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javier-pena · 4 months

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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bronx-bomber87 · 5 months

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Happy Weekend! How exciting we have a premiere date! Feb 20th. The light is at the end of the tunnel wonderful fandom. It’s beautiful and bright. I’m going to crank up to 3 reviews a week so I finish the week before s6 premieres. So this worked out nicely heh

Ahh this episode is another giant friggin work flirt. That competitive fire that drives one of their love languages is prominent af in this episode. Only they could take a shift apart and turn it into a flirtatious competition. The marriage vibes are extreme in this one in the best way ha Let’s get going.

4x06 Poetic Justice

We start off with Tim getting an assignment from Grey. He wants to get Jerry Mcgrady to retire. They’re running out of things to assign him to that aren’t a strain on him. Front desk he takes too much time telling stories. Even the kit room is becoming too much for him. So it’s Tim’s job today to have the ‘It's time to retire talk.’ Tim being Tim says it’ll be a piece of cake. Wanting to prove himself to Grey he can handle it no problem. That the tough conversations aren't an issue.

That if he doesn’t agree he can use his injury for an involuntary retirement. Cold Timothy. Cold. Tim makes it to the Kit Room and is instantly thawed. He is ready to hit him with the cold hard truth as he put it to Wade. Before he can Jerry gives him a load of praise right off that bat. It makes Tim stumble off the blocks super early. It's so sweet and genuine too. How could he not struggle after saying he's proud? I'm sure those are words he never got from his own old man.

Tim tries again and fails for a second time. It’s the way Jerry is looking at him. Tim can’t pull the trigger. Instead he invites him out to ride with him LOL Well done Tim baha This was not the plan at all my love. Tim Bradford is a softie and we all know it. Grey walks up asks how it went? Tim admits he faltered and he’s riding with him instead.... Grey is beaming. Knowing he wouldn't be as ruthless as he claimed in his office. Wade can’t help but give him crap on top of it. Asking what happened to the 'Cold hard truth?' Tim swears by end of day he’ll get him to retire. Mmhmm sure.

In the cold open Nolan and Harper arrested a man digging in a city park. He was following a treasure hunt riddle. With Tim swapping Lucy out for Jerry she is riding with Nolan. He hands her the riddle and she starts to decipher it. Lucy figures out the first clue and they go to the pier. When they roll up people are fighting. A young woman is killed by getting an ax to the chest. People are insane.

This is what brings it to the LAPD’s full attention since there is a casualty. They find out the author of the riddle is a previous criminal. He was apart of a robbery where he hid 2 million in gold coins. They never recovered them. So the city is losing it's collective mind trying to find it. They need to be the first to get it. Grey calls Lucy up cause she was the first to solve a clue. She is beaming as she makes her way up.

Let’s first admire the forearm porn we’re getting in this first gif. Man makes me so thirsty I need a glass of water. Arms-crossed Tim is one of my fav poses. Those glorious biceps popping out of those sleeves too. Whew lord. Anyway Lucy is so very excited to present her findings. How she got the clue she did. It’s adorable how proud she is of it. Look how Tim never takes his eyes off her the entire time. You know he loves when she analyzes and breaks things down.

Her intelligence is a turn on for him whether he wants to admit it or not. He can’t let anyone catch onto his admiration... So he calls her ‘Nerd.’ to make fun of her. Which fails because it comes off super flirty. Negating his idea to to tease her for her brain. It comes across as banter more than anything else. Fail Timothy big fat Fail. Your mouth is saying one thing. Your body language and intense gaze say another...

Jerry is a sweetheart and tells her not to let Tim shame her. It’s a great catch. This is why it's hard for anyone to have the retirement talk with him haha A kind station grandpa to them all. Lucy goes from being annoyed to thanking Jerry. Tim’s sly little smile when she does is so cute. You know he’s proud of her being in the spotlight. Sporting her brain but has to tease her. It's how they function haha They’re so cute I can not. Flirting once again for all of the station to see. It's truly a wonder they're in the dark about it.

I love this moment between Harper and Tim. I'm glad I had the room to add this in. She joins in with Lucy's train of thought for the rest of the poem. Flaunting her brain as well. Tim gives her a look wanting to make fun of her as well. Nyla is on it and dares him to call her a nerd too LOL The looks between them make me laugh so much. I love their teasing camaraderie. It's my favorite. It's how Harper and Lucy get paired up to decipher the rest of the clues. Nolan feels left out cause well it's Nolan. Like that kid picked last for dodgeball. Grey tells John if he asks nicely he's sure he can join them. SMH. Friggin Nolan ha.

The cuteness continues when Lucy asks if Tim and Jerry wanna be part of her task force? That she can make it happen haha She’s adorable and I can not stand it. Tim does what he does best battles back with a flirty tone. Trying to talk down about her ‘task force’. Saying old fashioned policing will get it done just fine for them.

Flirt more you two…oh wait they do. Ha Lucy offers up a bet she knows Tim won’t refuse. Because once again why deal with feelings when they can channel it through a work flirt instead? Honestly how Jerry could allow Tim to date his daughter after this display I couldn’t tell ya. It's so painfully obvious how into one another these two are.

They lay down the terms for the loser. Tim saying she has to be quiet an entire shift. Please Timothy like you really want that…but ok that’s your “reward” if you win. I mean it would drive her crazy not to talk so it’s not the worst pick. Lucy choses something way more apropos IMO. He would have to do something out of his comfort zone. Not only that but it’s her choice. Can only imagine what Lucy would've chosen. Something that would've been good for him I'm sure. Cause she's good like that. Her track record with him is solid.

