be a little misleading, though. The missing pieces had been removed cleanly—almost too cleanly. In Walton’s words, they looked as if they’d been “scooped” out, or simply magicked away.

Walton claimed he had the records to prove the area was under even more intense surveillance than most would’ve guessed. Besides hundreds of cameras that had been covertly installed in trees and rocks throughout the forest, there were also loads of temperature data loggers and state-of-the-art recording equipment, along with a whole host of other devices that I couldn’t even wrap my head around. Stuff that measured radiation and minute changes in the composition of the air. If he was right, it must’ve cost a ton. Supposedly the data showed “climatological deviations”—basically weird spikes and dips in temperature corresponding to the times that the bodies were found.

If Walton was right, there was a good chance that the FBI was in possession of video and audio recordings showing the origin of the bodies. It sounded like a crazy conspiracy, even though Walton hadn’t been able to come up with a solid theory for the reason behind the cover-ups. That was the part that drove me crazy. I must’ve re-read that article a hundred times.

What happened next was total lockdown. The newspaper was pulled from publication in the blink of an eye. Walton publicly apologized for having made fabricated claims and trying to make a spectacle out of the deaths. Not much was heard from him after that. The case was under the full jurisdiction of the FBI, according to my parents, and local police were all but shut out of it. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but suddenly the media coverage dropped to zero.

At school, the teachers gave a talk about it, how we were all safe and there was to be no further spreading of rumors. I remember thinking about the weirdness of that whole day. While Mr. Russell was going on and on about the importance of following the curfew, there’d been a team of adults who quietly escorted kid after kid out of the room, ushering each one back in about ten minutes later. One of them was my friend, Sophia. After the assembly, I quizzed her about what had happened over a lunch of stale pizza.

“It was really weird,” she said, picking halfheartedly at her food. “They took a sample of my spit, and some of my hair and nails too. You think they’re checking for diseases?”

I didn’t know how to answer her. The whole thing left a sour taste in mouth, and I felt helpless and scared. The parents must’ve been encouraged not to talk about it either, because whenever I brought it up to my mom and dad after the whole Walton fiasco had gone down, they shut me down fast.

In hindsight, I probably never should have attempted the plan. On a Friday night, I snuck out after curfew, armed with only a handful of granola bars and a flashlight. I biked down to the woods. It didn’t take long; it was one of those childhood routes that you know by heart. I wasn’t even sure about what I was hoping to find. Chalk it up to mix of curiosity and senselessness.

There were patrols standing around, but I managed to make my way to a dense copse of trees and snuck in from there, feeling my heart racing a hundred miles an hour as I ducked under the yellow police tape. The sheer stupidity of my idea hadn’t quite settled in yet. If what Walton had written about the surveillance had been true, there wasn’t a chance in hell that I wasn’t going to get spotted, but being a kid and all, I hoped I’d get off with a slap on the wrist. I turned my flashlight on to the dimmest setting and began my trek, praying that I knew the path through the woods as well as I thought.

Time passed differently that night. Maybe I was walking around for thirty minutes; maybe it was three hours. The sky was inky black, and in the darkness, the trees distorted themselves into more and more monstrous forms with each step I took. All I know is, when I stumbled across the body, the world came to a shuddering halt.

Under the cone of artificial light, the body looked fresh, the skin still pink. I remembered thinking if I’d touched him, he might still have been warm. His eyes were wide open, glassy as a river, face set in an expression of determination. There was a tattoo on his bare chest, a sentence written in a shaky scrawl:

IT COMES ON 07.11.2036

[emeraldbabygirl]

Timestamp 9:45 PM

“Are you done with that dress yet?” You said entering the room where Jion was. He was currently mending the hem of your dress before your date. Sitting at his desk with the dress in the sewing machine, you watched as he slowly pulled the pins out of the material as he work putting them into his mouth. The fabric tape measure rested over his shoulders. He looked like a cute old grandma. Jion stopped to look up at you pulling the pins out of his mouth. He sighed. “No of course I’m not done yet. What’s the rush y/n you have like three hours before your date. Why don’t you take a shower you smell like the chicken alfredo from last night.” He said chuckling before getting back to work.

