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wehatejulietsimms · 3 years

Note

I said there would be a part three on the WTHTD video and I decided to keep it quiet a couple days ago until my gut told me to post.

Please stick with this read as it will get deep into lore and connections

My conspiracy on the scorpion tattoo part two:

In the WDHTDANCE video

there’s two girls; one blonde and brunette.

At first, a regular person might pass it off as

“Oh, two girls in the background! MV standards.”

Sadly, no.

It’s Juliet and Angie before and after Andy found out about Scientology and their wickedness.

Let me explain and backtrack the beginning theory of the music video.

It starts with Andy walking into a hotel building with a monster holding the door for him. He walks into a dark movie theatre room that relives his past memories, AKA the AUDITING ROOM or what other people refer to as the *fake* Akashic records room. (A spiritual place that stores memories that many fake spiritual gurus love to talk about in *awakening*)

What’s with this room, you ask? Scientology is known to bring people into rooms to “clean their memories and get their stories straight.”

While Andy is watching on the screen, there’s two innocent girls, as previously mentioned before, living their best life and looking flirty at a party. Sources say Andy and Juliet met at parties/festivals back in the day with Juliets family near always, which includes her sister who was trying to become an influencer as well.

Throughout the video shot, Andy’s being watched by this monster man in the background, making sure Andy is watching attentively and he’s looking at the scenes worried in regret. Furthermore, these two girls turn into hideous morphed demonic beings at the foot of this monster.

Then shows the shot of an innocent woman drowning in water.

“Oh how don’t you drown in a rain storm”

He’s asking Juliet why she isn’t exposed from the spotlight from all the shit she’s put herself in. Hint, nobody knows who the fuck she is and Andy’s asking why karma doesn’t punish her yet. (It’s coming! It’s already been hitting her!) Why hasn’t she drowned in all the fucked up situations she’s created through the years.

During the auditing process, Andy is being purged of Juliet and the Simms family secret of darkness so he can view Juliet as an angel,

like how the women think they are the monster’s little wh*re princess (excuse my language) because they think THAT monster is in control of Andy’s wording and thoughts during the auditing process. Aka Scientology, and Juliet’s father.

I believe Andy is watching carefully around their father because they come from money as well as

Jeff is an A class narcissist himself and says “peace is everything when you can fuck everyone over!” and tries to make Andy something he’s not, which is an asshole.

We don’t have to dance, is a song toward Juliet saying I’m not going to make this relationship something it’s not up to be. I know who you truly are and it’s not something that I’m going to keep loving you toward, so we can still be in a relationship because I’m stuck with you but I’m not ever going to love you (.) like I did when I was young and naive ever again.

Record scratch (auditing) ; Steve Miller Band (the joker is one of their classics)

Tattooed necks and tattooed hands

(Facade to hide in and be the person that they want him to be, so he tries to be comfortable as much as he can. ALSO, the song THE JOKER BY STEVE MILLER BAND GOES INTO DETAIL ABOUT ALWAYS BEING IN MASKED PERSONALITIES and being seen differently by everyone, which Andy feels like)

Oh, how don't you drown in a rain storm?

(Previous statement above ⬆️)

Fresh regrets, vodka sweats

(He regrets meeting her and getting married so soon and he drowns her out with vodka getting too drunk and having night terrors)

The sun is down and we're bound to get

Exhausted and so far from the shore

(I think that line perfectly states how far they’ve tried to drive him out of his “let’s create a better world” mentality & bright eyed personality into feeling exhausted and enslaved, overall not like the inner child he once had. Fucking Juliet being an older cougar and taking advantage of Andy’s youth while his parents sold him out and Ashley was a weirdo who gained half the rights to the band, not only that but his record label’s pressure, band mates, crew, friends (which are mostly Scientologists) to always go along the dotted lines like a script, literally.) He was only 18-20! A baby! who was groomed up by old Hollywood cults for selling him a dream that left him almost dead.)

You're never gonna get it

I'm a hazard to myself

I'll break it to you easy

This is hell, this is hell

You're looking and whispering

You think I'm someone else

This is hell, yes.

Literal hell.

(The fan base used to think Andy was this confident almighty saviour because he cared about us, his young sweet heart cared about helping people and he was drowning in regret and shame from the fake industry and kinfolk behind him making him feel left out, delusional, and not belonging. He was feeling a moment of weakness in these lyrics and had to put on a facade that he was some big seductive rocker dude for financial and status sake, which in multiple interviews he feels bad about because HE HAD TO DO THAT out of survival mode and not because he wanted to! Now, today he’s seasoned and getting in control)

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

We don't have to smile

We don't have to make friends

It's so nice to meet you,

Let's never meet again

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

(This is basically an ode to meeting Juliet for the first time. Or getting into a relationship with her in the beginning. He’s writing what he now would have done instead of marrying her in 2012. Didn’t they say they both hated each other when they first met? He wanted to listen to his gut instincts and he felt deep regret in those lyrics)

Bottles smash, I raise my hand

How can you all even stand it

Why is there joy in this poison, oh

Faking smiles and confidence

Driving miles to capture this excitement

I can't take anymore, oh

(He’s asking why isn’t anyone caring about fake people including literally everyone he’s surrounded by, including us.

Why we used to not care about diving into the abuse and delusional shows everyone put out there, fake smiles and fake personas to keep fans alive and happy, which is coincidentally the most popular BVB was.

I wish Andy knew that for us, it wasn’t fake and that even though he was depressed and angry inside and still showed up for BVB army is a very selfless act, because he wasn’t forced to be nice to anyone but only put on a stage act by management.

Now he’s really shining and we get to see the person he has always been for us, a neighborly seasoned person who sings his truth and we, as BVB army fans, relate to the sad darkness and happiness overcoming it too.

He’s real and always has been, even if he’s had to hide and mask for his protection.

He gained popularity and support because he was authentically himself and showing up for him when he felt the shittiest (even when he thinks he didn’t handle it correctly with fighting and alcoholism,) still he showed up and gave everything in authenticity and pure emotion, Andy style. I think he’s come to conclusion that his stage presence is something special outside of his personality and that it’s okay to express your soul on stage even if it’s changing, he’s coming back to who he’s always been inside. I think he’s channeling it in such a badass empowered way on the IN BETWEEN tour.

Congrats Andy! That man IS a true soul warrior.

Dude was fighting predators, groomers, and multiple cults by himself and still showed up (AND bettered, healed, unlearned things about his surroundings and himself) even when he felt isolated and alone! Props to Andy!

I personally interpret the scorpion tattoo as death and not forgetting to go back to the place that he was left FOR DEAD even if he feels scared or lonely.

You’re not alone, Andy! We are here and we see you!

I’m so proud of him. He’s such a diamond in the rough. I’m proud to be a supporter and recognize what he’s done for himself and how it translates into his art.

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dangerousconnoisseurdonut · 3 years

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Omega Auction of the Century Preview

@jeromiah and @nostalgic90s proposed a most intriguing idea of Omegas being so rare, they are auctioned off, and Bruce would go for a frankly insane amount as he is the most eligible of Omegas around. This is just the start of an idea, but I have to get ready for work and want to know what people think of it so far!

Bruce couldn’t completely withhold his shudder of fear and revulsion as he heard the second Omega on the auction block went for a cool ten million, upped from the eight million the last one went for, simply because the first one had been a male and this one was a slightly pudgy (but not unattractive) female who came from a family of six, so she had a good chance for being a strong breeder. Oh, but how he and Brooke hated being referred to that way; as if they were cows or horses just waiting for a stud to come along. In school, they had both received a lot of flack from their peers, often being referred to as breeding stock or even whores once (Brooke had broken Grace Van Dhal’s nose when she said that). It was only their parents large donations to the school that they had taught them proper courses at all as many just enrolled Omega’s in more simple math courses, home economics, home estate management courses, and the like. When their parents had died, the school had tried to put them in those courses, thankfully their Uncles Lucius Fox and Ed Nygma, with their Alpha Dr. Leslie Thompkins, had simply pulled them from the school and taught them everything they needed to know.

Sadly, he thought as the third Omega was taken out for the block, it was probably all going to be for naught; rich Alphas and Betas didn’t really care how smart the Omega was so long as they were fertile and not an imbecile as they worried about the child inheriting such a thing (too bad you couldn’t keep stupid Alphas from mating). And, as Bruce was a rare intersex Omega, his fertility was somewhere around 89%, meaning he would probably get pregnant right away when they took him on his birthday and went into Heat. This was one of the reasons he was being saved for last; his high fertility rate combined with his company and his higher than average intelligence made him a very appealing Omega. Combined with the fact his twin sister was also an Omega, Bruce and Brooke could very well break the record for highest auctioned Omega in the United States, possibly all of North America, which was a steep forty million last year when Lex Luthor bought his Omega, a farm boy by the name of Clark Kent. Some people thought he overpaid, until the rumours started circulating that Lex had had a crush on the boy through their high school years, but the boy had largely appeared straight. At least, he thought as the third Omega, a boy that went for only seven million due to him having a scar on his abdomen from when he had needed to have his appendix taken out as well as his sister having had a miscarriage, Lee, Lucius, and Ed would get a large ‘dowry’ for them as the family of the Omega got around 40% of the bid.

As the fourth, and last Omega before them was hauled out, he bemoaned what they were making him and Brooke wear; all Omega’s had to wear very revealing clothes so as to entice the Alphas into spending big bucks on them. They had originally wanted Bruce and Brooke in something not even a prostitute would be caught dead in; some kind of lacy piece that frankly looked more like lingerie than any type of clothing. But, after a few well placed threats from Ed and Lee, what they was wearing was more fit for a rave or rock concert, but at least it wasn’t entirely see-through. They had put him in tight leather pants, a mesh t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination, and Lee had given him his favourite leather jacket to wear. Brooke was wearing some kind of leather halter top the covered her breasts and did nothing else, as well as a short skirt and fishnet stockings and her favourite knee high boots, all covered by her favourite leather duster. Soon though, he heard the last Omega, a beautiful young girl who came from a long line of strong Alphas and other beautiful Omegas, no Betas found in her family tree, even if her family wasn’t that well off, no doubt they would enjoy the 40% of the twenty million she was just sold for. They were soon being ushered onto the stage, and barely managed to hold in his whimpers as all the men and women in the room were looking at them like they were rib-eyes and they were all starving. Brooke had his hand clamped in a death grip as she looked out as well.

“And here we have, Ladies and Gentlemen, saved the best for last; twin Omegas, Bruce and Brooke Wayne! The last of the Wayne’s, they actually score high in mathematics and sciences, Bruce is intersex…” Bruce drowned out the announcer as his and Brooke’s ‘accomplishments’ were listed, and took stock of just who was there, and felt more than a little sick at who he saw; crime bosses like Thorn, Falcone, and Maroni were there (God, but he hoped Maroni didn’t win them as the man had four Omega’s already, and more than one of them had been accidentally photographed with shiners). There were creeps like Hugo Strange, who was rumoured to experiment on Betas, and Kathryn Monroe, who was rumoured to be something of a cult leader. Then, there were just straight up assholes like Roland Daggett, an unscrupulous CEO that was suspected of taking several shortcuts to get what he wanted, their old classmate Brant Jones, and the one who made him the sickest of all; Theo Galavan. Bruce prayed to whatever powers were listening that Galavan didn’t get them as he would no doubt dissolve Wayne Enterprises as he despised the Wayne’s, and it had been all Thomas, and later Lee, could do to keep Galavan away from Bruce and Brooke when they were younger.

“Shall we start the bidding at $500,000? Thank you, Mr. Daggett, that’s $500,000 to start us off.”

“$550,000!”

“You insult the pair, Salvatore! $750,000!” Bruce was pretty sure that was Carmine Falcone, and prayed that either they were going to be the old man’s, or his son Mario, who was said to actually be rather kind, as opposed to the daughter Sofia; word had it the woman was a straight up whack-job.

“You both insult such fine specimens; $1,000,000!” Hugo Strange bid, and Bruce quickly hoped someone outbid the man quickly as he was losing feeling in his hand due to Brooke’s squeezing.

“$1,500,000!” Bruce saw another acquaintance, Tommy Elliot enter the ring, and really hoped he had matured some since he punched his lights out.

“$5,000,000!” Please, God, no was all Bruce could think as Galavan threw his own hat into the ring.

“$6,000,000!” Bruce was both relieved someone outbid Galavan, but also a little disturbed as it was Kathryn Monroe who bid; he had nothing against older women taking younger lovers (he refused to call them cougars as he found it offensive), but it wasn’t really his thing and besides which, while he may be bisexual, he largely swung for his own team.

“$10,000,000!” Bruce looked up at the familiar voice and saw Barbara Kean and her partner Tabitha Galavan had just thrown down a substantial gauntlet, and he wondered why as not only were Barbara and Tabitha lesbians, they had two Omegas already, and one Beta; his friends Ivy Pepper, Bridgit Pike, and Selina Kyle. He figured this way, he would carry the pups and they wouldn’t have to worry about it. They were probably his and Brooke’s best hope as they would be with their friends and while Barbara could be a little intense (and Tabitha was well known for her whip), he didn’t think either woman would be abusive to their Omegas; Selina had certainly never complained about how Bridgit and Ivy were treated.

“$15,000,000!” Daggett came back into the ring with a strong bid, and Bruce was beginning to feel a little sick as he placed his other hand over Bryce, who whispered a sorry into his ear.

“$23,000,000!” Bruce was rather surprised when Fish Mooney threw a bid out as the woman was usually too busy to have much to do with Omegas, but among the crime bosses littering Gotham, she was one of the better ones to be owned by.

“$30,000,000!” Bruce gripped Brooke back as Galavan countered with a number not many would be willing to counter, even for twin Omegas.

“$40,000,000!” Barbara and Tabitha countered, and it seemed like they were in a vacuum as there didn’t seem to be any noise whatsoever. Bruce prayed that it was too much for Galavan to go above his sister as the announcer exclaimed,

“We have $40,000,000! Thank you Miss. Kean and Miss. Galavan! Do I have anymore bids? That’s $40,000,000 for the Wayne twins to Miss. Kean and Miss. Galavan going once! Going Twice! Going Three ti-!”

“$50,000,000!” Bruce was almost certain he or Brooke were going to pass out as they felt the air pressure drop at an unprecedented number, even for a pair of Omegas. He looked out into the audience and saw that many had mentally withdrawn from the battle, and felt his heart sink as he knew not even Barbara and Tabitha would go against such a bid.

“We now have $50,000,000 to Mr. Theo Galavan! That is a new record! Thank you, Mr. Galavan! Do I have anymore bids? Sirs? Ladies? Well, then that is $50,000,000 to Mr. Theo Galavan, going once!” Bruce prayed anyone would outbid Galavan; he would gladly cover the difference if at least his sister was safe, but none raised their hands.

“Going twice!” Bruce felt Brooke clutch his shoulder as her own shook with the realization that no one was going to outbid their worst nightmare.

“Going three times!” Bruce saw Galavan smirk as his dream of destroying the Wayne legacy was about to come to fruition.

“So-”

“$98,316,010.99!” Everyone was stunned and swirled their heads, trying to figure out who had placed such an outlandish (and rather peculiar) bid, only to see a man decked out in a tight leather outfit and completely bald; he didn’t even have eyebrows, but all knew who this man was. Victor Zsasz, one of, if not the most, Gotham’s most deadly assassins, the Penguin’s bodyguard and enforcer; a man not to be trifled with under any circumstances.

“S-sir?” The announcer, who before had been annoyingly enthusiastic about selling off young men and women, was now very scared as the assassin actually walked up on stage with two of his Zsaszette’s as others referred to them, both of whom smiled gently at the frightened Omegas.

“That, is a joint bid from my boss, Oswald Cobblepot, Jervis Tetch, Victor Fries, Jim Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, and the Valeska twins, Jerome and Jeremiah. They couldn’t decide which one they wanted, so they pooled their resources for the pair of them.” Zsasz explained before he took a good look at the twins and asked,

“Do either of you feel comfortable wearing that?” Bruce shook his head as Brooke whispered,

“No, Mr. Zsasz.”

“OK, we got some clothes in the car you can change into before we leave, make you look less like a pair of hookers and more like a pair of wealthy brats. Unless, of course, someone wishes to bid against the seven most dangerous men in the city?” Zsasz looked out toward the crowd, making eye contact with Galavan in particular, who actually looked to be gearing up to try and outbid the psychopath, when the announcer said,

“Going once, going twice, going thrice, sold! Sold to -”

“Just call them the Legion of Horribles; it’s quite the mouthful otherwise.” Zsasz said as he and his girls checked the pair for any bruising or scars, and somewhat surprised to see a few here and there, but they weren’t abuse scars; these were battle scars.