Lucy's face is so smug from the minute she brings this bet up. So convinced she has this in the bag. Gah these two love a good competition and flirting it up a ton in the process. Like pre-get together foreplay for them haha They then start the worlds longest handshake to seal the deal. They once again are in their own world. Like Jerry isn't even there…

The best part is while they continue to work-flirt they're holding hands. They could've broken it off but nope. Basically holding hands while they fiercely flirt. The flirty competitiveness continues with their jabs. The poetry club shot from Tim. Her being sassy af about their 18 old case files. Saying how ‘easy’ that’ll be for them to crack. LMAO Shots fired. All the while still holding hands. Because the work flirting wasn’t enough of a bat-signal to everyone else. They continue to hold hands while doing so. Seriously Jerry couldn’t you see the man was already taken?

We return to Lucy still at the whiteboard with Harper/Nolan. She gets a text from Tim saying they had a big breakthrough. Lucy could not be more dejected and anxious for them to get their own. Nolan and Harper tell her to ignore Tim. He’s just trying to get into her head. Yeah that's what he does. He kinda lives there rent free and vice versa with this kind of stuff. Good luck getting her to listen to that advice haha She is far too wrapped up in this competition with Tim to have that clarity. She does eventually put her phone down though.

Her taking a phone break does help her focus a bit. Because once she does they have a breakthrough of their own. They’re headed to the Griffith Observatory. Lucy is vibrating with excitement over this. She’s more excited to tell Tim they got something more than anything else. It’s so funny and adorable. The commentary in the gifs above is hilarious.

They are legit just trying to solve this case. While Lucy gets amped that they're gonna catch up with Tim and Jerry. Harper and Nolan’s reaction to her is priceless in the second gif. Lucy is too caught up in her work flirt. Telling them before they go she has to text Tim first. Let him know they’re gonna kick his ass. Because priorities LMAO

The way they look at each other is the funniest part. First and foremost they didn’t ask to be apart of this flirty bet haha They’re in it just to solve a case. Second they’re thinking does she not see it? She has to see it right? We know she doesn’t baha If she does she’s pushing it down real hard since 4x01 and it’s coming out in other ways. I.e. this moment. It’s so funny how lost in her bet she is. Doesn’t notice their hilarious reactions at all. I’m dying haha.

Tim tries again to have a frank conversation with Jerry. Since it’s day 2 of him riding with him and he was supposed to retired by yesterday... Jerry looks at the file again while Tim tries to muster up the courage. It's then he has an epiphany. Says he knows where the gold is. Tim asks if he’s sure? Jerry replies absolutely.

Now Tim’s first thought isn’t yes we solved the case. Or they got redemption for Jerry and his friend who never found the coins. No it’s excitement he’s going to beat Lucy in a bet LOL Man is amped about beating her to it. Like a high he’s been chasing the entire episode. God I love this so much. Flirty idiots in love have no idea.

This next portion is their married moment of the episode. Lots of work flirts but this interaction is all married. They are so ridiculous and I love them for it. The trio have figured out where the treasure is through the poem. An underground subway system sitting beneath the city. One of the people that has been chasing this thing since the jump causes chaos once the trio arrive. He shoots the last person also going after it. He takes off Lucy and Harper leave Nolan with the wounded one so they can pursue him.

They find him and he starts running again. Out of nowhere Tim comes into the picture and uses that sexy forearm of his to clothes line the guy. Lucy is shocked and impressed all at the same time. Me too. *fans self* Asking how they got here so quickly? Tim tells them they were already down here. Lucy then asks if they found the treasure? Tim smirks and says they’re gonna find out. Walks them over to a hole with a suitcase in it.

The final competitive flirting begins. Tim immediately claiming victory for him and Jerry. Because that suitcase is holding the missing gold. Nyla fights him on it though. Saying they would’ve been here first, but they had a police matter to deal with. Tim scoffs and tells them good job but they still won LOL The absolute sass coming off this man.

Lucy backs Harper in agreement and doesn’t let Tim battle back. Sassy return fire with her cocky smirk. Then the ladies just decide it’s a tie LMAO That Tim gets no say in the matter. I love their body posture mirroring one another in this moment. Lucy leans towards Tim then Tim does the same when he's upset it's considered a tie.

I saw someone call Tim ‘Sargent Sore Loser’ for a parallel of this moment hahaha it’s pretty apt when he loses to his wife. I love it sfm. Lucy waving by then pointing at herself as they walk off is amazing. It's hilarious. It's decided it's over and there is nothing he can do about it. Their flirting was off the charts in this episode. It was wild. Their string of work flirts continue on. One of the themes of S4. It makes me so happy.

I do love this next part with Jerry. It’s very sweet. It shows Tim’s wonderful heart. He went into this trying to prove he could handle the rough convos. That he could dispatch people with the cold hard truth. When it came to it his empathy won out. I truly believe he’s always been a sensitive empathetic person. It's been at his core this whole time.

Talked about this before. Just got lost in the shuffle of everything he went through with Isabel. Lucy reawakened that part of him. Now he taps into it like he does anything else. That heart of his let Jerry go out in a much better way. It’s why he thanks Tim for it. He knew what was coming and appreciated Tim for indulging him one last time. It's so sweet I might have a cavity.

Jerry's send off is equally as lovely at the station. Ashley is there to help celebrate his retirement. They all do their radio tribute that is beautiful to watch tbh. Once everyone clears Tim ends up asking Ashley out. (boo) She says yes and he smiles BUT it was most definitely not a 'Lucy smile.' No one compares at all. It’s unreal how by a smile you can tell when it’s Lucy driven and when it’s not. This for sure was not. So ends another ep. Such a good one for them.