“You’re such a bitch.” You said with no heat before walking away. Just outside his doorway heard Jion’s voice with a little bit of heat. “Oh yeah, I’m the bitch for helping you fix this damn dress since your spoiled brat ass couldn’t bother to buy one that fit. Fuck off.” You halted there in the hallway. Normally when you two joked around like this is was playful. You turned around heading back into Jion’s room. He was back to working on your dress but something wasn’t right. “Jion..it was a joke. You know we joke.” You slowly approached his desk taking his body language into account. Something was bothering him. “Jion, is there something I said..what’s wrong?” You jumped when Jion stood up real fast. His brows were set to angry and he placed both his hands on the desk leaning over it. Jion was a tall man, despite his petite shoulders his height and body language was large.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” He raised his voice. You had never seen him like this and it was shocking and a little scary. For him to snap while you too did your back and forth’s was new to you. “What’s wrong hmm let’s see,” Jion stops up and walked around to the front of his desk before leaning back against it crossing his arms. “What’s wrong is that first of all you are so damn selfish. I mean for fucks same y/n here I am fixing this dress for you that you were to dumb to read the size just so you can go on another one of your stupid dates and repeat the same shit all over again.” Jion pressed his fingers to his temples. “I mean god y/n you know how many times you go out to date the same breed of man? The same loser the same asshole? 137.”

Jion was going off and you had no idea whether to cut him off or run. You were frozen in your spot. “Every date you have consists of the same breed different asshole who takes you to a cheap ass restaurant, buys you fake ass flowers or whatever fucking old woman’s garden he plucked them from on the way and then you sit and listen to him brag about god know what. You’re lucky if you even get the dinner before he gets tired of talking. On the rare occasion you get a total jerk who thinks it’s a fun idea to either ghost you at the restaurant or bring another girl with him to your date.” Jion stood up to pave around the room. You just stood an listened to him. “My favorite guy that you’ve gone out with was the one that lies to you about where the date was, ended up taking you to a bar on the far south of town get shit face drunk and you brought the loser home to sleep on my damn couch. A drunk loser on my motherfuckin couch. I mean god, the icing on the cake was when he woke up in the morning cause his sick hoe was here to pick him up.” Jion walked back around to sit in his chair to try and do more sewing but he already lit the fuse and was hot on his own tail. “All the times you called me sobbing barely being able to speak because your date who sounded ‘oh so promising’ left you at the restaurant and you needed me to come pick you up. So I do because I’m the only one who actually cares about your well being? Remember that y/n? That happened a good number of times, I believe it was about 20.” Jion again attempted to go back to sewing but he was on fire and there was no stopping the flames. “You know I don’t make all these things for you and do your hair and makeup and cook you good food and take care of you when you’re not feeling well just because we’re friends. I don’t sit and listen to you cry in my arms after a date goes bad just because I’m a nice person. I don’t fucking pick up the pieces of your broken heart over and over and over again just for fun y/n.

“What are you saying Jion?” You spoke up softly. Jion leaned back in his chair running his hand through his hair. “What am I saying? Seriously y/n? Why are you so fucking dumb and clueless to everything around you? Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Jion why are you being like this?” You asked raising your voice a bit. You really had no idea what had gotten into him. “Why? Y/n you wanna know how many nights I stand on the other side of your door listening to you once again cry your little heart out over some loser you thought loved you. You know how many times I’ve wanted to punch the men that you’ve dated after they broke up with you because they only wanted you for your body and you didn’t feel the same? Do you understand how far I go to take care of you and build you back up after you continue to date jerks you throw in in the trash emotionally?”

Jion signed before standing up. He slowly walked towards you stopping just inches away from you. He slowly raised his hand to tuck a lose strand of hair behind your ear. “How could you be so dumb and oblivious? Everything I do for you is because I love you. For fucks sake here I am spelling it out for you cause you just don’t get it. I love you and I have been in love with you for years now.”