“Sold to the Legion of Horribles! They just have to do one final check-up and then you can pick them up at the side entrance.”

“Most valuable darlings in the world, and you make them sound like a pair of cheap hookers, nice.” One of the Zsaszette’s complained before the pair were escorted off the stage.

Please tell me what you think of it so far, as there’s a lot more to come!

#Gotham #gotham au #bruce wayne #brooke wayne #abo #victor zsasz

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

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I’m new and if this is the right place can you do vinca comforting mc through a mental breakdown after things mc mom had said to her? If it’s too much then just ignore👍🏽

Written by: @evoedbd

****************

“Alright, this is fucking unco, Rae.” Vinca’s voice was sharp; sharper than the little throwing blades adorning her striking red jumpsuit. In the peak of the Vegas sun, Vinca was a gleaming star; a blaze of fury and snark. The cut of her shirt revealed glistening alabaster skin; the finest marble shined by the finest scented oils. From sharp collarbones worthy of a renascence sculpture, down the valley between breasts full enough to make angel’s sob with envy. Then the smooth expanse of her belly, a surface which occasionally seemed to bubble with hidden muscle. The heaving expanse of her ribcage, lines which appeared between exhales.

“Sit down. Drink this.” Each command was almost barked. Harsh and short. Delivered from the international supermodel Vinca Wren. Rae didn’t know whether it was the heat, her own loneliness or her hysteria that brought such a vision to her, nor if Vinca herself recognised the irony of addressing thirst when she was the cause of it across the world. All she knew with terrifying clarity was that she had obeyed, accepting the iced water bottle and dropping to her haunches like an ever-faithful hound.

“Wha-”

“Ah, ah, ah. No questions.” Vinca cut her off, reaching out to press the pad of her finger to Rae’s lips. The bike Mechanic fell obediently silent, fighting the urge to rub her lips together at the irritating grain of sand that rubbed across them. When had Vinca put her hands anywhere near dirt? Wait… she’d said no questions. Why was Rae asking questions? Before she could freefall into her doubts, Vinca seemed to read it. The model withdrew her decorated finger with a softened expression.

“Drink. Then, spill.” She urged. Despite the strength of her tone, the power of her posture and … personality… Vinca’s words rung like a plea in Rae’s ears. The mechanic paused, taking another moment to inspect Vinca. There she was, on her knees in the sand of the Canyon, having chased Rae out onto the bike trails. Vinca was all high heels, platform shoes, clothes worth more than Rae’s monthly paycheck, sullied by sand. And concern. Vinca embodied concern. The aloof tilt of her mouth wasn’t true; delicious-looking, candy-pink lips falling a bit too far into a frown. The darkness of her eyeliner couldn’t hide the shadows in hypnotic blue eyes. This Vinca was not somebody Rae had ever seen before, at least, not directed at her.

The mechanic realised what a mess she must be. Her tie-dyed hoodie flapping around her elbows, cheap t-shirt hanging off of one sunburnt shoulder. Her face had to be a mess, after all her sobbing. She could feel the itchiness across her eyes, the dried caking of tears and snot down her cheeks, all the way to the point of her chin. Despite this, Vinca Wren had chased her. HER. Rae Lang. A dropout, bike instructor and mechanic living in a cheap apartment above her workplace with her single mother. That gave her the courage to try and smile, to dare utter a deflecting line.

“The drink?”

Vinca literally growled in frustration. Her hands came up to her pixie cut, sweeping the longer, dyed bangs out of her eyes. Nails dug into her scalp as if she could wrench her own thoughts out of her mind through the roots of her platinum hair.

“You are the most dense, stubborn woman I have ever met. You didn’t even cry when demons attacked you. We can’t have your eyes all swollen, that’s just a travesty. Whoever or whatever has made you this upset needs to be dealt with.” What started out frustration quickly melted back into concern. Hesitantly, as if she might break Rae, Vinca reached out. She ran her own fingers through Rae’s hair, across her temples, sweeping the chaotic locks away from the Asian’s face. Whatever Vinca saw there must have hurt her, given the subtle hitch in her breath before she slinked closer. How a near six-foot woman could slink on her knees was damn confusing, but Vinca Wren perfected the art. The movements. The attitude. The aura. Catwoman eat her heart out. It was almost feline how Vinca drew close, enough that she sat hip to hip with Rae.

“It’s my mom. We got into an argument, and things got spicy.” Rae confessed, letting herself melt into Vinca’s side. Any weariness vanished the moment Vinca’s arm wrapped around Rae’s shoulders, guiding her into a comforting closeness. Vinca’s nails found their way into Rae’s hair, delicately scratching across her scalp. This time, the motion was intentional, a gentle caress that drew the wounded sound from Rae’s throat, the weight off her chest.

“She said she was disappointed with me for dropping out of med school.”

That earned a derisive snort.

“Right. Because a doctor is SO much more useful than saving the world from Demons.” Vinca was unapologetically snarky. That earned a soft snort from Rae, a wet and wounded sound of amusement. So many people may have been touchy about such things, would have offered apologies and comforts. Vinca didn’t do that. She struck back, bigger and harder than ever, using the truth like a sledgehammer from a rival act.

“She thinks I’m being reckless with the act. That I’m trying to hurt myself like some…” Rae grasped for the words, unable to find what she was looking for. She looked imploringly to Vinca, pleading with the younger woman to rip the truth from her too. To drag every dark thought into the light, just as she did upon the stage. Just as she did in every brutal fight. There were so many shadows, so much confusion, yet Vinca usually brought clarity. Why wasn’t she being clarity now?

“I can read minds, you know. I’d know if you were being stupid or planning on kicking it on stage.”

“I don’t get it. She loves Yvette and Lazarus.”

“Everybody does.” Vinca agreed. It was true. Yvette was so painfully charming, despite her aloofness. She captivated without a single touch. She burned; azure fire held back by the weight of humanity. And Lazarus had somehow swept Rae’s mother off her feet with his gentle words and polite mannerisms. It didn’t hurt that his abs could be mistaken for a cheese grater and that he never wore a closed shirt… ok, so her mother was a cougar. Rae couldn’t exactly blame her. But she could disagree on one thing.

“But she thinks you’re dangerous.”

“I can’t argue with that. My fashion is pretty sharp.” Vinca delivered the line flawlessly, only a twitch at the corner of her mouth, showing any amusement. Rae could only shake her head in disbelief at Vinca’s jest. She didn’t get it. Didn’t take it seriously. And why should she? Vinca Wren was a worldly marvel, an international superstar. While Rae showed overweight tourists the easiest bike trails, Vinca Wren was in London. While Rae had to deal with overly entitled customers, Vinca Wren was sitting beside leopards in the finest lingerie or setting the trend for summer bathing suits surrounded by lions. Whilst Rae had a cougar for a mother, Vinca Wren sat amongst actual, literal cougars in suits that could make grown men sweat or gowns which would make grown women sob with envy. Vinca Wren was Pride. The big bad sin. The mind-reading, knife-wielding, drop-dead gorgeous extraordinaire. Why would she care what a bike shop owner thought?

“She thinks you’re just using me, that I’ve been swept up in the glamour, and I might get hurt when you g-get bored. That when you’re all done with the bike tricks, you won’t really care for me.” And there it was. The truth, laid out for Vinca to weaponize. To wield. All Rae’s unspoken fears laid bare. To rip the world apart with at a whim, all with her devastating smirk.

“Bullsh-” Vinca cut her answering growl off, clamping her jaw shut. A breath, composure reclaimed, emotion hidden behind a professional mask.

“… I mean, what do you think?” A submission. That made Rae blink. Vinca Wren had just shut down her own opinion to give Rae the floor.

“Can’t you read my mind?” Rae demanded on instinct, earning another derisive snort and a blasé flick of Vinca’s wrist.

“Duh! But like, invasion of privacy much?”

There was something about the way Vinca said it that didn’t sit right with Rae. A waver in her usually impeccably aloof act. Her sharp features were just that little too youthful. Her lips didn’t quite reach the notes of indifference, nor did her nose point quite as high in the air. Then, her eyes… wider. So impossibly bright blue, like a summer sky. So devastatingly vulnerable for a blink, before they narrowed slightly, adding to an angular appearance.

“Are you scared what you’ll find?” Rae couldn’t help but fire back, drawn into the banter. It felt dangerous, like throwing herself into a pit of knives and daring them to cut her, but the reward was worthwhile. The briefest flash of surprise in Vinca’s eyes, a tinge of colour to her cheeks, and that dangerous, not quite a pout, not quite a frown; an expression which promised pain and horror upon those who had incurred her wrath. The little crease in her brow, the way her eyes hardened and narrowed, honed to a razor's edge. Somehow, knowing Vinca, that expression was just downright adorable… like a kitten threatening a toy mouse.

“I’m not scared!” Vinca declared just a touch too vehemently to be truthful. There it was. Pride. The sin Vinca had taken on, in a way she still hadn’t disclosed. Not fully. She had killed someone, that much Rae knew. Someone evil. Someone who had the world fooled and was using his power to hurt everyone Vinca loved. But Rae knew there was more. There had to be. It was too raw a wound to be a completed chapter.

“Vinca Wren. I know when you’re lying by now.” Rae commented, refusing to let the moment she saw go. Rae had seen the photoshoots, the advertisements, the endless endorsements of this larger than life woman. Vinca Wren was sold as sex and danger; a mystery. A real-life Selena Kyle. A sin above humanity. How many people got to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath? The young, loyal woman who would give everything to protect what she loved? How many people ever got to see Vinca crack? Even Yvette seemed to look to Vinca as a rock, mindless to the fact life was like water. Mindless to how water eroded Vinca, until only sex and danger remained. What she had to be. What everybody saw. Just how did the world see Vinca? How easily did they forget how she hurt?

“Fine, whatever!” Vinca’s confession was a deflection, delivered with another attempt at indifferent even in an explosion of irritation.

“So I’m anxious about what I’ll see. Happy now, you little sadist?” There was no heat to her words. The beginnings of a fond smile tugged at her lips, even as she straightened enough to loom over Rae, chin held high in a haughty fashion. Despite her appearance of looking down, Vinca’s eyes glistened with scarcely restrained amusement. Something rarer than diamonds. Sapphires amidst the clay and sands.

“Vinca.” If one name could be a loaded sentence, it was the way Rae whispered that name. A prayer. Imploring a goddess to pay heed to an ant. And heed the goddess paid. For one bright, blistering moment of crystal clarity, Vinca’s world was only Rae. Vinca gave her all to the mechanic, hanging on the unspoken words, searching and fearing simultaneously. Rae swallowed. What could she even say? What words did she have that could sum up the complication, which was Vinca Wren? How could she show the duality of intents, the clash of meaning to every word that could ever describe her? Snarky meant wonderful, and bitchy meant saintly, selfless. Vinca redefined every insult one might spit; turned the world on its head, twisted it upon its axis. She was the brightest darkness. The darkest star. She was the shadow of the sun because she shone too intensely to be anything so simple as sunshine.

“Whenever you’re ready, look at what I think of you. Until then, I’ll try to find the right words.” Rae wanted to cuss herself out even as she spoke sweetly, invited Vinca inside yet again. Stupid. How was she so stupid? She’d had Vinca’s attention, had the chance to try to fix everything Vinca hated about herself. Had the chance to begin to untangle her own jumbled concepts of the woman. And what had she done? Chickened out. Left Vinca without answers and pressured her into something she clearly wasn’t comfortable with.

She was shocked to hear an amused huff, as if Vinca was attempting not to laugh. There was an easiness to her presence, a tenderness even in the way she sidled closer, using her own body as a pillar for Rae to lean on. For once, Vinca’s snark was delivered lightly, lips pulled into something resembling an unpractised smile as she delivered a deadpan line.

“I’ll buy you a dictionary.”

“Make sure it has snarky in it.” Rae needled lightly, giving Vinca a poke in her exposed ribs. The Pride assassin was warm, roasting even, yet so soft and smooth beneath even that poke. Once more, Rae was struck by how unusual their blossoming friendship was, how far apart their worlds truly were. Cultures, countries, paychecks. Everything considered to make the world turn. They were so very vastly different, yet here they were. Sitting in the sand. Sweaty and snotty. Making bad jokes and bridging their different upbringings one awkward syllable at a time.

“It’s a dictionary. That word be ancient. If it isn’t in there, I demand a refund.” Vinca pulled what might be dubbed a Karen face, complete with severe frown and haughtily raised brow. For one. Two. Three seconds, there was silence. Then, cracks. Vinca’s lips twitched, Rae’s breath caught in her nose. Then laughter. Rae laughed, freely and openly, right alongside Vinca. The Pride assassin’s laugh, a genuine laugh, was a far cry from delicate. It was the soft chortle of a lioness. A sound which was soft yet never let anybody forget the dangers of the being. Rae didn’t care. She continued to giggle and snort long after Vinca stopped, almost oblivious to the tender, thoughtful expression etched across Vinca’s face. Almost. Rae caught it, like a glimpse of a falling star, and wished upon it. Wished to understand it. For once, for clarity to be cast upon itself.

“… Look…” Vinca broached, voice unusually hesitant. Thoughtful and soft. So very quiet, yet so unmistakably her.

“Your mom cares about you. She’s worried. I get that. I’m not the type of person you want around for my sparkling personality. But you also have to make your own choices and mistakes. That's part of growing up. And if you tell anybody about this, I will stab you, but you’re pretty ok. You haven’t fucked up that badly… yet.”

She had to add the yet. She couldn’t be soft, not if she wanted everybody safe. Soft wasn’t safe for anybody… yet. That didn’t mean she didn’t relish how close she had gotten, how close she could come. Enough to taste the humanity. Enough to break her heart once more.

“Vinca…” Rae began, unable to find any other word, any other sound even to begin her sentence. Summoned, Vinca’s gaze turned back to the mechanic, meeting her eyes in a silent question. A silent dare. Under the weight of such a gaze, Rae cracked. The corners of her mouth pulled towards her ears, curling into a wicked little grin that sent Vinca into high alert. She tensed, calculating. Instead, she found herself flabbergasted by a rather playful observation.

“You’re really terrible at this comforting thing.”

“No shit. What do you want from me? Professional advice?” She demanded sharply, brows arched dangerously. Her lips peeled away from her teeth ever so subtly, an instinctual warning. Just like a timid hound trying to prove it was tough, Rae realised. Vinca’s knee jerk reaction was fear. Denial. Aimed at something behind the words.

“Maybe just a hug?” Rae’s request was simple enough, though it still threw Vinca for a loop.

“Seriously? What are you, twelve?” She barked; her laughter far less joyous. What she didn’t expect was the wounded expression across Rae’s face… no. That was a lie. She had expected the sad tilt to the Asian’s fine lips, along with the foggy glistening across suddenly unfocused eyes. What Vinca hadn’t expected was the way it would hurt. She flinched, unable to stop her body from reacting despite all her training. Only one person ever asked for hugs from her. One glistening, gorgeous person who Vinca herself kept tearing down. One person, she’d given everything for, including their relationship. One bright, stubborn little girl who… who reminded her entirely too much of Rae.

“… Fine.” She relented, twisting until she could gather the small woman to her chest. It was overwhelming in the best and worst of ways. Finally, after so long, she had someone she could care for. Even if that only lasted a moment, she had the comfort of contact. Of someone wanting innocent contact with her. She wasn’t reading lewd thoughts and desires, nor having to be on guard in case skin touched her. She could just… be. Exist in a moment. That was enough for Vinca to squeeze tighter, to burrow her nose into the crown of Rae’s head with an entirely too soft sigh of her own. Then, she bristled.

“For someone so sharp, you’re really a big softy.” Rae sighed, voice a million miles away. Lost in a moment, Vinca could never fully surrender to. It was too soft. Too dangerous. Too tempting. She wanted to withdraw, like a tiger with its paw snared in a trap, Vinca wanted to flee… but she couldn’t. Rae’s arms were wrapped around her, squeezing like a boa constrictor. Hands, gentler than the finest Masseuse, were like the teeth of a trap digging into her flesh. There she was, a soul sold to hell, stuck in the embrace of someone angelic. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

“If you tell anyone…” she began, hissing the words into the baby hairs behind Rae’s ear. She shuddered, unable to conceal a reaction at the heated breath, the closeness… the sickly promise in Vinca’s empty threat.

“I know, you’ll stab me.” Rae chuckled, simply squeezing a little tighter, nuzzling that little bit closer. Vinca relented further, sighing, slouching into the contact.

“Seriously though…” Rae began, withdrawing enough to see the startled expression upon Vinca’s face as she muttered the next word.

It wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the opening Rae had hoped for, nor the closure Vinca may have sought. Yet, there was a door opened. A tender olive branch extended; a sprig, too defiant to die in the blazing heat. That little spark, that unspoken potential drew a matching smile to Rae’s lips, gave her the courage to accept the comfort Vinca offered, even knowing that she risked being cut. Perhaps bleeding would be worth it to have a friend as loyal as Pride… no, as loyal as Vinca Wren.

“Thanks.”

#Anonymous #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #lovestruck sin with me #sin with me #sin with me pride #sin with me vinca #swm vinca #vinca wren #vinca x mc #fluffy angst #comfort #lil bit of angst #fluff #sfw #scatterday

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verai-marcel · 4 years

Note

If you’re still taking requests, could you do an low honor arthur x healer!reader where he keeps coming back injured so she’ll patch him up and it eventually leads to smut 🌚👩🏻‍⚕️🤠

Healing Touch (RDR2 Fanfic, LH Arthur x Healer F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You’re a healer living on the border of Lemoyne, gathering herbs and making poultices and tonics to sell to travelers and locals nearby, because the nearest doctor is all the way in St. Denis and costs too much for most. When a man keeps showing up at your door, in various states of injury, you’re exasperated at first. But when you start to crave the company of the blue-eyed cowboy, you start to wonder: is his touch as hot as his gaze when he looks at you?

Author’s Notes: @the-moon-kingdom, a story for you, my dear!

Tags: low honor Arthur Morgan, rough sex, dirty talk, a lot of dialogue, clothed man/naked woman, female reader

AO3 Link is here, darlin’.

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

“Again?”

The man shrugged. “I was nearby.”

You shook your head. You didn’t believe him for a second, but you gestured for him to come in and sit down.

He unloaded his weapons and bandolier as he took a seat on the stool in your main room and started to unbutton his shirt. Gingerly, he peeled the cloth off his shoulder where the claw marks were oozing blood. Tossing his shirt down, he looked at you with a wry grin.

“Cougar weren’t none too glad to see me.”

Sighing, you went outside to pull a bucket of water from the rain barrel, then came back in and poured some of the water into a pot and set it over the fireplace. While you waited for it to heat, you gathered a few herbs from your cabinet and started making a poultice at the work table.

The man just hummed a soft tune as he watched you worked.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” you commented.

“I’m alive. That’s good enough for me,” he replied.

You smiled. “A simple man with simple needs."

“At least I ain’t a simpleton,” he joked.

“Of course.” You finished the poultice and set it aside. Going to the pot of water, you found a clean cloth and wet it in the hot water. Moving back to the man, you started to clean his wound.

He said nothing as you gently wiped away the blood. You tried to ignore his stare, but after a while, his gaze was far too intense.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Just like watchin’ you work, is all.”

You shrugged and kept cleaning him until all the dried blood was gone, and only a small trickle of fresh blood was left from his scratches. Tossing the cloth into the now boiling water, you went to grab the poultice and moved to stand behind the man.

“This might sting, but it’ll clean the wound, keep it from getting infected.”

He nodded.

You put the poultice on, watching his body tense as you tied it onto his shoulder with some bandages.

“Keep that there until nightfall, then take it off and wash the wound with some hot water. You should be fine as long as you keep it clean.”

He nodded again.

You held out your hand.

He smiled. “Can I give you the cougar instead?”

You raised an eyebrow and followed him outside.

The cougar tied to the back of his horse was massive, with a beautiful coat and plenty of meat on its bones. It was definitely worth more than your services this day.

“Consider it a down payment,” the man said. “For the future.”

“Are you planning on getting hurt some more?”

“I never plan to, but it seems to happen one way or the other.”

You laughed. “Alright.”

***

The man continued to show up to your cabin on the regular; he showed up enough times that he finally gave you his real name, or at least, a name that was more real that Tacitus Kilgore.

***

“Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me how you got these wounds.”

“I told ya, some murfrees ambushed me.”

“These don’t look like gun wounds. More like knife slashes."

"They got too close."

You clicked your tongue. "Arthur…"

"I wasn’t out lookin’ for’em!”

You sighed. “Alright, alright. Just… sit. And take your shirt off.”

Arthur smirked at you, but you rolled your eyes and went to boil some water and smash some herbs together.

When you came back with a wet towel and a bucket of hot water, you saw him shirtless, knife slashes on his arms and shoulders. You started tending to the ones on his back side, but when you moved to his front, you had to bend over him. He was eye-level with your chest, and when you noticed where his attentions were, you felt your cheeks warm.

“Do you mind?” you mumbled.

“Don’t mind at all,” he teased. Then he sat back and patted his leg. “Sit here, it’ll be more comfortable than bendin’ over like that, as much as I enjoy the view."

You raised an eyebrow at him.

Arthur smiled, charm oozing from his pores as he gestured towards his thigh with a tilt of his head and a wave of his arm.

You bit your lip, then decided to take his invitation and sat down. His thigh was strong under your rear, and as you began to clean his wounds once more, you noticed his hand had come up to touch the small of your back, keeping you balanced, and also drawing sensual circles with his fingers. The contact was electric. It was getting harder to focus on what you needed to do.

“Um, Arthur?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I need to get the herbs.”

“Of course.”

But he didn’t stop touching you, and you couldn’t pull yourself away. You looked up at his face, and suddenly you were lost in a sea of blue, carried away by a storm of desire.

A knock on your door broke your reverie and you shot up out of his lap. You practically ran to the door and opened it a crack.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any cough tonic? My little one has been coughing a lot recently.”

“Sure thing, be right back.”

You closed the door, walked past Arthur, who was smiling like a cat who had gotten away with a piece of meat, grabbed an herbal tonic from your pantry, and went back to the customer. You finished the transaction and shut the door, leaning against it and glaring at Arthur.

“I need to finish up with you, then you can go.”

Arthur faked a pout. “Aww, but we was havin’ so much fun.”

You grabbed the poultice and all but slapped it on his wounds. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Admit it, you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything until you were done dressing his wounds. Seeing him to the door, he turned around before he left your front porch.

“Did my cougar from last week cover this?”

You nodded.

“How many more visits?”

You thought about it. You had sold the extra meat, the claws, and the fur, and it had netted you quite a bit of cash, but he had also come by a few times since then. Mentally, you did the math. “Probably one or two, depending on the severity.”

Arthur nodded. “Alright then. See you soon.”

“Soon? Don’t get hurt, you fool!”

He got on his horse and gave you a cocky grin. “So you do care about me!”

You stuck your tongue out at him as he rode off, laughing heartily down the path.

***

You were chopping firewood when you heard horse hooves coming up the path. Setting your axe aside, you looked up to see Arthur, who grinned at you.

"Hey there, sweetheart."

You looked him over as he hitched his horse and walked over to you. Without asking, he picked up your axe and started chopping the rest of the firewood for you while you watched. He didn't look wounded. In fact, he looked healthier than you'd ever seen him.

Granted, you had only ever seen him injured in some form or another.

"So… What brings you here?" you asked hesitantly.

Arthur brought the axe down on a particularly large log, and it cleanly broke in two. You quietly admired the way his muscles flexed in his shirt as he worked, clearly ignoring your question for the time being.

After he had chopped one more log, he put the axe down and turned to you. "Am I not allowed to visit you fer pleasure?"

The way he said that last word, how it rolled off his tongue and wrapped around you, reminded you of a cat wrapping its body around someone when it wanted attention. You took a step towards him before you realized it.

"You work so hard," he said softly as he stepped closer, his hands reaching for you. Letting him get within arm's reach, he touched your waist, his hands snaking around to splay out against your back, bringing you closer to him. The warmth of his body sank through your clothes and into your skin, and you suddenly longed to feel his bare body against yours. Would it be even hotter than this muffled contact through cloth? Would you burn alive with his heat?

You wanted to find out so badly.

He leaned down, his lips a feather's width away from yours.

"Do you want to take a break?"

You swallowed hard before you could let out a soft whisper.

"Yes."

***

With his hand on your back, he walked you back into the house, locking the door behind him. He pulled you into his arms and held you close, gazing down at you.

"I'd be lyin' if I said I came here fer no reason," he said softly.

"So what's the reason?" you asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

"To see you, darlin'."

He dipped his head and kissed you, his lips moving slowly, savoring your reactions as you sighed and let him take control. His hands traveled down your back to rest on your hips.

"Why don't I give ya back rub, get you nice and relaxed?"

He led you to your bedroom and sat down on your bed, gesturing for you to sit down between his legs. Your eyes flickered over his bulge before slowly approaching him. You turned and sat daintily between his legs, perching on the edge of the bed.

You gasped when you felt Arthur's big hands on your shoulders, but soon you were letting out soft moans of bliss as he massaged your muscles, working out the knots in your shoulders and neck. His thumbs rubbed circles around the base of your neck before his hands slowly made their way to the front of your blouse.

"This would feel better if you took yer shirt off," he whispered in your ear, his lips grazing your earlobe.

You nodded, and he took that as permission to unbutton your shirt, sliding it down your arms and throwing it aside. He kissed your shoulder, your bicep, the inside of your elbow, your wrist, and finally the palm of your hand. He glanced at you before taking your hand into his two large ones and massaged your fingers and palm muscles.

Your hand looked so small in his, so dainty. You weren't some noblewoman; your hands were scarred and tough from a life of hard work, pulling up herbs and digging for roots. But in Arthur's hands, you felt pampered, like a lady.

He nibbled softly at the top of your ear before he kissed your temple, then your cheek. You turned your head, and he took advantage of your position and captured your lips, kissing you with a low moan as he let go of your hand and reached up to slide your chemise off your shoulders.

"Mmmf!" you yelped in surprise, his mouth stifling you.

"Mm-hmm," Arthur rumbled, a soothing affirmation as he continued to slide your chemise down, revealing your breasts to the open air. Instead of reaching for them, he instead ran his hands up and down your bare back, his soft caresses followed by deep muscle rubs.

You bent forward in his lap so he could massage circles on your lower back, his thumbs pressing all the right pressure points. His fingers gripped your waist, and you could feel his bulge against your ass, pulsing with heat.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back onto the bed, taking you with him. You lay on top of him, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your bare skin. He still hadn't touched your nipples, hadn't cupped your breasts, and you felt needy.

“Touch me,” you pleaded.

“Not yet, darlin’.” Arthur's hands rubbed your belly, stroked your sides, then he started to unbutton your pants. You lifted your hips as he finished, helping him slide them off you. Your cotton drawers were thigh high, scandalous, but they were nice for hot weather.

"My, my," he uttered into your ear as his hands felt your bare thighs. "Such naughty underthings."

"Guess you'll have to take them away from me,” you joked.

Arthur hummed. "Guess I will."

His hands found the ribbon on your drawers and slowly undid them, his fingers brushing softly against your skin. You felt spoiled, lying there as Arthur undressed you. He sat up again, lifting you up with him. His chest was warm against your back, his arms holding you oh so gently. Putting his hands on your hips, Arthur guided you to stand so your drawers and chemise could slide down your body. You kicked them away and tried to turn towards him, but he kept you still.

"Don't move yet, darlin'."

He lay a kiss right above the curve of your rear, running his hands down your body, caressing the shape of your backside reverently.

“Beautiful,” he whispered before taking a hold of your hips again and turning you around. Leaning forward, he kissed your belly with the same reverence. His hands slid up your body to finally cup your breasts, kneading them gently before teasing your nipples between his fingers and thumbs. You cried out as the pleasure zipped through your body at his insistent touch.

“C’mere,” he murmured, moving you to straddle his lap. With one finger, he stroked your wet slit slowly, stopping at your clit. He pushed slightly, watching your quick intake of breath as your eyes fluttered shut.

“You want more?”

“Please,” you whispered.

Arthur laughed softly before he began to caress your center, a languid pace that drove you mad. He alternated between gentle brushes and deeper strokes, sometimes giving you the pressure you needed, other times barely touching you at all. Wriggling on his lap, your hands clutched his shirt collar tightly as he watched, a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Arthur…”

“Hm?”

“Harder,” you whined.

“Oh? How much harder, sweetheart?”

“Just… harder!” You didn’t know how to articulate exactly what you wanted; you just knew that if he kept going at this rate, you would go crazy.

You were suddenly on your back, Arthur towering above you.

“Remember, you asked for this,” he muttered as he stood up and undid the buttons on his jeans. You watched as he released his cock and held it in his hand, stroking it slowly; it looked huge.

“Th-that won’t fit,” you mumbled.

“Oh, it’ll fit alright.” Arthur grabbed your knees and spread you wide open. “It’ll fit just fine.”

Kneeling between your legs, he took hold of his thick member and pushed into you.

“W-wait!” you gasped.

He stopped moving. “Does it hurt?”

You looked away. “No, but…” You didn’t want to admit it, but you were a little scared. He was so big!

Arthur bent over and held your face in his hands. “Look at me, darlin’.”

You focused on the beautiful color of his eyes as he moved his hips forward, taking you slowly but surely.

“That’s it, just breathe. Focus on me. Good girl.”

You let out a breath and realized he was all the way in, his hips flush against you. You could feel his chest against yours, his lips an inch away.

“Arthur,” you sighed.

“Gonna take you now, nice and hard. Just like you asked.”

Before you could argue, he lifted his hips and slammed back into you, taking your breath away. He continued to pound into you as he kissed you feverishly, his tongue invading your mouth and claiming you as his. Wrapping your arms and legs around him, you clung to him, moving your hips with his, your bodies undulating together, losing yourself to his burning passion.

All too soon, he pulled away and turned you over on your stomach. His hands gripped your hips and lifted them up, tucking your knees under you to keep your butt in the air.

“Wh-what—”

You were quickly silenced by Arthur’s hand over your mouth as he thrust inside of you from behind. Your muffled cry of surprise only made him chuckle.

“This’ll be good fer you,” he crooned. His hand left your mouth and soon you felt both his hands rubbing your back, his fingers working your muscles as his hips rolled slowly. You could feel each glorious inch of his cock moving in and out of you. He controlled his motions, keeping his thrusts slow and steady while he massaged the tension from your back, his hands warm on your exposed skin. Feeling his soothing touch juxtaposed with the sensual movements of his hips, you could only whimper helplessly.

As his hands wandered towards your waist, one hand went around and stroked your center. You felt him bend over you, his warm chest against your back.

“I want you to let go fer me,” he whispered into your ear as he stroked you firmer, faster. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

Then he thrust faster and harder, murmuring praises in your ear until the pleasure building up in you was too much, and you burst like fireworks, crying out his name like a prayer. The euphoria that enveloped you was enough to make you collapse, taking Arthur with you as he crushed you into the bed, his hips still moving against you.

“Damn, sweetheart, yer… so good…” He slurred as he pulled out of you at the last possible moment. You could feel his spend as he finished all over your ass. His harsh breaths tickled your ear as he rubbed his cock against your skin.

The two of you lay motionless together, sticky with his essence and sweat, and all you could do was breathe.

When Arthur finally rolled off you, you felt the cool air chill your skin and shivered. He immediately threw a blanket over the two of you, and pulled you back into his arms.

“Feelin’ relaxed, darlin’?”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy. A nap sounded really good right about now.

“Does that mean I can come back and give you a back rub anytime?” he teased.

“Only if you give me a front rub too,” you teased in return.

Arthur just laughed and kissed your forehead.

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

End Notes: I almost went a little more rough with the sex, but I felt like I already built up this sorta playful low honor Arthur, so I just went with it. Hope you enjoyed this, @the-moon-kingdom!

#arthur x reader #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan #nsft #fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur x fem!reader #tumblr request #writing

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salaciouscrumpet · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 18

Whumptober Day 18 Prompt: “Muffled Scream”

Another one that didn’t quite go in the direction I had planned, but whatever, I had fun writing it.

CW: Blood, violence, references to torture

Characters: Luke, Kate, Charlie, Rishaan, Devon

The sight of the old, abandoned farmstead gave Luke a painful feeling of déjà vu.

The night was cold and cloudy, feeling more like late September than mid-July. In addition to his own naturally enhanced vision Luke had a charm that would heighten his ability to see in the dark; if the night had been cloudless it wouldn’t have been necessary, but as it was he would take every edge handed to him. Behind him he had a team of Alliance members, some of the best fighters and medics they had, but Luke knew the only thing he needed was the woman standing at his side. If this was the place Charlie was being held it wouldn’t matter how many enemies there were: Luke and Kate would tear through them like tissue paper.