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

The introduction to Ashley….how I dislike her so….just gotta make it to 5x05 and she’ll be gone LOL Was around longer than she should’ve been but we’ll get into when we hit s5 heh Also I’ll add more of why I don’t like her as the season progress in this rewatch. There is a reason he dates her IMO which I will also go over at some point as well.

I love any and all Lucy and Harper scenes we get . This one had loads. Amazing how they've bonded over the last 2 seasons. I love it so much. Them working on the riddle together at Lucy's place over beers. My heart. Watching them working this case together brings me joy. Hopefully we get more of this in s6. I need more Nyla/Lucy in my life.

Thank you forever and always to those who like, comment and reblog these reviews. You all make me so happy ❤️ See you all in 4x07 :)

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florallylly · 3 months

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at the request of absolutely nobody, i present my vaguely fleshed out steddie mummy au

sources: i still own the mummy on vhs

there’s a possibility that the whole story of hamunaptra could be tweaked a bit to fit the story of henry creel/vecna/one into imhotep’s story, but the actual nitty gritty doesn’t matter as much as the actual dynamics and relationships between stobin and eddie. the important part is that a man is cursed to be buried alive, immortal but destined to awaken only to take vengeance.

fast forward and eddie munson ends up drafted into the military. (rick is apart of the french foreign legion stationed in egypt, and i’m not entirely sure how he manages it but eddie munson is apparently a colonel). things happen and eddie finds himself running away from the battlefield, only to stumble upon the ruins of hamunaptra. except they aren’t really ruins and hamunaptra is a myth. so he runs, but when he gets back to the city, alone and half dead, eddie finds that in his rush to leave, he’s grabbed some sort of puzzle box.

at the same time, one robin buckley has dedicated her life to learning more about ancient egypt. her passion for languages led her down a rabbit hole, and she drags her brother steve to egypt with her for further study.

robin is set up with a job at a small museum, working as an archivist. unfortunately, it’s a lot more tedious than she anticipated. it would be a lot better if she could work with steve, but forgetting his glasses at home nearly everyday isn’t super helpful when it comes to trying to sort books.

so what is steve doing in egypt, you may ask? evie’s brother jonathan in the movie literally schlepped around egypt fucking around with his sister and figuring out his next get rich scheme. steve isn’t really the type to open up his own nightclub in shanghai (a la the mummy: tomb of the dragon emperor), but just like jonathan, steve happens to stumble across a cryptex containing a map of the lost city of hamunaptra.

as an aside: i see steve doing the same minimum wage jobs he did in hawkins, just in egypt. i think it would be funny and makes so much more sense to me than him kind of skulking around for news of possible treasure. (bonus: the party in egypt, and dustin coming up to steve with a “brand new discovery” and it’s eddie’s puzzle box that he’s swiped. (THOUGH NOTE: evie and jonathan’s family is Rich. Rich Loaded. Rich Loaded British. So honestly, he doesn’t even have to work)

either way, when robin opens the cryptex and finds the map, she’s astonished. this is what she’s dreamed of her whole life—being an explorer and discovering lost civilizations. so she gets steve to find out where the puzzle box came from. his search leads them to the prison, where eddie munson is destined for execution.

the two of them talk to eddie, and eddie tells robin he’s seen hamunaptra in person. he’s been there. he’s walked the same sand that pharaohs had and seen the ruins that no other have laid their hands on. but eddie refuses to tell them the location, but steve convinces (bribes) the warden to let him go.

so the three of them set off to the city of the dead.

the details of the trip would make this post way too long, but i’m thinking about dynamics rn…

eddie is a little standoffish at first, sure that these rich kids won’t be able to handle themselves, and he’ll be stuck carting around two spoiled brats. and robin and steve don’t necessarily trust him. robin is wide eyed and blinded by eddie’s knowledge of hamunaptra, but steve keeps trying to keep her in check.

at first, eddie thinks steve is cold to him because of some upstairs/downstairs prejudice or big brother protectiveness. and eddie flirts even harder with robin, delighted every time he sees a scowl on steve’s face. even if robin keeps rolling her eyes and ignoring him, he isn’t looking at her anyways. he’s too busy searching steve’s eyes for some spark of disapproval. he doesn’t see that though. he sees worry and concern and fear. and that’s when eddie starts warming up to them.

#steddie #steve harrington #stobin #eddie munson #robin buckley #the mummy au #okay i could go through the entire trilogy #or i could take the bare bones concept and run with it #tbh i have so many different plotlines for a potential mummy au/crossover with stobin #NOTE the stobin is SO important in this #tbh in terms of plot lines robin is jonathan and steve is evie #but in terms of Character backstory robin is evie and steve is jonathan #bc steve is so much more honed in in canon #while robin IS a bit of comic relief #and sorry but eddie munson rick parallels are insane....#guy with good intentions and morals gets imprisoned only to be saved by someone he considers the antithesis of himself #falling in love with someone unexpected while on a life threatening mission

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all-risejd · 8 months

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Chapter 20: Tilted Dimensions 2

Another crossover with After Shine

From the outside, Tilted Dimensions didn’t look that much different from the other buildings on its block back in Tampa, Florida. Seeing the weathered blue sign, with black lettering, white accents around the letters, in Cincinnati, Ohio, however made Danika pause. The building looks exactly the same, from the mismatched brick that sat over the painted blue sign, to the large windows that opened the front to sunlight, and the white metal chairs and tables out front. She pulls her phone out and quickly texts Finn to let him know she was now running late, and would be picking up donuts. Looking around the cold city that was threatening snow, she tucked her scarf a bit tighter and hurried across the street.