You stood there in even more shock but everything he was saying made perfect sense. You just could see it because you were a brat and selfish and completely clueless. Not only was he doing all this stuff for you because he loved you and actually cared about you but you constantly hurt yourself and him whenever you dated an asshole. You couldn’t believe you were actually so dumb to miss all the clues Jion had thrown at you over the years. Everything he did was because he truly loved and cared about you, you were just too blind to see it.

“Jion I..god you’re right about everything. I’m so sorry about everything I’ve put you through that’s so unfair. I’m gonna fix it. Come on, get dressed we’ve got a date to go to.” You smiled tugging Jion towards his closet.

“Y/n, I know we are each other’s ride of die and I am fully aware that I am your wing man but this wing man don’t do that third wheel shit. I ain’t going to your stupid date with loser man number 138.” Jion said while you fished through his closet. You laughed.

“Who said anything about that date. No I’m ghosting his ass. This date is for you and me. I’m taking you out as an apology. And as your official girlfriend.”

“I- my- y/n?” Jion questioned starting to blush like crazy. He looks down at you who had the biggest smile across your face. “Here and you thought I was the clueless one. Let me spell it out for you Jion. Me and you are going on our first official date as boyfriend and girlfriend.” You felt the pink color of embarrassment spread across your face. Maybe you had hidden these feeling for Jion all these years cause you were afraid what he would think but now that you know he feels the same way you are willing to take this step.

Without any warning you reached up on your tip toes grabbing Jion’s shirt and smashing your lips into his in an excitedly messy kiss. When you pulled away Jion was red as a tomato. He was so damn cute it made you laugh. “Find an outfit, finish that dress and let’s go on that date yeah?”

Hahahahaha is this timestamp too long? What classifies as a timestamp haha well anyway I was originally thinking Hongjoong’s because he seems the type to be your best friend who’s so stupidly in love with you but while watching Jion do Jinseo and Seunghoo’s hair and makeup last night plus the fact that I miss Jion so much and have never written for him I thought this was perfect. Now I’ve written for but Sangwook and Jion haha. Anyway I think it’s pretty good but it’s just too long to be a timestamp I think but whatever.

[dw-writes]

Dial Tone Devil - Chapter Two

Summary: Lucifer’s reputation of granting favors is the second best thing his known for. So when you ask for one - point blank - and offer him immediate repayment in the form of a coin he thought to be long gone, he immediately agrees. But you come with baggage, and series of suspicious circumstances, and Lucifer finds himself full invested in your story.

All because of a suspiciously familiar coin.

Interesting.

A/N: HELLO AND GOOD EVENING!!! I’m SO excited for this chapter, and for you guys to read it!! I was SO happy with the feedback and the excitement for the series, and I’m looking forward to you guys reading it!! :D So here you are!! Chapter Two!

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fifteen

More Content: Dial Tone Christmas || The Keys to Lux || Quarantine

To Tag: @revinval @spotgaai2000 @measure-in-pain @kittenlittle24 @broadwayandnetflix​

“So what do I call you?” you asked as you looked around the office. Maze leaned on the door, peeling an apple with a curved knife, and eating the pieces directly off the blade. You looked over as you pulled the computer around the desk and knelt to plug it in.

“My name is Mazikeen,” she answered. She sat on your desk as you worked beneath the ebony metal contraption, making sure that everything you had ran up to your desk and sat in the right spots. As you crawled out from under the desk, you saw she was right in your face. “You can call me Mazikeen,” she added.

You nodded slowly, and rose to your feet. “Alrighty then.” You connected the phone, and sat in your brightly colored rolling chair to program it.

And she stared all the while, eyes narrowed as she watched you. “What are you doing?”

“Programming numbers?” you suggested. She scooted around your desk. “So, between certain hours, the calls from Lucifer’s number will come to this phone, and I’m programming the numbers in so that I can see who it is,” you explained, “I’m also adding a short cut to this so that when I’m out, the calls all forward to my phone.”