In the distance was the farmhouse Rishaan’s team had located, its stark silhouette standing out against the untended fields and gently rolling hills. As reported there were no lights on in the house; the electricity had long been cut off – if the farm had ever even had electricity, it was that old and that decrepit. It was hard to make out, but Luke could see that the windows and doors were boarded up, and that the chimney was a crumbling ruin. The roof had probably caved in in parts, and inside the floorboards and stairs were likely rotten. The house was a death trap in more ways than one.

It wasn’t the house that held Luke’s attention now, however, but rather the dilapidated barn beside it. The barn was as old and seemingly-abandoned as the farmhouse, but there was a stability to it that seemed suspicious to Luke, and was what had likely caught Rishaan’s attention in the first place. While the farmhouse looked like it would fall apart if you so much as sneezed on it, the barn – even from this distance – appeared more stable, its roof more intact, its walls more sturdy. There was no reason for this: the barn wasn’t supposed to be in use.

Not only was the barn in better condition than the farmhouse, Luke could make out the faint hint of light coming in through the slatted wooden walls.

“Do we know how many?” Devon asked, shifting restlessly. There were no new recruits here tonight, only longstanding, trusted Alliance members – men and women who had proven themselves in battle before. Luke and Kate wouldn’t allow anyone else, even though a number of others had volunteered to be a part of the team.

Rishaan shrugged, the planes of his face hidden in shadow. “More than we have.” Luke tried not to take it as a criticism, even if the other man’s tone was somewhat pointed. Rishaan was naturally cautious; he wouldn’t be pleased that their team was outnumbered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said. Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact.

“Look,” Rishaan said, exasperation heavy in his voice, “I like Charlie, I do. I’m just not sold on the idea of running a suicide mission to rescue him.”

“It won’t be suicide,” said Luke, but was cut off by Kate’s, “Fine. Then stay here.”

“It won’t be suicide,” Luke said again, as Kate’s outline blurred and she shifted, transforming into a long, lean mountain lion. In the dark her colouration seemed to just be pale browns, but Luke knew that under the sunlight she would appear a deep russet brown. Kate could shapeshift into almost any sort of predatory land animal, but something of her would always remain the same. Usually it was her eyes – pale blue, like a Husky’s – but sometimes, as with this form, it was her auburn hair colour. It led to some unusually striking animals.

Several people, including Devon, caught their breath at the transformation. The Alliance had a number of shapeshifters within its organization, but Kate was the only one who wasn’t some type of were-creature – mostly werewolf, as they were the most populous. Kate was a half-breed demon, a fomoir, and shifting was the gift of her demonic blood. The magic that transformed her was different and had a different feel to it, although Luke would have been hard-pressed to describe that difference to anyone else. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and it just felt different, the way that a sunshower differed from freezing rain. Even the other weres found Kate’s shifting disconcerting, perhaps because it just seemed to come so easily to her.

Off in the distance there was a scream, muffled as though someone tried to silence it, but loud enough that the gathered Alliance members could clearly hear it. Even without knowing who they were looking for it was a voice Luke would have known anywhere.

There was supposed to be a plan. Luke wasn’t the type of person who just charged off blindly, but the instant he heard Charlie scream any thought of self-preservation went out the window. That scream was harsh and broken and filled with agony, and Luke wanted to destroy every single person responsible for making Charlie sound that way.

Luke brought his hands together, summoning the power in his argent bonds to conjure forth a pair of matched swords. If their design was a little more vicious-looking, a little less practical – well, he wanted their enemies to hurt, and he was in the mood for something vicious.

Kate bumped up against him, nudging his thigh with her furred shoulder before taking off at a full run. There was supposed to be a plan, but between the two of them planning wasn’t necessary. They both knew their roles.

The scream of a mountain lion bore a strong similarity to that of a woman screaming for her life. When Kate-as-cougar opened her mouth, the noise that came out sent chills up and down Luke’s back, and he could only imagine what their enemies must think. Kate charged towards the barn, screaming all the while, and Luke ran after her, unable to keep up but knowing he didn’t need to do so.

Charlie had been missing for two days. He was still alive because their enemies wanted something from him – what, exactly, Luke didn’t know, but he knew there was no chance his lover was going to give it to them. He also knew that if their enemies had been stupid enough to grab Charlie they had absolutely no idea what horror was coming for them now.

A man came running out the barn, cursing and stumbling as he suddenly found himself night-blind and unable to see. He fired off a pistol in the general vicinity of the screaming mountain lion but his shots came nowhere close to hitting Kate, and within seconds she was at his throat, bringing him down.

Luke didn’t stop to admire his girlfriend’s handiwork. He knew Kate could take care of herself in any form. He threw himself at the next person to exit the barn: another man, armed with a sawed-off shotgun that he couldn’t bring up in time before the flash of Luke’s magical blades sliced out of the darkness and cut him down.

After that it was all a blur of bodies and shouting and chaos. The men who had taken Charlie – Hunters, of some sort – were probably skilled enough for the general population, but they were ill-prepared to deal with the supernatural community at large. They left the bright lights of the barn and raced out into the dark and cloudy night, where their eyes didn’t have time to adjust and their weapons were no match for close-quarters-trained fighters.

The mountain lion burst through the partially-opened barn doors, the weight of her slamming the doors back and knocking down two different men. There was a growl, a slash of massive paws, and then Kate’s head dipped and when she lifted it again her muzzle was red with blood. A third man screamed, high and terrified, and tried to take off into the night – but Luke was there in his path, bright blades flashing. The man fell and was still, and blood dripped off the edge of Luke’s swords to land in thick droplets on the packed-earth ground.

Kate made a sound of feline rage and bounded into the centre of the barn where Charlie hung, dangling from wrists bound in thick rope. The tips of his bare toes barely touched the ground and his head hung low against his naked chest, and the lights – which proved to be the sort of bright, incandescent bulbs set up for photoshoots – illuminated every fresh cut and bruise in stark, searing detail.

Somewhere off the distance Luke could hear the others still fighting. He ignored it in favour of rushing to Charlie’s side, and with a quick sweep of one sword he cut through the ropes holding his boyfriend suspended in the air. Charlie dropped into Luke’s waiting arms, forehead pressed into Luke’s chest as he took great heaving sobs of breath. His skin was cold and clammy with sweat and blood, and he was trembling, hard, shaking and shuddering in Luke’s grasp.

Charlie murmured something into Luke’s jacket, his speech too slurred and muffled for Luke to make out. He sounded near-hysterical, and Kate growled again, mouth opened wide to expose vicious fangs. She turned her head, looking out the barn doors, and Luke could read her intent as though she’d spoken the words aloud.

“Go,” he said, lowering Charlie gently to the ground and reclaiming one of his swords before it could disappear. “I’ve got him.”

Kate huffed, then turned and bolted out the doors.

Luke turned himself so that he was facing the only exit and stood over Charlie. A cursory glance showed that Charlie’s injuries were painful but not life-threatening; at the moment the biggest threat to his health would be their enemies returning to finish him off – and Luke wasn’t about to let that happen. Kate and the other Alliance members would deal with those outside the barn, while Luke was prepared to cut down anyone who came within range of his injured lover.

All the while he kept up a steady stream of encouragement and support directed Charlie’s way. He wanted nothing more than to sit down on the ground and hold Charlie to him, but that would have to wait until they were certain their enemies had been dealt with. One of their team members was a charmer like Charlie; not as skilled or as powerful, but talented enough at healing that she would be able to treat the worst of Charlie’s injuries so that they could get him out of there.

“I’ve got you,” Luke murmured, keeping one eye on the open doorway and the other on Charlie. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Anything else, he added mentally, hating the fact that he hadn’t been able to prevent Charlie from being hurt in the first place. He wished he was better at providing comfort, but that was Charlie’s wheelhouse; Luke was better at causing pain and taking the hits.

“Luke?” Charlie’s voice was weak, broken-sounding. “Luke, Luke, Luke …”

“I’m here,” Luke replied, heart breaking. “Katie’s here, too. We’re here, baby, we’ve got you.”

“Luke, I want to go home. Please?”

“Shit.” Luke knelt beside Charlie, then dropped his sword to shrug his way out of his jacket. The other man was shivering so hard Luke thought his teeth might crack from the force of it, and he wished he’d thought to bring blankets or those little chemical hand-warmer things – anything to help Charlie warm up. How long had he been hanging here in this barn, half-naked and barefoot, while the temperatures had fallen below seasonal?

“We’re taking you home, baby, I promise you,” he told his boyfriend, settling the jacket over Charlie’s exposed torso. He kept his attention half-focused on the open door and the area outside the barn; he might have lowered his weapons, but he wasn’t about to lower his guard.

A man rushed in through the open doors, screaming in a mixture of rage and terror. Luke leapt to his feet, grabbing at the first thing to come to hand – his swords had vanished, but there was an ancient and rusted rake – and bracing himself for the fight. Charlie made a noise of fear and pain behind him, and Luke could hear him scrabbling to try and pull himself away, out of the line of danger.

There was a blur as a dark shape moved behind the man – and then a small, pale fist tipped with inhuman claws grabbed the man by the hair and yanked his head back. He cried out but the sound was cut off, gurgling and wet, as his throat was ripped out. He fell, still trying to scream, his mouth opening and closing in soundless gasps.

Kate let the body drop to the ground with a solid thud and stepped over him, claws disappearing as she finished transforming back into human shape. She was pale and naked and literally covered in blood from her head to her toes, and the savage smile she gave Luke was filled with vicious, brutal satisfaction.

“See, baby?” Luke whispered, finally allowing himself to pull Charlie into the protective circle of his arms now that Kate was here to stand guard over both of them. Charlie went easily, throwing his arms around Luke’s neck and burrowing in close as if trying to climb inside of Luke. “I told you Katie was here. I told you we were taking you home.”

Charlie sobbed into Luke’s neck, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Luke’s T-shirt. Kate turned, folding her arms across her chest, and waited for the rest of the Alliance to catch up.

“Let’s go home, baby.”

#whumptober2019 #day 18 #prompt 18 #original fiction

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fanforthefics · 5 years

Note

9 and kid line please 🙏

Charity date auction AU

Jordan is pretty sure this is some sort of torture. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks it’s against some sort of law, to make him stand up here in front of cameras, a group of well-dressed New Yorkers that look frankly a little predatory, and his teammates, and God and everyone, or something, and have to stand there straight-faced and listen as people bid on him.

It should be Taylor up here, he thinks bitterly, as he watches Taylor giggling into Ryan’s shoulder at the back of the room. Ryan’s doing better at keeping a straight face, but not much; they both look irritatingly smug. Just because their jobs don’t involve this sort of promo and they can just be rich and quiet about it, or something. Jordan is definitely going to…do something about this, when he’s done here.

The guy in front of him is auctioned off, to a middle-aged woman who’s looking at him in a way that makes Jordan equal parts sympathetic, a little jealous, and terrified. Most of the guys have gone to various degrees of older women looking to hang out with younger guys for a while and hockey-mad men and women who want to talk hockey for a whole meal. Jordan thinks he would rather the latter, but he’s not sure.

The bidding starts low. Jordan thinks that would definitely be bad, to go too low–he wonders if he can telepathically get Taylor to start the bidding. He’s got enough money and nothing to do with it other than a job Jordan still doesn’t quite get, he can spare it. Given how Taylor’s still on the edge of hysterics, he doesn’t think so.

Then–an older woman in a tight bright pink dress raises. She licks her lips at Jordan. Jordan is definitely nervous–and then a kid who looks about 20 raises, and his eager look is almost more worrisome. They go back and forth, and then another older woman goes in, and then a middle aged man who has that look that Jordan knows means he’s going to tell Jordan all the ways he should be playing better. Jordan manages to smile, and not fiddle with his collar. Taylor and Ryan are still laughing, completely unsympathetic. Dicks. See if he lets their next video game hangout segue into hooking up.

“Sold!” The auctioneer calls, and Jordan almost jumps. Taylor gives up the ghost and just cracks up; Ryan slaps a hand over his mouth. Jordan gives them a Look that he hopes translates to all the shit he’s going to do to them, and then he looks to where the final bid went, and–

Well. It’s not a hockey-mad fan or a cougar. It’s a very pretty woman about Jordan’s age, in a dress that’s demure in the front and dips daringly low in the back in a way that’s just inviting a hand to trace down her spine, and a smile that’s friendly and open. It’s not even hard to smile back.

“Hi,” she says, when he gets to her. He feels like he should bow or something, but he doesn’t. “I’m Samantha.”

“Jordan,” Jordan says, and smiles. “Thanks. And the kids thank you too.”

“Well, I was supposed to spend some money tonight, and you looked scared. I thought I’d save you.”

“You did,” Jordan assures her. Her laugh is a little nasal, in a way that’s charming.

It’s easy to talk to her, he finds, and he’s not even dreading their charity-mandated date that they’ll schedule around Jordan’s playing schedule. They chat until the event ends, and Jordan tells her good-bye with a smile.

He’s barely out the door before he’s surrounded. “You talked for a long time,” Taylor announces. He’s not laughing anymore.

“Yeah, because she paid for it,” Jordan points out. “Like, literally.”

“She didn’t pay for tonight,” Ryan counters, just this edge of sharp. “Just your date. Later.”

“I think tonight was implied.” Jordan rolls his eyes at them both. “I’m sorry you can’t laugh at me and how badly this turned out. I know you were hoping for more torture.”

“We weren’t hoping for that,” Taylor counters. He throws an arm around Jordan’s shoulders, steers him towards where they’d parked on their carpool here. “I mean, I did have a bet on it.”

“That why you didn’t bid on me?” Jordan asks. He’s not, like, offended neither of them did. Ryan and Taylor have some start up that he doesn’t quite get but that makes them a lot of money, but not enough to afford what everyone else was dropping. He thinks. To be honest, he’s not sure. But he didn’t expect a bid. Sure, the three of them hook up sometimes, but it’s not, like, anything. Just three attractive people enjoying the others.

Taylor legitimately pouts. “Ryan said you’d be mad.”

“Ryan said it wasn’t a legitimate business expense,” Ryan corrects patiently. He glances sideways at Jordan. “Also, I thought you didn’t want us to.”

“I didn’t know it was an option,” Jordan tells them, honestly. They’re at Ryan’s car–a Tesla that definitely was not made to fit three men of their size but looks very start up. He waits for Ryan to unlock the door, then grabs the front seat before Taylor can call shotgun. “You could have.”

“Told you!” Taylor crows at Ryan, and gets into the backseat with barely any complaining. “No one knows Ebs better than me.”

Ryan’s lips twitch. “Fine, next time I’ll listen and we can blow our quarterly budget on a date with a hockey player that we can get for free.”

“Hey,” Jordan feels the need to object here. “Playing video games is not a date. Date is–” his phone dings, and he checks it. Smiles. “A date is dinner at a restaurant, like Samantha and I are going on next week.”

In the backseat, Taylor makes a sound. Ryan’s pulling out of the parking spot very carefully. “You like playing video games,” Taylor mutters.

“I like kicking your ass at video games,” Jordan agrees, and Taylor sputters for a second before he starts arguing. Jordan grins. This night definitely didn’t turn out as badly as it could have.

Ryan takes them back to his place, and the door’s barely closed before Jordan’s somehow sandwiched between the two of them, Ryan kissing him long and hot and intent as Taylor apparently makes it his mission to strip him right there, and the night only gets better from there.

In the morning, Jordan wakes up first, like usual–he’s the only one of them not setting his own schedule. He disentangles himself–somehow Taylor always manages to take up the entire bed, including the space Ryan and Jordan take–and gets up.

Jordan’s been over here enough that he digs out the spare toothbrush he’s claimed as his, steals some sweats and a t-shirt from Ryan’s closet. He needs to get to practice, but he’ll give them back.

When he gets back into the bedroom, somehow they’ve shifted so that Taylor’s taking up even more room, but is still somehow lying mainly on top of Ryan. Jordan shakes his head. He’s not sure if they hook up when he’s not around; he doesn’t think he wants to know. It’s none of his business. He’s definitely never asked. Not when Taylor first introduced Ryan to Jordan, both of them all lit up and excited with their idea and how they were going to change the world and talking a mile a minute about things Jordan couldn’t understand; not the first time they all fell into bed together, something Jordan hadn’t been able to conceive of happening, even with his ill-advised crush on Hallsy back when they were kids together. It’s good like it is. Jordan’s not going to be the one to rock the boat.

He doesn’t leave a note when he goes to practice; they’ll know where he’s gone.

There is a text waiting for him when he’s done, on their chain, from Taylor–You could have woken us up :(

And listened to you whine? Jordan retorts. He barely has a minute at home to shower and pack before he has to get on a plane. He takes his teammates’ teasing about his walk of shame in good humor; he’s still in a good mood, from last night.