Tommy was behind the bar, his usual barista uniform on, with his tried and true black beanie on his head, and a crooked smile on his face, “Ms. Danika.” He grinned, “Good to see you, Ms. Nessa beat you here.” He pointed her toward a corner booth, where Nessa was in fact sitting. Danika looks at her watch, it's barely ten in the morning, she assumes it's going to be another hour visit, so she sets her watch to time them. Tommy calls after her, “I’ll bring you a drink, and some pastries.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” She mutters back, already sliding into the booth across from Nessa. Danika has gifts for the slightly older woman, having started carrying them around since the last time they saw one another. She slid her messenger bag into the booth against the wall and shot Nessa a big smile, “What the fuck happened to your hair? How have you been? Tell me the drama.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, her eyebrows dancing.

-/-

Nessa looks up from her hot chocolate when Danika slides into the seat across from her, asking a million questions. She sips her drink and wipes the whip cream off her lip before answering strategically, “I wanted to match the colors of the group, I was standing out too much. I have been adapting… They know who my ex is, we have talked and I told Angie and Aalyah and it went well. We are now all just getting harassed by them to have children…” Nessa’s leg bounces up and down rapidly and she begins to chew on her nails again.

“I’m fairly sure Rey is terrified at the concept of us adding children to the melting pot at this moment…” Danika exhales, as Tommy approaches with her White Chocolate Mocha and what looks like a pile of cookies. Nessa immediately grabs one, when Tommy is close enough, as Danika continues to talk, “So, the ex, he must be in the Industry if you're worried about it.” Danika doesn’t phrase it like a question, knowing the answer to a point, Tommy settles both down and heads away, Danika sips her drink, smiling at the warmth.

“I’m not so worried about that, I'm processing that trauma and am never alone when in an arena or event… Yes he is in the company, not just the industry. I know they would never let anything happen. Hunter……. Well I have issues with him but he at leasts is investigating the allegations from others especially since I have now told him but ….. I would love to hit him with his sledgehammer right now.”

“I know where that is in the vault, if you’d like directions.” Danika grins warmly, “Met Scrap Daddy yet?”

Nessa smirks, trying to hide it behind another drink of her hot chocolate. “The Scrappiest of Daddies. Yes and apparently I earned his respect when I said I’d go for his job when he implied I wasn’t a real wrestler. Oh yeah I’m training heavy on it right now. We have had some incidents because of Jefe. And with what I just found out… if it gets out… I’m screwed”

“Ohhh, earned it. I just demanded it.” Danika’s smile is one of mischief, “Although I’m pretty sure either of us could competently do Scrap’s job… no one is a real wrestler in the beginning, that’s why it’s called pro-wrestling, you have to become a professional, and to do that you have to be given a chance, did you hook up with those girls I told you about? And Jefe incidents for you are probably about as fun as Angie incidents for me, and whatever you just found out we can compare to Dominik got arrested at Christmas and spent many nights in jail.” Danika said it all in one go, then realized Nessa probably would prefer it if she didn’t drop bombs and rapidly talk.

“Uh well I demanded more training from Hunter who gave in too easily and now I know why. Asuka, Zelina and Indi are currently training me as well as our lovely partners. Like you, I now have many marks on my neck to keep covered. Courtesy of mainly Luis and Dems. Dom leaves his marks below the collar. After we returned from a week off to help Dems I was all… marked up and had it covered but people saw before it was covered and Jefe made Zelina go off script and hold me down wiping off the makeup… DOMINIK MISSED CHRISTMAS!... Yeah that beats my thing, we don't even need to bring it up. Are you ok! How are the kids?” Nessa rapidly asks when she processes the last thing Danika said.

“We are talking about your ex in the company and the thing you got blindsided by, we aren’t cruising by that. However, for now, I’ll explain.” Danika grabs a cookie and bites into it savagely, “Angie called the real police to a kayfabe story.” Danika pauses to grab another cookie to brutalize as Nessa whispers bitch. “The whole household was fucking messy. Like - it was Jace and Angel’s first Christmas with us, and Dom was so upset he missed it, and like he got hurt, not badly, but bad enough.” Danika pauses, thinking again, “Fergal was amazing through it all, and Luis came to the rescue, we borrowed The Bella's cabin in Canada, and AJ is no longer even remotely associated with us, he got injured, and is out. Uh, oh - oh - Rey and Dom made up after everything, and Rey is maybe flirting too close to the sun with Liv.” Danika’s on her fourth cookie.

Nessa munches on the cookies like she is eating popcorn watching a telenovela and nodding along proudly when she hears about AJ’s injury and non association but chokes on the cookie hearing about Jefe and Liv. Tom appears and sets down a glass of water in front of Nessa and pats her back before walking off again. Danika waits for her to recover, before adding the juicy bit of information, “He touched the butt on live TV, Nes, the butt.” Danika’s pitch is scandalized and a bit worried. Nessa begins to giggle uncontrollably once she stops choking.Sobering up Danika offers, “They are good together, like… I hate to say it but they really do seem to find comfort in each other, and if it makes Jefe happy, it makes us happy. Aalyah is a bit, uh, grossed out sometimes, Dom I think is proud that Jefe’s still got it.”

“As gross as that is, I get it. Angie and Jefe are arguing he wants to disown Dom until he comes back but she isn’t having it. She actually said that all of the Judgement Day are now her kids and any kid by any of them are her grandchildren. We can’t go a day without being harassed about grandchildren.” Nessa jokes and looks out the windows nervously before yawning. “Sorry it’s late here. We just finished Backlash and I’m in Puerto Rico so we got that out of the way early.” Nessa shrugs and eats another cookie.