Mazikeen slowly lifted a piece of the apple to her mouth. “Are you a witch?” she finally asked.

You snorted. “No. I just read the instruction manual.” You held out the newspaper thin booklet for her to take. “I figured this would make life a little easier.” You finished with what you were doing, and taped a list of numbers next to the phone for your quick reference. “Actually, you’re in charge of the bar, yeah?”

“Yes…?”

You smiled. “Do you think I could have your order book? I can just order everything that you need at the same time as I order everything else. Make it easier on y—”

She hopped off the desk and stabbed the knife into the wooden side table next to you. You pressed your lips together and watched her leave. “I think I’ll like you,” she said as she reached the door.

You stuttered, lost for words as she left, and leaned back in your seat. “Okay,” you called to empty air. You heaved a sigh, and glanced around the massive office, at the blank walls and dark paint, and wondered what you could do with it all. You left the office, leaving behind a blazer, and rolled up the sleeves of your shirt as you entered the club proper. The phone behind you rang, calling for you, and you groaned and jogged back down the hall, leaving Mazikeen to stare after you and laugh.

You snagged the phone off the cradle on the fourth ring. “Lux,” you said, introducing yourself after, “How may I help you?”

There was a pause of silence. “Uh, is Lucifer…there?” a woman asked.

You wedged the phone between your ear and shoulder, and pulled a notepad over to you. “I’m actually his assistant.”

“Oh!” The woman laughed lightly. “I didn’t know…he…needed an assistant.”

“Apparently he does.” You smiled and clicked the pen. “So, what can I do for you, Ms…”

“Oh,” she said again, “This is Detective Decker. Chloe…D-Decker, I’m sorry, this is weird, is Lucifer around?”

You wrote her name down and pulled the cradle off the desk, peeking down the hall from your door. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t see a thing from my hall. I’ve been banished to a dark corner to do all this work.”

“He needs to get a phone of his own,” Chloe Decker mused.

“You know, he has one, but I’ve been told to forward his calls to me,” you replied. You sighed and wandered back to your desk. “Detective? I’m assuming you have a case, right? Since he does the consulting thing?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” she finally answered. She gave you an address, which you jotted down and circled. “Can you have him meet me there?”

“Of course, Ms. Decker.”

“Oh, just…Chloe. Please,” she insisted. You nodded, and ended your call, setting the phone to forward to you, and heading out of the office.

Mazikeen leaned on the bar, pouring over a book, jotting down notes on its pages. She looked up when you entered. “Already working?” she asked.

“And you’re adding to my work, I see,” you chimed. She shrugged. “Is Lucifer here? Upstairs? Where would I find him?”

She pointed to the elevator above your head. You nodded, headed up the stairs, and entered the elevator. The penthouse button required a key, and you patted your pockets to search for your copy. As you inserted the key, Mazikeen’s head popped up above the alcove floor. “Oh, be careful. He might have company,” she commented.

You started to ask her what kind of company, but the elevator doors shut. You huffed, and picked at your sleeves as the elevator started up the building. You passed your floor, the sixth, where your FAR too big apartment took almost a sizable chunk of the floor. The furniture you had hardly filled the space, and that was from an eight-hundred square foot apartment! You heaved a sigh and watched the elevator continue up, heading to the penthouse that you knew Lucifer occupied at the top.

When it stopped, and the doors slid open, smoke wafted into the compartment. You coughed, surprised, and squinted into the room as you walked in. There were muffled giggles, soft gasps, and quiet moans that you couldn’t find the source of. As you walked in, you found beautiful crystal decanters in the shape of skulls, and a massive glass reservoir on the bar, with spouts on four sides, filled with the green liquid of absinthe.

“Lucifer?” you called into the smoky haze.

A sounds were cut short, and you heard quiet reassurances from your right as you crossed the room to the glass wall of his balcony. You pushed open the door, and coughed as the smoke was suctioned out past you, billowing into the air. Lucifer’s voice sounded behind you, a gentle purr of your name that had you turning around. He was belting a silk robe closed. “Fancy seeing you here!” he exclaimed.