They win one but drop the other two on the road trip, which sucks; they get back in the early evening and Jordan’s mainly looking forward to going home and crashing for as long as he possibly can. He probably doesn’t have any food in the house, he can order in.

Except when he gets home, there are lights on in his apartment. He blinks. If someone broke in, he might just turn around and go to Taylor’s, or something. He does not have the energy for it.

He opens the door slowly, but then relaxes as soon as he sees the two pairs of sneakers in the hall. He knows those shoes.

“Hallsy? Nuge?” He calls, and gets two grunts from the kitchen. He wanders in; Ryan’s poking at something on the stovetop as Taylor sits at the island and clearly not helping. It’s adorably domestic. Jordan blinks. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We thought you’d be tired,” Ryan tells him, turning around with one of his somehow always surprisingly sweet smiles.

Taylor bounds to his feet, wraps Jordan in a hug. He takes a second to inhale, to breathe in Taylor’s familiar scent. “Do you want to eat first, or do you want a nap?” he asks. His hand is resting on the small of Jordan’s back, big and warm.

“I, um.” Jordan shakes his head. “Dinner, I think.”

“Well it’ll be done in a few minutes,” Ryan tells him. He leans over to hug both Taylor and Jordan. Jordan considers being confused, but it’s also comfortable, so he goes with that for right now. “Go get changed.”

“I don’t think I can,” Jordan points out, and Ryan laughs and pulls Taylor away.

He gets changed. They eat around the island, Ryan and Taylor catching him up about what they did and the continuing misadventures of their employees and Jordan not talking about hockey even a little. When he’s done, Ryan whisks his plate away, and then he’s being herded down the hall to his bedroom, not that he really wants to resist.

The sex that night is slower than usual, less hot and frantic and somehow decadent instead. Jordan drifts off to sleep surrounded by Ryan and Taylor, and he barely thinks about his bad hockey mood at all.

Jordan wakes up later than usual, but to an empty bed. It’s a little surprising, but not much; Taylor and Ryan’s schedule is about as unpredictable as his own. The only constant is the time they make for his home games.

It’ll give him time to deal with all the errands he needs to do after a road trip, he justifies, quashing any sort of disappointment, and gets up. It’s only after he opens the door that he hears the noise in his kitchen, and wanders over.

Both Taylor and Ryan are back in his kitchen. Neither of them are looking at Jordan, but that’s fine; it’s sort of nice to watch them like this, comfortable in Jordan’s kitchen. Ryan’s at the stove, and this time Taylor’s hovering around him, watching whatever he’s doing.

“Is the coffee ready yet?” Taylor demands.

“You could check it yourself,” Ryan retorts. Taylor doesn’t say anything, but Jordan knows what he looks like when he’s making a face at the speaker, and that’s what he looks like now.

“There has to be coffee,” Taylor says. “Jordan likes coffee.”

“I know that,” Ryan snaps. “I know him too.”

Taylor makes a low sound, then he throws an arm around Ryan’s waist, tucks his head over Ryan’s shoulder so their cheeks are touching. “I know,” Taylor tells him. It’s an easy, physical gesture; Jordan makes himself not wonder if this is what they’re like, morning he’s not there, so easy and casual together. It’s none of his business.

He steps back to go back to bed, or something, and then Ryan turns around. He smiles. “Hey, you’re up.”

“What? No.” Taylor turns too, his arm still around Ryan. “No, you can’t be up yet, we’re bringing you breakfast in bed.”

“Um.” Jordan’s…not sure what to do with that. “It’s not even, like, my birthday?”

“We know.” Ryan’s still smiling at Jordan, wrapped up in Taylor’s arms, and Jordan can’t quite push away the want to go tuck himself in with them, too. He doesn’t, but he wants.

“Yeah. Now go back to bed. We’ll bring you breakfast,” Taylor insists. He’s set his jaw stubbornly, like he always has.

“Or I could hang out here with you guys and we can eat here together?” Jordan suggests. He doesn’t want to go back to bed alone.

Ryan and Taylor look at each other, communicate something. They’ve gotten better at that, throughout the years; now they do it almost as well as Jordan and Taylor can. Jordan doesn’t mind, really.

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agrees.

“But then after we’re all going back to bed,” Taylor announces, and Jordan and Ryan both laugh and don’t disagree.

They eat breakfast, and it doesn’t escape Jordan’s notice that it’s all his favorites, and that they have sausage instead of bacon even though both Ryan and Taylor think, incorrectly, that bacon is better. Instead of going right back to bed, though, they hang around the living room for a while, playing video games, until somehow that transitions into slow, lazy makeouts on a couch not big enough for the three of them until Ryan and Taylor really do have to go to work and Jordan needs to get to the rink.

Jordan would put it up to just a weird aberration, but things like that keep happening. Ryan insists on picking him up from the rink after practice the next day and buying them lunch. They both show up to the game wearing Jordan’s jersey and cheering ridiculously until Jordan’s getting chirped incessantly about his boyfriends. Flowers appear in Jordan’s house, which is really a recipe for disaster. Jordan even starts winning more at ‘chel, which is really where he gets suspicious because for all his bravado he knows he’s not better than them.

Then it’s Friday, and Taylor and Ryan are lying on Jordan’s bed as Jordan gets ready for his date with Samantha.

“You didn’t have to supervise this,” Jordan points out, picking out a tie. They’re going to some fancy place that she picked, but Ryan looked up reviews and said that the food was supposed to be great. But it does require Jordan to wear a tie.

“Of course we do. Otherwise you’d wear that tie,” Taylor informs him.

Jordan glares, but shoots the tie a worried glance. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The grey one brings out your eyes more,” Taylor informs him. “Otherwise she might look at the rest of you instead and get turned off.”

“Fuck off,” Jordan tells him, flipping him off. But he does switch ties.

“I got this,” Ryan says, and rolls off the bed in one fluid motion to walk over to Jordan. He takes the tie, wraps it around Jordan’s neck, and starts to tie, all clever fingers and cheekbones as he looks down at the knot. Jordan swallows. They’re so close Jordan can feel it, and it’s so domestic, so easy. He finishes, then pats Jordan’s chest, his fingers lingering as he steps back. “There.”

Jordan swallows. “How do I look?” he asks, spreading his arm. “Good enough for a fancy rich person’s date?”

“She’s not just fancy, she’s hot too,” Taylor tells him. “So there’s that.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot better than some of the other guys,” Jordan agrees. He’s heard a bit about some of the other ‘dates’ the guys have gone on, with varying degrees of uncomfortableness. “At least I’ll have fun.”

Taylor and Ryan look at each other again, then at Jordan. There’s something in both of their looks–Ryan’s purposefully unreadable like he gets when he’s hiding emotions, Taylor’s sulky and stuck somewhere between sad and angry.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Fun.”

“Mm-hm,” Taylor echoes. He takes a step forward–and then Ryan’s hand is on his arm, like he’s holding him back. Taylor snorts out a breath, then relaxes back. Jordan watches, confused. “Have fun. If it goes south, we can always send an emergency text. I can totally fake your mom’s voice.“

“You haven’t done that since your voice broke,” Jordan points out, though Taylor’s imitation really did used to be spot on.

“I still could,” Taylor informs him. Jordan looks at him skeptically. Taylor glares back. Jordan decides that this is a time to let it go, and does.

“Okay, I’ll call if something goes wrong,” he assures them. They don’t look appeased. “Seriously. What do you think is going to happen, she’s going to kidnap me?”

“You never know,” Taylor mutters. Ryan shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but his eyes are hot. “We know.”

“Okay…” Jordan looks at them a beat longer, but neither of them say anything. “I’m going to go, then? Are you planning to wait here for me? Sit on my porch with a shotgun?”

There’s a very worrisome pause, but then Taylor shakes his head. “No,” he says grudgingly. “We’re going too.”

They trail Jordan to the entranceway, but thenTaylor hesitates in the doorway, looking down at Jordan, biting at his lip.

Jordan knows what Taylor looks like, when he wants to say something but knows he shouldn’t. “What?” he asks. Taylor’s not supposed to have that expression with him.

“I just–” Taylor swallows. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, of course. I love you too.” That’s been a constant in Jordan’s life since he was a kid, even if they don’t say it often.

Taylor makes a face, but then he shakes his head. “Enjoy your date, Ebby,” he says, and then gives Ryan what looks like a defiant look before he leans down and kisses Jordan, soft and sweet and nothing like what they usually do–not a kiss that’s leading somewhere, just a kiss.

“We’ll see you later,” Ryan adds. His hand trails over Jordan’s back, supportive and intimate.

“Yeah,” Jordan agrees. Swallows again. “Later.

Samantha is as gorgeous and fun as Jordan remembered her, and he really was lucky that she bought his date. But he can’t pay attention to anything she says, not when he can still feel Taylor’s lips lingering on his, Ryan’s body close to him tying his tie.

None of which he should be thinking about, when he’s on a date in a candlelit restaurant with a lovely woman who he thinks he does have some chemistry with, even if she bought his time. It’s weird and a little awkward because of that, but she’s got that rich person charm and ease that sweeps it away, and it’s nice to talk with her. SHe’s smart and savvy and draws him out too, until he’s telling her stories about his life–about what it’s like as an NHLer, about growing up him and Taylor running wild, about how he spends his time now.

“So Ryan and Taylor are…” she trails off, delicately. Then takes a sip of wine. The wine somehow perfectly matches her lipstick.

“They’re my best friends,” Jordan fills in, like he always does. Like is true.

He thinks again of the way they’d invaded his life this past week. Of the flowers still on his kitchen counter. Of the way they’d looked as they left. That’s–is that best friend behavior? He can’t tell, with how the three of them are so mixed together.

Samantha hums. “I see,” she says, like she doesn’t. “I thought they were going to talk you out of coming tonight, to be honest.”

“Why would they do that?” Jordan asks. “I mean, you paid for it.”

“You keep on making it sound like prostitution,” she retorts, wrinkling her nose, and Jordan chuckles. “Well, maybe I meant I thought they’d be coming too. After I looked you up a little, at least.”

“I think only spouses get to do that,” Jordan points out. “Or maybe significant others? I’m not sure on the rules.”

She pauses. “Yes, i think that’s usually the policy,” she agrees, slowly. Jordan blinks at her.

“Oh, you mean–no. We aren’t.” He needs to be careful, if she thinks that. “They might be, I’m not sure, but I’m–not.” He’s not. They couldn’t, they aren’t–they didn’t bid on him. They sleep together, sure, but they don’t do–relationshippy things.

Except…

“I’m not,” he repeats. He maybe sounds less convinced.

She waits another beat, then is polite enough to let it go, and turn the conversation to travel plans.

Jordan tries to engage for the rest of dinner. He really does. But he’s even more distracted now. They don’t do relationship things, but Taylor and Ryan have, for the past week. They’ve been romantic, or Jordan thinks they’ve been trying to be, at least.

Or maybe it’s an accident, a spillover. Jordan’s not sure. Maybe Jordan’s reading things into it that he wants to see, even though he’s tried for so long to deny that he does. Maybe they’re being romantic at each other and he’s just getting caught in the wake.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He has to know.

He kisses Samantha’s cheek goodbye when they’re done, and they promise to keep in touch. She runs a foundation he legitimately wants to know more about, to see if he can help in. She seems to get that, and his distraction; smiles at him a little condescendingly and then sends him on his way.

Jordan doesn’t realize where he’s going until he pulls into the parking lot of Taylor’s building. By now, the doorman knows him, so he gets waved right up, which is good because he’s still sort of in a fugue state, which takes him right up until he lets himself into the apartment.

“What–Jordan?” Taylor asks, pausing the movie on the TV. Ryan’s there too, both of them lit a little by the light of the TV. They’d definitely been cuddling; it’s easy to tell, even when Taylor’s straightened in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” Ryan adds. He’s straightened too, still tense. “What’s wrong?” he goes on.

“Did she–” Taylor starts. Jordan shakes his head.

“No, the date was fine.”

“Fine,” Taylor echoes. “Fine like you’re going to see her again, or fine like meh?” Ryan’s just watching him with those cool, sharp eyes.

“Fine like–what do you want from me?” Jordan asks, his voice embarassingly hoarse. “I couldn’t stop thinking about–you guys have been doing all these things that feel romantic, and I didn’t know–that’s not what we are, but Samantha thought we were, and–what are you doing?” he stops. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Ryan and Taylor exchange a look. “Told you he wouldn’t figure it out,” Taylor tells Ryan, and gets up. “Ebby, you’re so stupid.”

Jordan winces. “Fine, I’ll–”

“Shut up, Hallsy,” Ryan snaps. He’s on his feet too, hovering a little. “He didn’t mean that. He meant that we have been trying to be romantic.”

“To woo you,” Taylor adds. “To make you realize you shouldn’t be going on dates with other people. Just with us.” He pauses, then asks, pleading. “Do you want to?”

Jordan blinks. Curls his hands into fists in his pockets, so he doesn’t flail. “You never said.”

“We thought you knew.” Ryan, deceptively calm. “We thought you just didn’t want more. We didn’t realize you didn’t know, not until the charity auction.”

“Because you’re so stupid, like I said.” Taylor rolls his eyes. “Ebs, we’ve known each other for decades, how couldn’t you know?”

“I didn’t–I don’t even understand what you guys do,” Jordan tries to explain, and Taylor huffs out a breath.

“So what?”

“So, why would you–”

“We do.” Ryan glances around. “Or at least, I do.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. You guys have your thing, and I didn’t want to–”

“Our thing?” Ryan and Taylor give him identical confused looks, but it’s Taylor who speaks. “We don’t have a thing. Or like, not other than our thing.” He gestures at all three of them.

Ryan is doing that thing where he looks at Jordan like he’s seeing through him. “The two of us only have our own thing when we talk about how much it sucks that you don’t want more with us,” he says, even but with something painful in his voice, like he’s remembering those conversations. Jordan’s–how could he not want more? “That’s all.”

“Do you?” Taylor asks. He takes a step forward. “Do you want more? Because I think we’ve shown we can be pretty kickass boyfriends, way better than some woman you’ve never met, and–”

“Yes,” Jordan cuts Taylor off, almost tripping over the words. “Yes, I mean, I do, I didn’t know but I do, we should–”

Ryan’s kissing him before he finishes the sentence, and then when that’s done Taylor’s there, and all three of them are pressed together tightly enough Jordan can barely tell the difference between them anymore.

Somehow, they all end up on Taylor’s bed, and Taylor rolls on top of Jordan as Ryan curves up next to him, pinning him in.

“No more dates with other people,” Taylor orders, grinding down on Jordan just as emphasis.

“Just with you,” Jordan agrees, grinning stupidly.

“Next charity auction, we’re allowed to buy your date.”

“No more charity auctions,” Ryan puts in. He’s stripped off his own shirt, and has moved on to Taylors.

“I like that idea,” Jordan agrees, and leans in to kiss his boyfriends.

#my fic #kid line tumblr fic #how did this get so long? who knows #have this mess of pining and hook ups and vague AUs #enjoy!#sorry for the delay #Anonymous #izzy answers

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8-bitgossip · 5 years

Photo

Quotations

Ambient Conversations:

“I fucking hate mosquitos. Can we get away from all of this stagnant water before we die of West Nile or some shit?”

“You know, there’s a really good hiking trail around here. If you just turn here…. And we’re going the other way. Nevermind.”

“Gotta love the wilderness, the sun, the rivers, the lakes, the idea that there could be a Chosen archer hiding in the trees just waiting to murder us.”

“...Yeah. Heights. This’ll be fun. Not. Can we uh -- get down. Like. Now.”

“So. Have you ever thought about what’s gonna happen when all this is over? People don’t even have homes to go back to anymore and what? Are we gonna hold hands and sing kumbaya and pretend this all didn’t happen? Like fucking hell.”

When Deputy Points a Gun at Them:

“Ah. So this is what betrayal feels like. Gotta admit I’m hurt Deputy.”

“Et tu, Brute?”

Holland Valley:

“Ah. You can almost smell John Seed’s entitlement from here. Or… maybe that’s just his cologne. Eau de Asshole.”

“The Spread Eagle. Did you know that Girl’s Night has karaoke? You’ll have to ask Grace to sing Man! I Feel Like a Woman! by Shania Twain. It’s a blast.”

“Ah yes. Open fields, straight roads, the perfect place for snipers to shoot at us while I can’t shoot at them. Let’s get a move on.”

“...you think that the general store ever got my shipment of books in before shit went south? No?” *sighs* “And I was so looking forward to finishing the last of Toni Morrison’s body of work.”