“It’s early for me,” Danika admits, “It’s January sixteenth, Jefe has pretty much adopted Fergie, Luis, and Dems.” Danika admits, “Angie keeps tabs on us through Vickie, uh, Vickie Guerrero, I’m not sure how close your Dom is with Vic or the Guerrero girls, la familia.” For a moment Danika is silent then, “Did you get to meet Luis’ family? In Puerto Rico? He hasn’t let me meet his familia, I’m meeting Kevin Nash instead, he’s basically his wrestling daddy, other than Scott Hall, who I met as a teenager, but can’t meet again…” Nessa winces hearing his name and shoves a whole cookie in her mouth to buy some time. “Oh shit, please tell me Kevin Nash is not your psycho ex!” Danika almost lunges over the table to grab at Nessa’s hands in worry. Nessa rapidly shakes her head and continues chewing on the cookie, crumbs falling on the table, Nessa fighting back a gag while trying to swallow the cookie.

Danika visibly relaxes, then her brain catches up, “Wait a moment, what issue have you got with Nash, he’s pretty daddy as far as I know, like his old school gimmick was Big Daddy Diesel, and let me tell you, he’s big, he’s daddy energy, and he looks like he is super cuddly.” Danika ticks the things off like a research report.

Nessa gags, sticking her tongue out and dry heaves at the thoughts Danika is putting in her head. She collects herself long enough to take a sip of water and gasps a few more times to get her breathing right again. “No Luis did not want us to meet his family yet….” Nessa just ignores the Kevin sized elephant in the room.

Danika is a patient person, with those she loves, honestly, but, “What's the Kevin Issue, it’s that or the ex. We learned last time we don’t get to leave once the door shuts until we talk about everything. Not that I want to leave you but with the hour limit I’d like to get the icky stuff out of the way and then start the fun, like the gifts I brought you…” She pouts a little bit.

Nessa gasps and holds out her hands making a grabby motion and pouts wanting the gifts right away.

“Good girls get gifts, that’s what Luis taught me, you're not being very good now are you.” Danika counters.

“Hey no domming without informed consent you aren't my Dom so knock it off… Please,” Nessa pouts harder.

Danika rolls her eyes, her Dominik and this Nessa are cut from the same baby girl cloth, seriously. “Fine.” She says evenly, “You can have one gift for one question.” A smirk lights up her face, “Whatever your issue with Nash is, the sooner you tell me the sooner we can figure it out, and I’ll even let you choose which gift you unwrap first.” It’s a slight manipulation and tiny powerplay, but Danika’s worried about Nessa. “And you still haven’t told me about the hair, like did you just do it or did you get permission… asking for a friend. .”

“Danika, while I appreciate a good bribe, I don’t appreciate manipulations. I have dealt with that too much. That being said. I just did it. Remember I have control over my style…” Nessa holds out a hand expectantly for one of her gifts since she answered a question.

“Sorry, I guess I’m used to leveraging things to get what I want, growing up the not-daughter daughter of Rey Myesterio does that to a girl, but… good on you for defending yourself. I forgot how your contract is massively different from mine,” Danika pauses, thinking, “Would you like the Damo, Dominik, Rhea, or Finn gift, ooooor the one I brought just for you?”

“Dominik gift please…” Nessa bats her eyelashes, her hand still outstretched.

“I wish you were in my world, you're precious and I’d keep you.” Danika turns to dig through the bag, producing a simple blue and gold wrapped square, she hands it off with a smile, waiting for Nessa to tear it open so she can explain the gift. Nessa gently unwraps it like she is trying to save the wrapper, but really she is trying to annoy Danika who pushed her buttons. Danika has never met another person who takes care in unwrapping to Angie-Mysterio levels, but apparently Nessa does, as someone who has spent many Christmas’ waiting, she just sighs and sits back, watching.

Nessa sees that Danika is not reacting the way she expected so she just pouts and finishes unwrapping it seeing a picture of Eddie and Dominik. “That was taken a month before Eddie died, it’s the last time they spent any time together. It was a Guerrero party, not that that’s important, but there is only one other copy of it in my world, and I had to get Vickie to make copies. My Dom didn’t have it, and I’m pretty sure your Dom doesn’t, so, if you ever wanna make him cry big tears… now you can.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Well if I want to make him cry bitch baby tears I can just tell him I am pregnant.” Nessa gingerly runs her finger over the photograph and sets it down on the table with care, far away from any beverage or melted chocolate.

“Does Dom not want children, or would he be so happy he’d cry? I feel like there is a joke in there I’m missing, somewhere.” Danika hums, already looking for Tommy to bring her another drink.

“Yes, before he decided to be an imbecile and dump me, we were trying for a baby. When I realized he wasn’t coming back I got an IUD. Now we are back together and with the others and Ma just keeps hounding us about when we are going to try again. But I’m like we are still learning each other, it’s not the right time and she is all like ‘two of you are well past the age of when you should have had children so get started ’blah blah blah’.” Nessa bemoans, plopping back in the booth and crossing her arms.

Tommy comes back, placing a cup of tea in front of Nessa who looks up and thanks him and takes a sip, happy it is the perfect temperature. He also settles another White Chocolate Mocha in front of Danika who blows him a kiss in thanks before gazing at Nessa, “I, uh, I’m going off birth control, I haven’t really talked to the others about it, but it makes me icky.”

“I have an appointment next month to get mine out. It is causing me pain, like, constantly. Though I am all for starting a family, but idk how the others besides Damian feels and maybe Dom. It is something we all agreed has to be agreed by all because big decisions are a group decision and that is one of the biggest decisions. I talked to Luis about it and he has talked to the others but they haven’t talked to me and I am waiting on that. Though I should tell you what Luis said to Angie when she was harassing them over the phone,” Nessa smiles, thinking that Danika forgot about the other issue.