“Not really, I work for you,” you replied. You felt your voice catch in your throat as men and women in various states of nudity left the room, picking up clothes from the floor. A man with full dark hair winked as you met his gaze, and you felt your face flush before you looked away.

Lucifer glanced back, and grinned. “You know, I could introduce you to Henry, he’s a marvelous fellow, very well endowed—”

“Detective Decker called!” you rushed to cut him off. You politely turned away, pressed your lips together and did everything you could stop a grin from worming across your face. You cleared your throat. “She has a case for you?”

“Oh!” You heard Lucifer turn away. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that!” You turned away, and found Lucifer had disappeared into the area sectioned off for his room. The man, Henry, was leading the rest of the party into the elevator. He met your gaze before the door closed, and smiled, waving just enough to keep your attention before the door shut. “I told you I can introduce you, he’s a good man, and very talented,” Lucifer commented. It took you a moment to look up at him, finding him completely dressed.

“Uh, no, I’m….far too preoccupied—”

“A good shag always reorders the mind, you know,” he responded. He straightened his coat, a beautiful import by the looks of it, and smiled. “You ever been to a crime scene?” he asked.

“No?” you offered. “Because it’s generally frowned upon for normal, non law enforcement people to be loitering at a crime scene.”

“We just have to fix that then,” he said. He waved an arm around your back, hovering just above touch, and motioned to the elevator. “After you, dear.”

He brought you to a massive hotel – a ritzy one, where your car had to be at least one-hundred thousand dollars or even the valet wouldn’t look at you – and helped you out from the front seat. You followed him through the hotel, down lush red carpet on sleek onyx floors, and out to an infinity pool that overlooked the cliff the hotel sat on, with a view of the Los Angeles skyline to kill for.

To one side, where the outdoor patio backed up to where the laundry and pumps for the pool would be, stood who you assumed to be Detective Decker. Red and blue lights strobed against the building as you walked closer, following Lucifer’s confident strides. The Detective looked up once, twice, and finally settled a questioning gaze on you. You shook your head, and shrugged.

“Uh, Lucifer,” she started, turning to him.

He, in turn, swept an arm around you with the largest grin he could muster. “Detective, I would like you to meet my personal assistant.” You tried to smile, you really did, but it shrank as he kept talking. “Part of the job is to be with me while I work cases, in case anything else happens to come up, of course.”

You backed up and pointed at the ground. “I’m gonna stay right here, outside of the crime scene, and keep to myself, like a good civilian.”

“What, no, what if I need your eyes, or a second opinion?” Lucifer asked.

“No, that’s a very good idea, thank you,” the Detective said over him. Lucifer scoffed, and followed her beneath the yellow tape, around the corner, and out of sight. You heaved the heaviest of sighs as you looked around the area. It was a beautiful white stone patio, massive, with gorgeous metal tables and chairs with stuffed cushions, plush towels, and an incredible view of the city. You wandered along the edge of the pool, down a strip of stone that outlined the pool, right to its edge. Below you was a small fence, just a short distance away, but far enough that someone could, at least, break an ankle if they fell off the edge. The water of the pool trickled over its hidden glass rim, down into the lip surrounding it and back into the pool.

There was a familiar sound, one that made you squint the longer you heard it. It didn’t belong in a pool area, that was for sure. You turned as you tried to pinpoint its location, listening harder, trying to think of where you had heard it.

It was water on metal, like something you heard in your sink. You inched closer to the edge, your breath caught in your throat, and you shouted, “Detective Decker!” You twisted away, felt your foot slip off the edge, and stumbled forward back to the patio. The Detective’s head popped out around the corner, and she ducked under the tape. “Are you missing a gun?” you asked through a wheeze.

Lucifer peeked around the corner as the Detective made her way towards you. “See, what did I tell you? Useful!”

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

The Boys in Blue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

 Chapter 3: Sturdy Wooden Desks, Longing Looks, and The Weight of Things                                                          Left Unsaid

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d admit that you were loitering.