“Gotta admit, even though I don’t remember it -- one baptism was more than enough for me; evidently I cried the whole time. My childhood priest wouldn’t be pleased with me converting to some crazed religious cult. Catholicism is cult enough for any one person.”

“You think we could convince some people to sneak speakers up by John’s house? And blast Oh John from their fucking radio station while he tries to sleep? It’ll be hilarious.”

After Being Captured By John:

1st Encounter: “Did you enjoy your dip in the bliss filled water? Was John everything you hoped for? Thank god for Pastor Jerome and getting you out of there before shit hit the fan.” 2nd Encounter: “God. John’s quite the drama queen isn’t he? Shouting for you over the loudspeakers, promising that God will lead him to you.” *snickers* “He’ll be sending you flowers and love poetry before you know it, Dep.” John’s Death: “Well, everyone in the Valley can breathe at least a little easier now… It’s just a damn shame about the lives lost in the process and all of the people displaced by the violence.”

Henbane River:

“Ah yes, just your good, old fashioned, brain melting hallucinogenic drugs that at the very least sends you on a bad trip and at worst, turns you into a fucking zombie. Just how I wanted to spend my Tuesday.”

“Oh good. I’ve been meaning to stop by and see Addie. I have to talk to her about the fucking alleged haunted house she sold me.”

“I swear officer! It wasn’t me! Don’t cart me off to jail!” *snickers*

“You know what fucking sucks the most about all of this? They blissed out all of the best swimming spots in the Henbane, so unless you want to get really high I don’t recommend it.”

“Do you have any idea how much I’d love to take a rocket launcher to that sanctimonious prick’s dick?” *pause* “On the statue, dumbass. Although… Now that I’m on the topic…”

“...Please tell me that you’re also seeing pink elephants and about a dozen Faith’s littering the sides of the roads. Oh god.”

After Being Captured By Faith:

1st Encounter: “You never take me anywhere nice, actually, I lied. Do not. I repeat. Do not. Take me skydiving off of that fucking statue. I will murder you.” 2nd Encounter: “Best be careful there Dep. The adrenaline can bring you back but… there’s always a cost. You gotta wonder what the cost of finding that Marshall and bringing him back is.” Faith’s Death: “It’ll take years for this place to get back to normal… All of that Bliss, in everything. It’s not just gonna go away, and we don’t even know the long term effects. What a fucking waste of life.”

Whitetail Mountains:

“I should stop by and see Will and Eli while we’re here… No one in that fucking Militia keeps themselves fed unless you bug them about it. Fully grown toddlers, I swear to god.”

“Guess I should be thankful that the Cult isn’t as concerned with book burning as other zealous religious groups -- I would storm the Veteran’s Center myself if Jacob tried to burn my books.”

“...Did you hear that howl? We should go. Before we end up as wolf chow. Or, we could stay and when the Judge’s come you stay there, and I’ll climb a tree and use you as a big, beautiful distraction.”

“So… You know that fucking eyesore of a Truck that Hurk Senior owns? A few months ago I dumped pink paint all over that shit. Hurk and Sharky thought it was funny… his daddy not so much. It was just detailed too. Such a shame, that.”

“For the record, if you’re planning on using helicopters to travel you can count me out, out of this county, out of this little group of yours, out of existence. There will be no heights for this woman in this or any lifetime.”

“Please tell me that you’re not actually going to get those records on the kid’s list. He has like, the WORST music taste. Literally give anyone else that job because I don’t know how much of What’s New Pussycat I can take.”

After Being Captured By Jacob:

1st Encounter: “Careful now, Dep. The mind is the one thing that’s really hard to un-fuck once you get it into a bad place so just… be careful. The reprogramming may not be so family friendly.” 2nd Encounter: “You ever think that people get tired of his whole, “I ate a man once”, shtick? Like. We get it, you’re the scary mountain gremlin who likes to murder people and train deadly wolves, we don’t need more than that.” Jacob’s Death: “...What happened was... unfortunate. But it’s over now. It’s all almost over.”

Intercompanion Dialog:

Nick

Nick: “Hey. So, Kim’s been meaning to ask you for that recipe you and Will brought to the last cookout.” Bridget: “The peach cobbler or the pudding shots?” Nick: “….Both. Definitely both. And make sure that you bring them both again next time. They were a lifesaver. Who the fuck brings pineapple pizza to a barbecue?” Bridget: “Evidently, the Seeds. As if we needed another reason to shoot them.” Nick: *laughs* “Right?” Bridget: “I’ll make sure to stop by the next time I have a chance, I’m sure that Kim would enjoy some new faces around.”

Grace

Bridget: “I managed to find a copy of Beloved for you if you’re still interested in reading it?” Grace: “Really? You found it before the Peggies lost their shit then?” Bridget: “Yeah, it was in the last shipment of books that came into the library before everything went post-apocalypse now.” Grace: “I’d love to read it, be nice to take my mind off of everything that’s going on.” Bridget: “Of course! I’ll bring it by 8Bit the next time we’re gonna meet up there for you to read. I promise you’ll love this one.” Grace: “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

Boomer

Bridget: “You know… I’ve always been more of a cat person myself….” Boomer: *whines* Bridget: “Don’t give me those --” *sighs* “Fine. Fine. You’re the only exception. Happy now?” Boomer: *happy bark*

Sharky

Sharky: “Hey so, Bridget. I have a question.” Bridget: “Hm?” Sharky: “Do you think that readin’ Shakespeare and Charles Dickens and shit would make me sound smarter?” Bridget: “Nope.” Sharky: “Seriously?” Bridget: “Sharky, it was like… the Simpsons of our times, people just like to act like it was smarter and better. Besides, you’re plenty smart by yourself and if anyone tells you different you can tell them to find me and I’ll beat the shit out of them with my twenty five pound Shakespeare anthology.” Sharky: *laughs* “Can and will do, ma’am.”

Adelaide:

Bridget: “So… About that haunted house you sold me…” Addy: “Ah, I was wondering when you’d figure that out -- technically no one’s ever died on the property and the hauntings are all just rumors that the town likes to tell.” Bridget: “It definitely explains why it was half of the price of every other house in Hope County.” Addy: “Darlin’ you always get what you pay for, and honestly, I think you and that man of yours got quite the steal on that place.” Bridget: “Uh-huh. Just know, that if I die, I have every intention of haunting you just so that you have to deal with those sort of shenanigans and whispers from the people in Fall’s End.” Addy: *laughs* “It’s a deal.”

Billy:

Billy: “So I say we just…” *inaudible whispering* Bridget: “Absolutely not! We are not going to panty raid the entirety of John Seed’s house and hang his silk underwear from his flag pole no matter how funny I think that is.” Billy: “Come on, think of the rage -- the pure unadulterated fury that he’ll have at seeing his glorious black silk boxers hanging from every available surface in the Valley.” Bridget: “Do not. It’s too fucking tempting.” Billy: “You know you want to.” Bridget: “You’re the absolute worst.” Billy: “That’s not a no.” Bridget: “Fuck you.”

Peaches:

Bridget: “Hey! You want some treats?” Peaches: *cougar noises* Bridget: “I talked to Chad and he gave me the scraps from the latest roadkill he’s gotten and I’ve saved it for my favorite kitty.” Peaches: *happy cougar noises* Bridget: “Yup! It’s all for the best murder machine in the Henbane.”

Hurk:

Hurk: “So you’re sure you’re not interested in Hurk’s Gate?” Bridget: “Nope. I’m pretty good where I’m at, plus, Jerome would be out a Youth Pastor if I did.” Hurk: “Well, I guess you could still stay with the Youth Pastoring thing, helping the youth and all of that is important, plus you could start recruiting them to Hurk’s Gate.” Bridget: “Still gonna pass.” Hurk: “Huh. Gonna have to do the hard sell on you, huh? Well, what if I told you that there are tons of beautiful men and women who are --” Bridget: “Hurk, I’m gonna stop you right there. My grandmother was Irish Catholic, were I to convert to anything she’d come down from heaven just to beat the ever living shit out of me.” Hurk: “Respecting the wishes of your grandma I can get that. Yeah.”

Jess:

Jess: “Hey, thanks for letting me crash with you and Will for the last few months, it’s been… a lifesaver. Really.” Bridget: “We know how hard it’s been, I’m glad to see you getting back on your feet… Well, as back on your feet as you can get given the circumstances.” Jess: “It’s crazy, all this shit goin’ south with the Peggie’s is what it’s taken for me to get my life back in order… It’s almost surreal.” Bridget: “Well, if you ever need us, our door is open and the spare bedroom is yours.” Jess: “Thank you, Bridget.’

Ashlee:

Bridget: “So. When all of this is over, we’re having a party. A big one.” Ashlee: “Obviously.” Bridget: “My first thought is at the lake, but then I’m like, “but wait, we live in the middle of nowhere, our only sources of entertainment are drinking and shooting things” which means that I’d spend my time worrying about people accidentally ending up in the water and drowning.” Ashlee: “A fair point, but may I just say that they’re all fucking adults and should know better. We’ll grab some trucks to put along the waterfront to play music and block the way into the water and then people will have to think to get in.” Bridget: “An excellent idea. This is why I keep you around.” Ashlee: “And here I thought it was because I was attractive and intelligent company.” Bridget: “Always. Heart emoji” Ashlee: “Did you just---” Bridget: “Don’t.”

Cheeseburger:

Bridget: “Cheeseburger!” Cheeseburger: *bear noises* Bridget: “You know, every time we’re out here, I’m always surprised that the deputy hasn’t had a saddle made to ride you into battle like the majestic beast you are.” Cheeseburger: *bear noises*

#far cry 5 #guns for hire #guns for hire oc #bc: proud to be a librarian

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queen-of-deans-booty · 6 years

Text

Red Sky At Morning- Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

It’s only been a day but you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell Dean you were a kiss away from making a deal with him. If Sam hadn’t shown up or even shown up a few seconds later, your soul would have been sold and Dean would have gotten off scot free. You were hoping to make a deal with her because then you could deal with the after-effects later. Dean would have been pissed but it would have already happened.

You hated keeping secrets from Dean and it was killing you to keep quiet. If Dean didn’t know about this, then you wouldn’t get yelled at and everything can be as normal as things can get. However, Dean wasn’t stupid and you knew he would eventually figure it out.

You three were on your way to a woman’s house whose niece was found dead inside her shower. It seemed a little odd because the woman who died claimed to have seen a ghost ship before she passed and told her aunt about it who told police and press about it. You were almost there but you couldn’t take the tension inside the car. You were about to say something when Dean spoke up.

“So, I’ve been waiting since Maple Springs. You got something you both want to tell me?” You and Sam both looked at each other and it was like you had one of those silent conversations that you only saw Sam and Dean do.

“It’s not your birthday,” Sam spoke up before you could open your mouth. You bit your lip and looked at Dean who rolled his eyes.

“No.”

“Dude, I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about—” Sam tried to cover but Dean cut him off.

“There are two bullets missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened? I know it wasn’t me. So, unless you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans...”

“Dean…” Sam sighed.

“You went after her, didn’t you? The Crossroads Demon. After I told you not to.”

“Yeah, well…”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” Dean yelled at his brother.

“Hey, don’t get mad at him. I did it too.” You said so that Sam didn’t have to take all the heat.

“Excuse me? You went after her too? What, why wasn’t I invited to the party?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Dean, seriously, it’s fine. Sam and I are fine. It’s not like one of us tried to sell our soul for you.” You laughed nervously but you winced when you knew you revealed too much.

“What did you just say?” Dean asked, glaring at you through the rearview mirror.

“Dean, don’t—” Sam tried to cover for you.

“Sammy, shut up. Y/N?”

“Look, she said my soul is much more valuable than yours. I don’ know what the hell that means but if it gets you out of your deal, I would have done it.”

“Fuck! Y/N, why would you do that? You could have gotten killed! You do not put my life in front of yours. That is not how this works.”

“That is how a relationship works, Dean. I think your life is much more valuable than mine. I love you and I would do anything for you. You have to know this.” You argued. Dean clenched his jaw and he shook his head, looking out his window before looking at you again. He shook his head once more and looked at Sam.

“So, you killed her. I’m assuming you got the job done the second time. Well? Am I out of my deal?” Dean asked, ignoring you for right now.

“Don’t you think I would have mentioned that little detail earlier? No, she doesn’t hold the contract. Someone else does.”

“Who?”

“She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, we should find out who. Of course, our best lead would be the Crossroads Demon. Oh, wait a minute...”

“That’s not funny,” you spoke up.

“No, it’s not! It was a stupid fucking risk and you shouldn’t have done it!” Dean scolded you and Sam like you were kids. “Who knows what could have happened to you if you didn’t kill her in time?”

“That's not the point, Dean. She’s dead and it’s too late to bring her back now.” You said, slumping in your seat.

“Besides, you’re my brother and her boyfriend, Dean. You’re our family. No matter what you do or what you say, we’re going to try and save you. And we’re sure as hell not going to apologize for it.” Sam said, ending this conversation.

Nothing else was said for the rest of the car ride.

The woman you were interviewing was named Gertrude Case, Gert for short. By the looks of it, she was a very wealthy woman and looked to be about 70 years old. From the very beginning, when you, Sam and Dean showed up, she took a liking to Sam and has been flirting with him ever since. You three were impersonating officers of the law to get her talking. But it seems as if people were here before you.

“But I don't understand. I already went over all this with the other detectives.” Gert said, looking at Sam.

“Right, yes, but we’re with the Sheriff’s Department, not the police department. It’s very different.” Dean explained, hoping she would just drop it.

“So, Mrs. Case…” Sam began.

“Please,” Gert said with a wave of her hand. She smiled seductively at Sam. “Ms. Case.”

Okay. Um, Ms. Case, um...” Sam gulped and you grinned, watching this little exchange. “You were the one who found your niece, correct?”

“I came home and she was in the shower.”

“Drowned?” Sam asked.

“That's what the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?” Ms. Case put her hand on Sam’s arm and he stiffened but didn’t make a move to get her off.

“How would you describe Sheila's behavior in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary, or...?” Sam asked, looking down at her.

“Wait a minute,” Gert said, taking her hand off Sam. “You’re working with Alex, aren’t you?”

“Yes, absolutely. Alex and us, we’re like this,” Dean stated, crossing his fingers together to show the bond between this person named Alex and the three of you.

“Why didn't you say so? Alex has been such a comfort. But I’m sorry. I thought the case was solved.”

“Uh, well, no. Not yet, anyway.” You said, making her smile at you.

“I see.”

“So, anyway, we were talking about your niece,” Sam said, getting her back on track.

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat.”

“A boat?” Dean asked, playing along, even though you already knew this.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a... ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” Gert explained, keeping her eyes on Sam the whole time, even though it was Dean who was talking.

“Well, um… could be.” Sam said, gulping under her stare.

“Well. You let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” Gert traced a finger slowly along Sam’s hand and you could clearly tell he was uncomfortable about all of this. You giggled slightly and that made Sam glare at you while Dean just smirked at his brother. “Anything at all.”

“Well, we should get going. We do have a case to solve.” You said and Sam was glad he had an excuse to get away from her. She smiled and waved to Sam as you three left.

“I think it’s best if we go down to the docks and ask about this so-called ghost ship.” You suggested and thankfully, they all agreed.

“What a crazy old broad,” Dean said while you and Sam walked with him from the docks. You looked around to see very high-end scale boats, not too big but not small either. These people have money, that’s for sure. You three had just gotten done talking to the crew down there while Sam did some extra digging around.

“Why? Because she believes in ghosts?”

“Look at you,” Dean laughed. “Sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.”

“Bite me,” Sam said, unimpressed.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sam. She really liked you. You know, you could get out of the house and into some woman’s arms. She could be the one for you.” You grinned, teasing him.

“I’m serious,” Sam said.

“So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?” Dean asked, changing the subject.

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t change our job.” Sam stated.

“And what looked like a ghost ship, right?” You asked.

“Yeah, it’s not the first sighting either.”

“Really?” Dean asked, surprised.

“Yeah, every 37 years, like clockwork, reports of vanishing three-mast clipper ship is out in the bay. And every 37 years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.” Sam informed you and Dean.

“So, whatever's happening is just getting started,” Dean observed.

“Yeah.”

“What the lore on this kind of thing?” You asked Sam since he would know all about this before you and Dean do.

“Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman—almost all of them are death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?” Dean said.

“Sounds like it to me.” You said, getting closer to where Dean parked the car.

“What’s the next step?” Dean asked.

“I gotta I.D. the boat.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?” Dean asked, scoffing a bit at the end.

“I checked that too, actually. Over one hundred and fifty.”

“Fuck, that’s a lot.” You said, sighing.