“You can tell me what Luis said, but I still wanna know what your issues with Daddy Kevin are and the ex. Then I can tell you more of my current problems.” Danika offers, sliding a blood red gift toward Nessa, this one is the one that Danika had wrapped while thinking of Rhea, and Nessa.

“You are the most infuriating woman…” Nessa complains then continues, “I am paraphrasing because he said it in Spanish and you know how the translations go, he started with I then changed to we…” Nessa blushes and watches for Danika’s reaction before continuing, Danika to her credit only hums, curious. “We would love to give you grandchildren, as many as possible and that she would make a perfect grandma… I almost went to the bathroom to rip out the IUD myself at that point.”

“You are not the first person to call me infuriating, at this point I just count it as flirting.” Danika settles back and thinks about what Nessa said, then, “Angie is a good Abuela.” She offers diplomatically. “Now, about that thing with Daddy Diesel.” At this point Danika is just teasing her, a smile pulling on her lips, “Are you going to open the box or not.” She hums, and pushes the red wrapped gift at her again.

Nessa’s eye twitches but she grabs the gift and unwraps it normally seeing a shirt with Rhea Ripley before she was Rhea Ripley. The image of the young girl is one hundred percent Demi Bennet, with long blonde hair, and an innocent smile, the girl there hadn’t been chewed up by WWE yet, hadn’t found herself, and her power. Instead the young blonde beaming up at her was pure joy. The shirt was cropped just below Rhea’s trunks, with BENNET across the back shoulders. “That was Rhea’s first Merchandise ever made, like for the Indie Circuit, she had others made that were more popular, but we have to share it, because as far as I know it’s the only one in existence.”

Nessa squeals and hugs the shirt to her chest. “Oh my god I love it. I would wear it on Raw if I could, but I am going to wear it next time we go on a date. Oh I can’t wait to see her face!” Nessa plans and taps her feet excitedly under the table. She continues hugging it to her chest and takes a deep breath. “Hunter gave me such a good contract because he knows my father,” Nessa admits and continues, “They are like best friends and I was kind of ambushed after the show. The others don’t know I just freaked out and texted them I was going on a walk and probably to a coffee shop since I knew I needed to vent and calm down I’d probably find this place here since it is like the TARDIS and going where I need it to go.”

“If Hunter is close with your dad that limits who your dad could be - uh XPac? Shawn? Road Dog? Billy Gun? Oh, wait, fuck, Nash is your father!” Danika looked at her with wide eyes, grabbing a cookie for herself, “Jesus, fuck, Dios, do you exist in my world?” She wonders aloud, head tilted back thinking hard.

“Yeahhhh… Come to find out my Dad, the one that was abusive growing up knew and that was why he did it. Though he wouldn’t grant the Get… the divorce, the Rabbi had to force it by convening a rabbinical court and issuing a decree because even getting shunned he wouldn’t give her the Get. Until someone beat some sense into him literally…” Nessa’s eyes widen a realization coming to her but she continues, “Nash paid for everything, even my nursing school. I am just blindsided by this and don’t know how to go forward or even tell the others…” Nessa sips her tea.

“Your step-dad sounds like a fucking asshole, good on the Rabbi who saw the need though. Kevin is about as subtle as a brick, so I’m going to guess he just dropped that shit on you, with no preface. If your Luis has a relationship with Nash, go through him, Nash and Hall, uh, Scott Hall, were big influences in Luis’ persona as a wrestler, and he loves them both very much. Knowing that Nash is your father he could help facilitate you two meeting in a favorable way, probably not at his house, his wife is grieving a son, still.” Danika leaned into the table a bit more subdued.

“I think that is part of the reason why he is reaching out now. One he has learned about my past, things Mom didn’t tell him and he was worried when he saw the marks. And two as a way to heal himself and earn forgiveness for the slight he views that he did against me. He doesn’t want to lose his last child I guess and I can’t hold that against him… But why now, why not before, or when I turned 18… or even after the divorce.” Nessa’s eyes fill with tears and she sniffles, using her sleeve to wipe her nose then eyes.

Danika slides out of her side of the booth, and carefully joins Nessa, to hug her and help her clean her face off, “Kevin has his demons, all wrestlers do from his generation, and hell, our generation. I have a feeling Kevin kept his distance to protect you. It’s not easy to be in a wrestling family, I’m not blood, but the adoption made me a Nepo baby. There is a lot of like… negativity that comes with being one of their children, everyone deals with it differently. I made my own brand, and… oh, shit you don’t know.” Danika looks at her carefully, “I worked with Impact, first, then AEW, I still have a ghost contract with them, and now I’m signed to WWE. I was never not going to be in the business, Kevin might have thought he was giving you an out…” She offered, sadly.

“That's what I am afraid of. Hunter didn’t know when I first applied which is why it got ignored. But when Rey came with the idea and pictures he knew and was on board. I am a Nepo baby, and when - not if - it gets out. I’m realistic, it will get out eventually and it is going to be so bad.” Nessa taps the table with her finger, other things still on her mind. “Other things are bugging you or you wouldn’t be here either. Let's take a break from me please.”

Danika hums, “Fair enough, uh, so… the biggest thing I’m dealing with is the fact that Shelton Benjamin is an absolute piece of shit and did this interview with Logan Paul, I think I mentioned he’s one of my best friends, either way he tried to like steer this whole narrative about how Demi and Luis are abusing us, and like…” She exhales sharply, Nessa grabs her hand to lend support, “So, the thing is, Fergie has barely accepted who we are to one another, let alone admit that he’s happy with us, and Vero, uh, Fergie’s soon to be ex-wife, has been on the warpath lately, so… both of them are pushing these shitty narratives about our dynamics, and I want to pitch this idea to Hunter and Scrap Daddy about me and Damo both being with Finn…”

“Well yes do it, I love that so much. OH yeah Scrap Daddy told me and Luis to be more affectionate on camera even though I just like started and we are barely just now dating but ok no problem. He held me and touched the butt on TV like your Jefe with Liv. And that is so gross about Shelton Benjamin, did the interview air? How are you going to deal with that?”