As soon as the clock had hit five Flo had been up and getting ready to leave, packing her gaudy faux leather purse with a gusto you only saw from her at times like this, when the day had dwindled down to it’s dregs and the bullpen was so empty that it seemed you could hear a pin drop. Callahan and Powell had been gone since late afternoon, so that just left the Chief in his office with the door closed, a barrier more hewn out of steel and something like circumvention instead of Indiana pine, you feeling about a million miles away from him on the other side of the aperture, and Flo, who was busy booking it. While the older woman hurriedly prepared for her hasty exit, throwing last minute instructions about how to handle various Hawkins citizens your way, you lingered and reorganized some stray files at your small desk to look busy, wanting to try and catch Hopper before he huffed with his customary grump out of the station, leaving you once more with your unspoken words and your heart planted firmly in your throat.

"And if Mrs. Damers calls again about her damn flower beds, just hang up on her. No one cares about her plants.” Flo was busy explaining as she slung her burgeoning bag over her shoulder in a few sharp, angry movements that perfectly mirrored her caustic tone.

"Flo!" you exclaimed, resting a hand on the swell of your skirt clad hip to compensate for the smile beginning to curl around your lips, the older woman's blatant disregard for the endlessly disgruntled residents of Hawkins making a strange kind of fondness erupt in your chest.

Flo just passed an apathetic shrug your way as she breezed out of the bullpen, waving goodbye to you over her satin and corduroy bedecked shoulder once she reached the wide double doors to the station. You chuckled softly as you watched the aperture swing shut behind her, grateful for the brief distraction that her amusing exit had provided you. Once alone in the seemingly endless, cavernous office space, however, your worries suddenly seemed crushing as they settled about your shoulders, bit at your heels.

And the foremost among the whetted, tangled mass of them was Hopper.

It seemed that your relationship with the Hawkins Police Chief was currently suffering from a condition disdainfully coined by the numerous other women he'd had flirtations with; something known colloquially, and with no measure of fondness, as the Hopper Effect.

Symptoms included limited contact with the Chief, ranging from unanswered phone messages or evaded conversations and a general feeling of unfinished business to an unrequited desire for something more, usually on the sufferers part. In your case, you could add weeks full of longing tinged looks exchanged between you and the Chief to that running list.

Actually, those fierce aching looks exchanged across an ocean of dingy linoleum tile and polyester blend carpet were the only things currently keeping you in your job at the station despite countless weeks worth of awkward bumbling kitchen encounters and embarrassingly short interactions in dim hallways. Just today as you’d poured yourself a mug of coffee and adjusted the plunging neckline of the new blouse that you wore you’d felt a strange heat prickling down the back of your neck and glanced up across the station to find yourself firmly trapped in the dark, churning blue of Hopper’s gaze, fixed on you where he was leaning against Powell’s desk, getting briefed on some new minor Hawkin’s catastrophe or other.

Your lips had parted in shock at the obvious hunger banked in the Chief’s gaze as it settled unexpectedly on you, at the naked, throbbing want laid bare in the storming tempest barely contained above his cheekbones and for the space of a few marvelous heart beats you were sure that he’d toss aside the boring manila folder clutched between his thick fingers, cross the sparse length of the bullpen in a few powerful strides, take you in his brawny arms and slant his hot, hungry mouth over yours.

The sharp clack of Flo’s heels as she’d strode into the room, all jaded bluster and stalwart intent, had broken you sharply from whatever it was that had begun sizzling across the bullpen between you and Hopper, and you couldn’t quite stem your frown as she abruptly plopped a stack of files that were to serve as your blessed distraction from any Hopper tinged thoughts until late afternoon right into your reluctant arms.