“Yeah,”

“Shit,” Dean muttered. You walked to the place where you thought Dean parked the car but Baby wasn’t there. You frowned, looking around to check if this was the place the car was left.

“This is where we parked the car, right?” Dean asked. You looked at him and you could see the beginnings of a rage coming along.

“I thought so,” Sam said, looking at you before going back to Dean.

“Where's my car?” Dean asked you two, his face getting red.

“Did you feed the meter?” Sam asked.

“Yes, I fed the meter. Sam, Y/N, where is my car. Somebody stole my CAR!” Dean went into a full panic now. He started to breathe faster like you did when you had a panic attack.

“Hey, Dean, listen, calm down, okay?” You said, going over to him. He was full on hyperventilating now.

“I am calmed down! Somebody stole my ca—”

“The ’67 Impala? Is that yours?” At the sound of her voice, all three of your heads turned to the one woman that you didn’t like.

Bela.

“Bela,” Sam said, tight-lipped.

“I'm sorry. I had that car towed.” She said with a smirk.

“You what?!” Dean yelled at her.

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Dean glared at her.

“It was when I finished with it,” Bela smirked even more. You glared at her and as about to pounce on her for shooting you in the arm but Sam and Dean held you back, even though Dean wanted to hurt her for what she did.

“What the hell are you even doing here?” Dean asked when he got his breathing back to normal.

“A little yachting,” Bela said flippantly.

“You're Alex. You're working with that old lady,” Sam said, putting two and two together.

“Gert’s a dear old friend.”

“Yeah, right. What’s your angle?” Dean asked.

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms and perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats.”

“And let me guess, it's all a con, none of it's real.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“The comfort I provide them is very real,” Bela smirked.

“Fuck you,” You spat, glaring at her.

“How do you sleep at night?” Sam asked at the same time you spoke.

“On silk sheets, rolling naked in money. Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from Dean and Y/N, but you?”

“You shot her!” Sam defended you.

“I barely grazed her.”

“Why don’t I barely graze you?” You said, reaching for your gun from behind but Dean and Sam stopped you from actually taking it out.

“Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?” Bela asked Dean with a sweet smile.

“You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real.”

“I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way.”

“Aw, did that put you in a bit of a pickle? Too bad.” You sneered but Bela sighed.

“She didn't need to know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment and she's demanding some real answers. Look... just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you... before they find the arsenal in the trunk. Ciao.” Bela smirked and she walked away with you glaring at her.

“Can I shoot her?” You and Dean both said at the same time.

“Not in public,” Sam answered.

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @oreosatmidnight @seninjakitey @flyonlittlewinchester @earthtokace @gingersnapped13 @superrandomnatural @my-wayward-heroes @stevetrevorstardis @supernaturallover2002 @teamfreewillsstuff @gucci-daddario @22sarah08 @gh0stgurl

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auto4333 · 4 years

Text

Be Cautious Where You Take Your Classic Car or Muscle Car

Vintage car owners, including those with muscle cars, street rods, hot rods, antiques and vintage trucks, are generally facing uncertain times as car thefts are on the rise, and actions from thieves are becoming more striking and brazen. I recently came across a story written by a man who owned a Daytona Blue 1963 Corvette Coupe with all matching numbers. The all-original classic sport car had an immaculate dark blue rooms where only the carpet had ever been replaced. The 327 engine was said to produce a rhythmic loping that not only brought a smile to your face, but got you day dreaming of having this loveliness parked in your own garage. Then disaster strikes and you're snapped out of your dream and into his headache! The owner of this beautiful piece of American history took his prized car to what he called a small "backwoods" show that a friend and he decided to go to in the spur of the moment. As owner Jacob Morgan, of Bakersfield, CA described, "The event was an annual but rather unofficial gathering of classic truck buffs and I was thrilled to bring my car down. Unfortunately, the part of Florida that the occurrence was being held was extremely dry due to drought. About three or four hours after arriving, a man which owned a red GTO (I could not tell you the year because frankly I did not care afterward) thought to start up his ride for the spectators. It was just one backfire but it was enough to start the dry yard ablaze--and guess where my Corvette was parked? Nearly thirty classic cars were consumed by the blaze started by that backfiring GTO and my Corvette was one of them. Of course I had the car properly covered but they just aren't making 1963 Corvettes any longer and the only one I could find that was similar cost $10, 000 more than my policy's payoff. I guess if there is a moral to my sad tale, it is and avoid backwoods car shows at all costs because they are unregulated, disorganized, and very dangerous to classic cars like my much loved 1963 Corvette Coupe. " This may not be your traditional way of losing your prized classic car, muscle family car, street rod, antique car, vintage truck or other collectible old vehicle, but it does drive property the point that we need to exercise care in even the most innocent surroundings like a car show! Freak injuries like Mr. Morgan experienced can and do account for many losses to enthusiasts - not just fraud or vandalism. Sadly though, theft isn't a rare thing and the methods are becoming more bizarre. Guy Algar and I have had pieces stolen off one of our own vehicles that we were towing back to our buy while we stopped for a quick bite to eat! We've had a good number of hubcaps taken over the years. Together with, we actually had the brake lights ripped off of our car hauler while we were in a sections store one day picking up parts for a customer! We've had one customer tell us the story where he previously taken his wife out to dinner and had carefully parked his 1969 Corvette at a nearby restaurant, under a big bright light, and in what appeared to be a "safe" area, only to come out 1 out of 3 minutes to an hour later to find all his emblems and trim taken right off the car! Thieves are generally known to take the entire car hauler (with the classic sitting on top) right off the tow vehicle's hitch ball and transfer the hauler to their own tow vehicle when people are on the road, at a motor vehicle show, or some other type of event. These are bold moves by people who do not fear the consequences. Other thefts that have been reported around the country have included: Dr . Phil just had his '57 Chevy Belair convertible stolen from the Burbank repair shop he had brought it to for repairs. A 1937 Buick, valued with over $100, 000 was taken from a gated community parking garage in Fort Worth, Texas. He of New Mexico reported the theft of two of his collector cars to Hemming. Ben owns about half a dozen collector cars altogether, and to store them all, he rented out a storage product. Unfortunately, when he went to check on them recently, for the first time in about six months, he found that will two were missing - a 1957 two-door Chevrolet Belair and a 1967 Mercury Cougar GT. There would be also a report of a man from Jefferson City, Missouri, who actually recovered his own stolen car, some sort of 1969 Chevrolet Camaro that had been stolen 16 years before, after seeing it in a Google search! Within a Los Angeles suburb, a woman came home to a garage empty of her prized 1957 Chevy Bel-Air which often had been valued at more than $150, 000. The beautiful convertible had been featured in several magazines and Tv programs and won dozens of awards at car shows around the country. A neighbor's surveillance camera caught what of the thieves and revealed that the Bel-Air was pushed down the street by a pickup truck which had pulled inside her driveway just minutes after she had left. The thieves likely loaded it onto an waiting for trailer. It's thought that the thieves spotting the car at one of the car shows, followed it home next, then waited for the opportunity to steal it. A Seattle collector was the victim of a targeted "smash-and grab" from the warehouse where he kept his cars. The thieves apparently ransacked the building and additionally drove off with a 396/425 four-speed 1965 Corvette Stingray; and a 20, 000-mile 396/four-speed 1970 Chevelle SS. A 1959 Chevrolet Impala was stolen during a Cruise Night. The owner got good news-bad news in the event the police tracked down because while they did recover the classic car, he had put in a maintain for the theft with his insurance policy after the theft many months before, so the car went to the insurance company rather then being returned to him. Apparently detectives recovered the Impala from a chop shop nearly eight a long time after it was stolen, repainted and modified. Hemmings News also reported of a reader whose 1970 Frd Maverick was stolen from his home in Missouri. The car was found and returned, but the examination apparently revealed that the thief had been watching the owner for 2 years, with the intention of stealing it in addition to using it to race with. Chilling thing to find out. A 1979 Buick Electra 225 Limited Edition has been stolen out of a grocery store parking lot in suburban Detroit with the thief escaping with an urn contained in the trunk that contained the remains of the owner's stepfather! After saving for over 40 years, someone from Virginia bought the car of his dreams, a 1962 Dodge Lancer. Buying his dream automobile, he began his restoration project, which was about 60 percent complete when he relocated to Florida. Without a garage to keep it in after his move, he stored it in a 24-foot enclosed movie trailer along with a 1971 Dodge Colt he planned to turn into a race car, and kept the trailer left at a storage lot. At the end of July, the trailer and everything in it disappeared. The last story really has a happy ending because it was recovered due to alert shop owners being suspicious of person looking to unload a Lancer for only $1, 500 including the many boxes of parts. After some explore, the owner was reunited with his car. Guy and I have been approached on numerous occasions by people eager to sell their vehicles. Some have hardship stories and the callers are willing to unload the car for a real great deal. We've always walked from these offers, primarily because we're not in the business of buying and selling vehicles (we're not dealers or re-sellers), but also because we're cautious of a "too-good-to-be-true" price. One call in certain did make us very suspicious, as the woman caller insisted that the sale had to be completed by Saturday (she called our shop over the weekend) and the price was extremely low for a rather rare product Mustang. Alert shop owners can be instrumental in aiding in the recovery of stolen classic cars. And not all stories have a happy ending like this. Classic cars, muscle cars and antiques can make their method to chop shops, end up damaged and abandoned, and even being re-sold on Internet sites such as eBay and Craigslist! Just yesterday, I reported on a 1954 Chevy Pickup truck which was stolen from a woman's driveway in Okla City. (Ironically this article was already written and scheduled for release today when the news hit. I've increased her case because, unfortunately, it emphasizes how common thefts have become. ) She wisely reached available to the Hemmings community of enthusiasts for help. Hemmings. com has a huge following, referred to as "Hemmings Nation", and appealing for help to a community of enthusiasts like this can be instrumental in helping to give vital information to help police and authorities who can help track and recover a stolen classic car. We applaud the effort that Hemmings does. And, the methods that thieves are using, as you can see, are as varied as the categories of vehicles! Even seemingly innocent little car shows and gatherings are places you need to exercise a little warning and care. As I reported in a July article, carjackings involving classic cars are even becoming even more commonplace. Surprisingly, in some cases, the Internet has been helpful in aiding in the recovery of classic cars and muscle mass cars. There have been numerous stories, much like the Camaro owner above, and a man who found his 1949 Honda through a listing on Craigslist (the two men responsible were arrested and charged with disassembling a car or truck after the owner positively identified it as his) where owners have been able to locate their cars with Internet searches. For those not so fortunate, insurance is the only consolation. We highly recommend classic car or "collector" car insurance. There are a number of companies that provide this specialized insurance, and it is generally well worth the cost. Classic Car Info provided an article, Purchasing Classic Car Insurance, containing a list of companies along with links to contact them. I also propose Hagerty Insurance's publication, Deterring Collector Car Theft, which has tips on theft prevention. In addition to the quick-strip thefts, robbers usually always alter, remove or forge VIN numbers, which make identification of the car or truck more difficult. Vehicle Id Numbers (VINs) are serial numbers for vehicles that are used to differentiate similar makes and models. Very like social security numbers, every vehicle has a different VIN. VIN plates are usually located on the dashboard on current cars, but are often found in the door jams of older models. VIN plates can be switched with an additional vehicle for a fast coverup. The point here is to be aware of your surroundings, including where you park your car. Tend not to take it for granted that just because you're at an event with fellow enthusiasts that something bad aren't able to happen. Take preventive action by securing your old car or truck. Guy Algar suggests, "Don't forget to look at precautions even at home. You may feel safe parking your ride in 'the safety' of your two van garage, but remember, even if you don't have windows where people can peer in and spot your sought after car, thieves can also follow you home from work, a cruise, or even the grocery store and approach a theft after surveilling your home and learning your schedule. If you have a ride that catches folks' attention, remember that it can also catch the wrong attention! "

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adiamondserpent · 7 years

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Vices | Mitchell & Scarlett

Scarlett Burroughs had always had a bit of a death wish - otherwise, how could she have lived the life she had and enjoyed every moment of it? Deadly upbringing, unhinged lovers, a psychotic husband, morally ambiguous choice of a career… Yes, she had always walked that thin line simply because it thrilled her, it made her feel distinctly alive - if it didn’t endanger her in some way, the woman was not interested. This was the reason why tonight her elbows rested on the cold iron-wrought railing that surrounded the rooftop and the surplus of people that filled it, a glass of fine crystal filled with whiskey dangling precariously between her fingers, the liquid swirling due to the lax, lazy way she held it, a petulant display of boredom. For a few futile moments, she entertained the idea of actually sitting on that same railing, with the panorama of New York City behind her back and a staggering sixty-floor drop below her - but it would be an entirely inappropriate thing to do given the setting. Somehow, it seemed that what was considered appropriate were bloated men in their sixties, those sleazy new money ones in ill-fitting suits, flirting with the young models that permeated this gala. Barely legal girls in short designer dresses they got in lieu of payment for walking down a runway - but that was okay, it’s not like they were allowed to eat anyway, at least not actual food. There really existed no words strong enough to describe the disgust that filled Scarlett at this sight, even more so when she realised she had come too early, that Smyslov wouldn’t be here until the last minute, when the elite gathered for an afterparty - a nice way to address the cattle fair where they sold those same girls and convinced them it would be their ticket to stardom. Where Smyslov is going, Scarlett mused, there won’t be any stars.

She had lost interest in her date about an hour ago, sent him to go blab whatever he was blabbing about to someone else, preferably far far away from her earshot. He had resisted at first - a young thing, certainly younger than her - he got it into his head somehow that she cared, that he was more to her than a rather pretty accessory to have and look at from time to time, use as a conversation starter. But the thing was, he was so much prettier with his pretty mouth shut and his hands off her waist, both of which he seemed incapable of doing, so she got rid of him while she could, sent him to play with all the pretty, empty-headed models he belonged to. Shame. Maybe if he wasn’t either too drunk or too high by the end of the night she could still make use of him. She leaned forward a bit, the loose curls of her deeply red hair scattering from her shoulders and falling forward to shield her profile and rock easily against the fresh breeze that played here amongst the tall skyscrapers. She had decided to keep it this way for a while, after the Halloween, because she also decided it fit her rather well, and the blood wasn’t as visible in it as it was in her natural hair - pure practicality. She brought the glass to her lips, and though the music in the background was loud, interrupted only by nondescript voices that blended with one another and disappeared into sporadic bursts of overly-feminine giggles, her senses were hardly impaired by the third glass of whiskey in her hand and she could sense an approaching presence. She still had a few moments until he was by her side, because it was definitely a he, and she mused for a split second that if this shadowy outline in her peripheral version was... Joel? Jake? Jo... it didn’t matter - that if it was him she could just down her drink and drag him in some dark corner of the rooftop and make him shut up - the nice way, not the way she usually preferred to shut up those that annoyed her. And if it were one of the drunken sleazebags that posed as gentlemen, she could just pretend she didn’t speak the language - she had done it several times in the past hour, from Russian to French to German.

As it turned out, it was neither, and she had no plan to set in motion in this case. She turned around slowly, few strands of her hair fluttering across her pale features when she leaned her lower back against that same railing, glass still in hand and eyes taking in the figure in front of her. If Scarlett was surprised to see his face (she certainly was), she hardly let it show - her features were arranged into that languid ease with which she regarded most things, or people for that matter - a mild quiver of a smirk in one corner of her lips, slightly asymmetrical, a lazy drag of her eyes across this new object of her attention, an eyebrow raised in something that might have been flirty had it not been so malicious. Yes, Scarlett always looked ready to devour whatever she set her eyes on, turn it to gold or tear it to sheds, and right now she was thoroughly enjoying that sudden spark of recognition in his pale eyes, a shadow of regret following soon after. “I suppose pretending I don’t speak the language to get rid of you would be futile, no?”, she drawled, shifting as she leaned backwards languidly, elbows now resting on the railing behind her and head cocked slightly to give off that vibe of a half-interested predator. “Oh, well... fine, you can stay. Now... I see that you’ve upgraded, haven’t you Clayton? Always had a vision of you in one of those... depraved, dimly-lit, dingy bars filled with people of... questionable morale. Wasn’t that your thing honey, all those years ago?”, her smile was all white teeth and bad intentions, “But I must admit, you fit right in with all the... well, take a look around. And I don’t mean the young, hot, empty-headed ones that all the cougars are stuck to.” Though in all fairness, in that suit, Scarlett could bet he drew a lot of attention to himself - not that she’d ever say so openly, he was arrogant enough without any aid. Always was. Only now he actually had a reason - which was annoying in itself. Her eyes returned from the crowd and back to him, “Though you look dreadfully stiff, you know. What’s wrong darling, not happy to see me? Oh come on, we both know how much you like to look when I’m in a tight dress, at least now you’ve got a better view.” An eyebrow was raised, albeit fleetingly, teasingly, as if to say - That’s right I saw that, I see everything - before Scarlett drew in a deep breath and felt the cold air passing through the narrowed vessels of her lungs, filling them up, making her suddenly yearn for something warm, something to take the edge off - she hated waiting like this, especially when she knew what would be the eventual outcome. Her fingers itched to feel something, and since it couldn’t be a blade yet, a cigarette would have to do. She was reaching for the clutch that lay on the tall table beside her when she asked, vaguely and entirely pro forma, “Mind if I smoke?”