“So far Logan is holding the interview from airing, he wants us to talk about it and do an interview with him before it airs, if it ever airs, he might end up cutting snippets out of it, we aren’t sure. As far as dealing with it, next time I see that bastard I’m going to throw ring dust in his eyes.” She grinned violently, “The only other thing I’m panicking about is Buddy and Aalyah’s marriage, which I’m sure they will want me to plan.” She exhales bothered.

“Wedding planning is hard love, you do so much for everyone you need a break from what I hear from you.” Nessa nudges Danika’s side and sips her drink again.

“You know while I agree with you, I’m the only one of us with a formal manager, TJ Wilson - he’s married to Nattie, pretty sure in every single universe.” Danika grabs her own drink and sips it, “I have a vacation planned, I’m going to Dems in a couple weeks, then she’s going on to Australia with Jace and Lainey.” Danika offers. Then studying Nessa for a moment, she leaned over the paper to snag a black wrapped box, that was larger than the other two, and passed it to Nessa, “This is for Damo.” She grabs another cookie.

Nessa rips the paper off like a little kid and laughs seeing it is a replica of the 1960’s batmobile and that it is an RC car. “Oh he is going to love this. So, the plan is to go back with these gifts like I spent the time getting these ready for them because I can’t sneak all this back in the hotel room for a later date” Nessa halfway seriously asks, trying to control herself from opening the box and playing with the car. Their time is limited.

“I think we can probably play with the car a little bit, I’ve been dying to. I bought Luis one in my world, and it’s wrapped to give to him as a surprise. I mean, you can trade bags with me, I fit them all in my messenger bag?” Danika offers, unsure.

“I didn’t bring a bag, I literally ran out of the arena.” Nessa looks at her apologetically.

“Well shit.” Danika mutters, then looks toward the counter, “Maybe Tommy can help?” The man does not appear when summoned, “Maybe he’s like BeetleGuise and you have to say his name like three times? Chant it backwards, write it in blood, promise your first born-” Before she can get that out, he appears disgruntled, holding out a large brown paper bag with Tilted Dimensions across the front, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” She sasses as she grabs it.

“Thank you Theta,” Nessa smiles at him and throws her arms up in success when he shushes her. “Take me with youuuuuu.” She whines and lays her head on the table as he walks away.

Danika snorts, hard. “Now about that ex?” She prompts, “I still have two more things for you.”

“It’s JD McDonough, we, uh, were together for a few years when we met at a live show I went to on a whim. As always it started out great but quickly went bad very bad. My saving grace was when he got signed to NXT in 2017 I refused to move with him because I found out I was pregnant and wanted to stay near my mom and with my job that had good benefits. That went about as well as you expect.” Nessa stares ahead, getting trapped in the memory, her hand resting on her stomach.

“I take it, the baby didn’t make it.” Danika’s voice is soft, “I lost a baby between the twins and Angel.” She offers, seriously, “It takes forever to heal, emotionally.” She adds, reflective, “And he’s in NXT in my world, actually semi-friendly with Fergal.”

Nessa comes back to the present with a hm before processing what Danika said. “Yeah, about a month after. I told him we were over, never told him about the baby and the distance helped. Dom, Dom really helped me with that, and the hospital mandated therapy. Sometimes it is still so raw but, I was, I am ready for the next chapter and to try with them. Finn, he was the most vocal in his defense when another woman spoke up, but I know Dom would never willingly associate with someone who is ok with that type of person. Finn apologized to me a few days after he found out who. The problem is JD has since been drafted to Raw with the rest of us. Which is why I am never alone.”

Danika tosses an arm around Nessa, snuggling into her, as she pushes the last two gifts at her, one is wrapped in some sort of Irish themed paper the other in deep purple. “I’m glad you found Dom. I’m glad you found your way back to Dom.” She amends, then, “I’m glad you found them, your Judgment Day.” Danika considers what Nessa said about Finn, before adding, “Fergie has changed so much in his time with us, I’m fairly sure he can’t stand the thought of AJ or JD anymore, but we haven’t had the chance to interact with JD, yet. I’m sure it won’t go well, you should talk to Hunter about him, I know it’s scary, but Hunter is one of the biggest protectors of the women's locker room, a part of me thinks it because of how dirty he treated Chyna towards the end, but I have no concrete proof.”

“I… I’m not exactly happy with him, but I think he knows and has a plan up his sleeve. We were in his office after the Zelina/Jefe incident and Damo brought it up and I kinda froze. Hunter then started sending a barrage of texts, some I assume to Nash, the rest to others. Now that I think about it the Usos and Roman have been lurking a lot as well as Ava and others in the locker room…” Nessa realizes as she speaks, “Ohhh he is laying a trap”

“Hunter finds his hands tied by the board a lot more than I think he wants them to be, but he’s clever, sneaky to a point, if he’s got a plan, then you have nothing to worry about. I don’t say this about many men, but you can trust him, and if you get a chance to know TJ, you can trust him too. The Bloodline tends to help me keep up with my kids on the road, not going to lie, Tio Roman is a fan favorite with my kids.”

“Roman is a sweetheart, so afraid of his cancer coming back is always up my ass for a checkup. And …. Fuck he knows about Nash!. Am I the last person to know…!” Nessa realizes when thinking about their past interactions. “He always asked about my dad and how my childhood was, I thought he was just curious. Sneaky fucker.”