Sometimes you thought that it was better this way, with your heated memories of huge calloused hands curling around shaking thighs, of a ragged slip of beard rasping against your sensitive flesh, of eyes like storm churned ocean waves meeting yours while your body bowed, shuddered with unimaginable pleasure, locked safely away where they couldn’t spring vibrantly into the harsh fluorescents of the station or the dim sunlight of the Chief’s office. But then you’d share one of those heated, intense, goddamn looks again and you’d deprecatingly welcome the sizzling heat that splintered down your spine, the fierce longing that bloomed low between your hips, and you’d wonder if maybe today you’d pluck up the courage to say something.

So far you hadn’t quite been able to, but something was different this afternoon; something was virile and alive, sparking with a distinct ripple vaguely reminiscent of the taste in the air that blissful night a lifetime ago when you’d finally known the feel of Hopper’s hulking form pressed against yours, when you’d reveled in the gravel of his pleas and the blissful, fervent slip of his hands against your heated skin.

That was the thing about living in such a small town; things happened slowly. But somehow you knew that tonight everything would change. Tonight you and Hopper would finally talk.

And you weren’t quite sure if you’d be pleased or devastated by the outcome.

Hopper wasn’t particularly good at compartmentalization.

Which was a damn shame, cause there was so much shit he would have loved to never think of again. Shit like the first time he’d seen combat in Vietman, back when he was as green as goddamn springtime and more than a little wet behind the ears. Those memories of red and heat andjungle still made their occasional appearance in his nightmares.

Shit like more recently when he and Joyce had made their way through darkness and desolation to find her son, both trying valiantly not to think too hard about the fact that these were the familiar shapes and sights of home. That this scorched, hellish landscape thrumming with alien life, with sinister purpose they could feel chattering in their teeth, burrowing into the hammering of their hearts, was coiled right beneath the rippling flesh of their safe known world, their Hawkins.

Or like the time that his girl, his Sara, had slipped away, the doctors beating fervently at her skeletal chest, her limbs white and painfully thin beneath the papery sheets of the hospital bed, those crystal blue eyes, her mother’s eyes, closing and never opening again. That one had a particular sting to it, like a phantom limb or a branding scar; necrotic flesh and dead neurons tingling in some vain attempt to feel something that wasn’t pain.

No, Hopper wasn’t particularly good at compartmentalization, though he wished he was.

He made both physical and mental boxes where that shit was supposed to stay hidden far from his collective conscious, but sometimes they found a way to escape; a crack in the stalwart steel of his mind, a sinew of weakness in his faltering resolve.

Cigarettes helped keep them at bay. Booze helped more.

And now, after letting Eleven know he’d be home late, as he poured over more reports of dying crops on the outskirts of Hawkins, having exhausted his last pack of Camel’s and without access to any booze, he felt strangely defenseless, vulnerable almost, and that just pissed him off more. The shambly filing system within his head was collapsing, and Hopper felt each box tumble open with a keen, sharp kind of ache that nearly brought him to his knees.

That was until a relatively new box, one not quite so tattered at the corners or covered in duct tape, one that reminded him of dive bars and beer and a smile so warm it made his ears ring like he’d just been boxed square in the jaw, spilled open. It brought with it memories of your laughter ringing like the toll of an Easter Sunday church bell and your small determined hand sliding further up his thigh, igniting a fire that simmered wildly beneath his skin, caught in his throat and had his lips forming the syllables of your name, of your back bowing like a plea beneath his touch, of his fingers slipping hungrily down the notches of your spine, curling around your eager thighs.

That box had a more poignant ache than he’d remembered, or maybe it was just freshest in his mind, he wasn’t quite sure, but he also couldn’t seem to seal it back up again. He rasped in a deep breath as those memories washed over him, and he was almost grateful that he could still remember the details of you with such stunning clarity. He’d hadn’t quite gotten used to keeping his distance from you, to struggling to catch even the faintest whiff of your lilting feminine perfume as you breezed past him in the hallway, to having your interactions limited to searing looks shared once every few hours and the sharp whisper of memory stinging against his weary temples.

Hopper was no stranger to meaningless sex, he’d had his fair share of it in Hawkins, but what he was a stranger to was intense, gratingly intimate, fun sex. The kind that he’d had with you.

Read the rest of the fic here!

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