@claytonsinquisitions

#lol what #is #this #what #I TOLD YOU THIS WASN'T A GOOD IDEA HAHAHA making me write a starter #-facepalm-#tw drug mention #Mitchell #Vices

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rohitkkumar · 3 years

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Madhuri Dixit, Shriram Nene, sons Arin and Ryan are rodeo-ready in family photo

Anyone ever had a younger man just take a liking to your wife? Surely some have, but I mean quite literally a guy who developed a serious crush on her. One who would have bathed a cougar if she asked? Well, my wife had such a fellow in her very recent life. He adored her. This infatuation was well within reason too.

https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/watch-out-onecoin-promoters-moyn-21630759

Now when I say a younger fellow, I mean that my wife was 39 and this young man was 22 at the time. She's not the type to take advantage of kindness and actually he's not the type who even knows he's going overboard for her, but it's so very obvious when he's always trying to please her in everything he does.

First of all he loves hanging out at our home because we never treated him any less because of his age. From the first time he met us, when he was nineteen, he just felt comfortable around us. His mother had been our neighbor for over seventeen years, but he had lived with his biological father until he was nineteen, moving in next door to be closer to the state university and to have more freedom.

From first sight, he was utterly in love with my wife, Kathy. Jack was a very intelligent fellow with a full-ride academic scholarship, but was a complete moron when it came to his love life. The funny thing is, if he had treated women as he treated my wife, they would have fallen at his feet. He was actually a rather handsome guy with an athletic build, but had been sheltered by his father and stepmother all his life. He didn't even go to his senior prom because his dad put so many restrictions on prom night; he felt it wasn't even worth the effort.

Over the few years he lived next door, he became very comfortable around us, and we with him; it was not uncommon for him to be lying on the couch in our basement watching TV when my wife or I got home from work.

Late one evening, around 1:30 AM, my wife and I finished watching a series of DVDs we had rented. We were both barely awake as the final movie was ending, when suddenly we heard a knock on the sliding glass doors leading from our bedroom to the back yard. My wife instantly panicked and rolled off onto the floor in just her panties, dragging the bedspread with her to cover her breasts.

I rolled in the opposite direction and grabbed my pepper spray from the night stand on my side of the bed. As I crept towards the door, I saw a silhouette of whom I was pretty sure was Jack. I barely plucked the blinds back and sure enough he gave a silly wave and smiled.

Kathy and I knew he had a big date this very evening, but wondered why at 2 AM he would be knocking on our door. As I slid the door open, he immediately began to apologize saying, "I'm so sorry to bug you, Mike, but I saw your lights on and, well, I'm locked out next door." I immediately told him to come in, and he glanced to his right seeing Kathy getting up off the floor with the bedspread tightly clutched to her chest. He again began to apologize for the intrusion.

Kathy began asking a flurry of questions, "Why would they lock you out? Don't you have a key? I thought you had a big date tonight? How'd that go?"

Being very comfortable with us he explained, "They locked me out because they are assholes. As far as my date, it went just like all the other disaster dates I've had recently... I didn't get laid."

Kathy chuckled and said, "If you keep thinking you're going to get laid on every first date, you're setting yourself up for disappointment, don'tcha think?"

He smiled and replied, "Well yes, but damn it, I'm 22 years old and have had sex four times in my life; and three of those were with the same chick, who insisted that I not only wear a condom, but that I take it very slow so as not to break the condom. Then when I finished, I was to be ultra careful not to even take the condom off unless I was five feet away from her because she said some of it might get on her... Now, does that sound like a wild and satisfying sex life to you?"

My wife and I looked at each other and grinned as if to say, "That was a little more information than we expected." Kathy jokingly said "Scoot over here; at least I can give you a hug." Keeping the blanket pulled close to her chest with one arm, she leaned over with her left arm and hugged him saying, "You have your whole life ahead of you stud-man, just stop trying so hard."

He chuckled replying, "Easy for you to say, you and Mike can bang each other ten times a day if you like."

She laughed and said, "Married people don't have sex ten times a month silly," as she jokingly rolled her eyes at me.

I could tell he had been drinking heavily for two reasons; one, I could smell it from across the room and two; he was in rare form, saying whatever was on his mind. We had known him for quite some time by this point though, so almost no topic was off limits and basically there was no subject we hadn't spoken to him about before.

Right out of the blue and in pure drunk fashion, he said "You know, I really do have enough common sense to know not to expect to get laid on every first date, at least with a decent chick, but I've not been really dating the most moral chicks in the state you know, and hell, I can't even get a hand job... even a simple hand job would at least keep my balls from aching, and she could still be pure as the driven snow."

I laughed and said, "I know it's late, but you're probably going to stay the night anyway, so let me get you a drink, I think you can use one." Actually I figured it might tire him out and he would want to go crash on the couch in the basement. Kathy just continued to laugh her hind end off at some of the things he was saying.

I walked to the kitchen and was gone approximately five minutes grabbing three glasses and a bottle of Crown Royal, and as I walked into the bedroom, I heard my wife explaining, "What in the name of good sense makes you think a hand job isn't sex; she would still feel like she was engaging in a sexual act, and feeling slutty."

He replied, "But I would be the only one getting off, and, well... Awe hell I don't know."

I set the bottle and glasses down on the dresser and jokingly said, "Are you trying to talk my wife into giving you that desperately needed hand job, you sneak, is that what I'm hearing?"

He laughed and replied, "Oh I'm sorry, Mike, we should have told you, our whole plan was to have you go to the kitchen for drinks while Kathy gave me a hand job... Thanks, Kathy, you made my night."

She laughed and said, "Oh you know me, I thought it was my female duty, felt sorry for ya."

I returned the joking sarcasm saying, "So basically if I had still been in there making frozen daiquiris, you might have gotten laid."

He laughed and replied, "You're the luckiest man I know, I would give both my feet to have that experience."

https://www.reddit.com/r/antiMLM/comments/j61kyr/this_has_to_be_an_mlm_right_befactor/

After thirty minutes or so, he began daring us to do shots, and my wife kept insisting that she had had plenty, reminding him that if he hadn't knocked on the door she would have been asleep by this time. After several more minutes my wife finally said, "Fine, fine, fine, pour the damn shots, just shut up about it already." She had already put down at least three double-shot mixed drinks, and I would know, I was pouring them. After several shots, my wife, along with what she had already drunk was quite buzzed. Jack was damn well getting hammered, but rather than getting more tired, it seemed he was becoming more and more awake.

At around 3:15 AM, he got back on the subject of, "Why can't a woman just give a guy a hand job on a first date?" I know this will sound insane to some people, but after having several drinks and shots, hearing it over and over and watching my beautiful wife lean into him innocently, I slowly began to fantasize about my wife giving him this coveted hand job he kept going on about. In fact, the more he spoke of it, the more I thought about it.

My wife kept giving him the same generic advice, when right out of the blue, and I will never forget this moment for the rest of my life, I said without a great deal of thought, "Enough about the hand job. Honey will you please give him the hand job so we can stop talking about it?"

There was a very odd five seconds of silence before my wife finally replied with her chin hanging down to the floor, "Um, what was that, Mr. Mike?"

I just kind of grinned and said, "What the hell just give the poor guy a hand job before he jumps off a bridge. Then we won't have to hear any more about it." She kept her mouth open the entire time I was speaking in an utterly shocked manner, almost as if waiting for the punch line as Jack sat there looking like a deer in the headlights.

Finally Jack said, "Oh shit, are you serious... Oh shit, oh my God, you need to stop teasing. You're kidding right?" My wife just kept staring at me almost the way someone does when they just heard a long joke and didn't quite get the punch line.

I immediately walked to the dresser and poured another shot for each of us, when Kathy finally said something. Still in shock and with a slight yet confused grin, she said sarcastically, "Oh my God, my husband has a few drinks and wants to watch me give a guy a hand job. I suppose if you pound a few more, maybe Jack can fuck me, how'd that be, husband?"

I calmly replied, "Oh calm down, don't you feel sorry for him just a little bit?"

She paused for a second and replied, "I feel sorry for starving children in Africa, but I haven't sold my home and shipped them the money yet." Meanwhile Jack is sitting there hanging on every word continuing to wonder if he was actually hearing what he was hearing.

I handed her the glass, and she continued to glare at me with a combination of pissed off, confused, and oh shit, all rolled into one. Jack, still sitting on the end of the bed at Kathy's feet, said, "I swear I wouldn't tell a soul, Oh my God, this would be so...."

Just before he could finish, Kathy said, "Jack, just shut the hell up... just, shut, up."

There was this uncomfortable fifteen seconds of silence that felt like thirty minutes. I just kept a mischievous smile on my face as she continued to stare at me. I could tell she still wasn't quite sure if it was a joke or what. Within an instant her expression changed from confused to, "Ok, I'll play along, but I still don't think you're serious." I think to her it became like a game of chicken, to see who would swerve first.

She turned and looked right at Jack pointing her finger in his face and said, "If I even get a smirk from a neighbor, a friend, or one of your buddies, you will never be welcome in this house again and I will tell everyone you are the biggest liar I have ever met." He kept completely still and wide eyed as she spoke, and after she was done laying down the law, he agreed profusely, and I must say he looked mortified.

My then wife looked at me and said, "Hand me a T-Shirt." I reached into one of her dresser drawers and quickly handed her a T-Shirt. As I handed it to her she just let the bedspread fall from her perfect breasts as if it was just me and her sister in the room, and slipped it over her head.

After she put the T-shirt on, she sat there and just stared at Jack with her eyebrows raised, saying nothing. Jack looked around glancing back and forth from me to her, in total confusion and terror. She finally asked, "Do you want to do this with your pants on?"

He nervously jumped up, and began muttering "Oh right, sorry, I just, well, yes, right..." mumbling away in pure babble. As he fumbled with his pants, my wife threw off the bedspread from her legs and scooted down to the end of the bed.

This was without a doubt the most erotic moment in my entire life, watching a 22 year old man taking off his pants between my wife's legs as she sat there with her hands on her knees waiting. As he stepped out of his pants, he immediately grabbed at both sides of his underwear and slid them down. His cock was so rigid he had to push the front of his briefs out past his cock to get them off, and as the band of his briefs hung up on the head of his cock, his erection slapped back against his stomach.

Kathy kind of chuckled and said, "Excited are we?"

He replied, "You really, really, have no idea."

My wife then put her hands over her face and slowly pulled them down and said, "I need just one more drink, and then we'll do this."

Jack immediately agreed saying, "Oh hell yes, me too." I think my wife was buying time to see if I would finally flinch, or tell her this was all a joke, but I didn't. I poured the drinks, giving Jack about half a shot and giving my wife a double. I handed it to her, and she immediately held her nose and gulped it down, freezing for about twenty seconds as if the slightest thing would have made her throw it up. Jack too threw his back making a similar liquor face.

As they were throwing back their shots, I couldn't help but notice that Jack's cock was maybe only a half-inch longer than mine and about as thick, but the head of his cock was unusually large. I mean it was very disproportionate from the rest of his cock. It looked like a good sized plum you might find in the produce section of the grocery store sitting on the end of his cock. His cock was standing straight up too, with a wet shiny smear around the tip and a clear drip of per-seminal fluid at the opening.

As he finally got his act together and, having thrown back the shot, he walked in front of my wife not knowing what the hell he was doing, and she just glanced at me for a brief second, took a deep breath, and rather reluctantly and slowly reached up and put her hand on his cock. When she grabbed it, the head of his cock oozed out a large drop of clear slick fluid and she immediately said, "Oh my God, look how much stuff is coming out of you."

He replied and nervously chuckled, "I told you, I desperately need this." As she began stroking slowly back and forth, she was spreading the slick pre-cum all over the length of his cock. Although she hadn't commented on it, I know she was amazed at the size of the head of his cock. Not more than thirty seconds into it, he asked in a very out of breath way, "Is it ok if I lie beside you while we do this?"

She said, "I guess," and scooted up onto the bed on her left side as he slowly moved and laid on his right side.

As he lay down beside her, he rolled slightly to his right side and my wife rolled to her left. Once again she reached and began stroking his cock with her right hand almost in a pulling motion. After only a few seconds he acted like he was positioning more to his right side, and as he did, he put his left hand on my wife's right hip and onto her panties. Neither of them knew but I had made my way down to a chair by the foot of the bed and had begun very slowly and inconspicuously stroking my cock underneath my pajama bottoms. Keep in mind this was all taking place within a span of only few minutes. As I kept stroking my cock I began to notice he kept leaning in as if he was trying to kiss her, when suddenly my wife looked up from staring at his cock and they began to kiss.

Only seconds into kissing, he slid his left hand down between my wife's legs, and by the time she grabbed his wrist as if to say, "No," he was already feeling her pussy through the crotch of her panties. I had no idea what to expect because, although she still held his wrist, he continued to rub the crotch of her panties. Meanwhile she had stopped stroking his cock. They continued to kiss as he went from gently rubbing the crotch of her panties to trying to get his fingers under the side of her panties. He fumbled for a few seconds and finally managed to get his fingers under. He instantly pushed his middle finger inside her pussy as far as he could get it.

I kept stroking my cock as I watched in a combination of shock and complete erotic ecstasy. As I stroked I had to stop every few seconds or I would have exploded in my pajamas. Every few seconds I could hear my wife exhale with a sharp but low, "AAHHHH," when he would thrust his middle finger in deeply. The entire sight was driving me out of my mind with eroticism. I watched for maybe another minute, and then had a moment of temporary insanity. I rose out of the chair, walked over to the foot of the bed, grabbed the waistband of my wife's panties, and began to pull them off of her. The entire time I was inching them off, they continued to kiss. Jack pulled his finger out of her and was helping scoot them off the opposite side under her ass. I could only imagine what was going through his mind.

As I got them halfway down her thighs I began to question why she wasn't saying or doing anything to stop me, but was so worked up I realized I was getting even more turned on because she wasn't. After I slid them down her beautiful legs and off her sexy feet, I made my way back to the chair at the foot of the bed. My excitement level was beyond any experience in my entire life. My hands were actually shaking. Before I had even sat down and put my hand down my pants, he once again was fingering her. I just knew Jack's nuts must be aching at this point with anticipation of the unknown.

He kept fingering her when suddenly he removed his finger from her pussy, and reached midway down her right thigh and pulled her leg over him as he scooted as close to her as he could. My wife still wasn't going along with the entire thing as much as he would have liked. I was sure he was trying to see if she might roll on top of him, but instead she had her right leg over him and he was rolled on his left side. They continued to kiss and with every second, he kept trying to scoot down further as if to angle himself to enter her, but again, she wasn't exactly making his life easy. In fact, I was thinking she was just teasing the hell out of him and perhaps still playing chicken with me.

Finally after about a minute, he had angled himself in such a way that he reached down and moved his cock to her crotch. The way they were lying, there was no way he could easily enter her. At one point he began barely pulling at her ass and slowly half thrusting his cock across the opening of her pussy. This went on for several minutes with him stopping suddenly on occasion, which I knew was to keep from shooting his load. I too had to abruptly stop stroking my cock many times or I too would have shot my load. The fluid leaking from the head of his cock kept smearing against my wife's inner thighs and pussy, so much that it looked like she had already been fucked by three guys.

He continued pulling at her ass trying to get any angle at all to put his cock in her, when at one point he reached over her ass and with his finger tips pushed the head of his cock against her slick pussy lips, and I just about passed out. In only a few seconds, I watched as the large head of his cock spread her pussy lips. As he kept pushing the head of his cock and thrusting his hips, it kept popping out, until at one point, he scooted maybe an inch further down, and this time when he pushed the head of his cock between her pussy lips, he slowly and carefully thrust his hips and I watched as my wife's pussy spread around the head of his cock until it stretched and finally enveloped it. They continued to kiss as he sat motionless for at least thirty seconds. I figured he thought he had worked so hard just getting the head of his cock in her he didn't want to end it with his worst nightmare at this point: a premature ejaculation.

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