“Roman Reigns is never just curious.” Danika snickers, “It’s good he has you, Nes.” Danika offers, with a smile, “Someone who can tell him and he trusts to keep it under wraps. I help him plan shit, from time to time. We sort of are angling for a tentative truce with them, so that’ll be fun kayfabe wise. As far as you being the last to know about your dad, I doubt it. Nash traveled with Kishi, uh Rikishi, Roman’s uncle, I’d imagine the Attitude Boys and Divas know, but the youngbloods and new kids probably don’t.”

“Well that makes sense.” Nessa comments and eats another cookie.

“Hey, not to one hundred degree change the topics, but you gotta open these and next time if you are more comfortable with your training I can teach you my finisher.” Danika smiles almost evilly.

“Oh I would love that… Please. I learned Zelina’s DDT. I can’t do the Riptide even if I tried.” Nessa agrees and opens the present clearly meant for Finn, inside is a lego set that both girls know he’s been looking for (he’d started looking in late 2018 and had yet to track it down, it is something he bemoans from time to time). The Old Trafford, Manchester United Stadium lego set in pristine condition in Nessa’s hands had to cost Danika a fortune, and if she was giving Nessa one, that meant Danika had found two. Nessa sits there shocked and in awe. “You didn’t have to do that, this is too much… shit.” Nessa forces out, guilt setting in that she didn’t bring anything for Danika, she was too in her feelings.

“From personal experience the RipTide is a bitch to take.” Danika for a moment looked traumatized, “I’m going to assume by your face that your Finn has also been after this.” Danika taps the box. “Hey, he really wants it, trust me. And I’m not trying to be mean, but judging by our previous discussion on job history, and money, I sort of… assumed that we could agree money isn’t an issue for me, and although this set is rather expensive, Finn in every world deserves it.” The way Danika says Finn’s name is twisted with love and a bit of bitter pain.

“Ok spill what is wrong with your Finn?” Nessa asks, hearing the twinge in Danika’s voice.

“My Fergie keeps running away. Like, we all told him how we felt about him - and it’s all of us, like Dom suggested we just hold him down and kiss him, but consent is sexy ok, so that obviously didn’t happen.” Danika frowned, “Vero really fucked his head up.” She settled on, “Or maybe all his previous relationships did, I don’t know. What I do know is he seems to think he is unlovable and broken, and just… bleah.” She whined, “Jefe keeps handing him Twizzlers like that will just make it all better, Dom likes those more than anything, but Finn keeps giving them to Dom and Liv - because apparently Finn likes red vines, and Dios, that was word vomit, oops.” Danika giggled awkwardly.

“My Dom likes them too, honestly they are a part of foreplay through aftercare with him.” Nessa smirks, enjoying the payback from earlier as Danika wrenches loudly, obviously bothered.

“Please never tell me what the Twizzlers do.” Danika dropped her forehead onto the table letting out an exasperated noise, “Ewwww. I’m never going to eat another Twizzler offered to me from Liv’s bra again.”

“Ohhh Twizzlers in a bra I’mma start doing that and eating them while I valet the matches!” Nessa exclaims, excited by the idea.

“Well they are never cold.” Danika offered, unbothered, still face down. “And you never know when you need a snack.” She adds, almost giggling, before raising up to look at Nessa again, “Open that one, it’s yours.” Nessa rips it open, tossing the paper behind her and seeing a small brown leather journal, “It’s a recipe book, I put some of everyones favorites in, and then some that I know other superstars like, since I do a bit of like a YouTube cooking channel, if you ever need to befriend Bianca, her favorite Japanese meal is in there.” Danika offers when Nessa doesn’t immediately say anything, “And you mentioned you liked to cook, I have uh, three of these, the journals come from Barnes and Noble…”

“Oh thank you, this is going to help so much!” Nessa starts flipping through the first couple pages and seeing annotations about who they are for and good times for the meals.

“I might have cornered Becky Lynch at some point to find out what Fergie’s favorite foods are, and I got Buddy and uh Bronson Reed - he’s a meatball, let me know when you’ve met him - to tell me normal Austrailian celebration dishes, and then I talked Zelina into giving me traditional Puerto Rican food, which was a whole issue because she hates me…” Danika offers, smiling softly.

“Well she can get over herself.” Nessa responds to the Zelina-comment.

“I get why she hates me, though.” Danika sighs, “She has this misconception that I’m appropriating culture.”

“How, you were literally adopted and raised in that… wow your Zelina had issues.”

“I don’t think she sees it as me being raised in the culture.” Danika shrugs, “I mean at some point we are going to have to talk about, especially with Creative pushing Edge toward re-starting the LWO, but… right now we sort of just avoid each other. I think she dislikes my relationship with Damian, too, but I don’t really get it, she isn’t throwing nearly as much heat behind the scenes at Demi who is publicly only dating a Latino, ahem Dominik, too.” Danika shrugs again, “My Zelina has a lot of issues, I’ll agree. I’m glad yours is better.”

“Mine is trying to teach me Spanish so I can speak it and not just understand it… but it isn’t sticking lol like I can’t pull the words from my brain to translate to spanish. But she is patient with that, not with training. She is kicking my ass but I am all the better for it.” Nessa bites into another cookie and continues talking while chewing to see Danika’s reaction.

“It is admittedly hard to learn a language the older you get. Picking up Japanese when I was seventeen was a bitch. Oh, did your Luis do Ring of Honor too? If so, he totally knows Japanese…” Danika smiles warmly, then adds, “I could suggest some tricks for picking up the Spanish so you're more fluent?” Danika thinks for a moment, “So, uh this next question is hopefully not going to be super disrespectful… So when I joined the Gutiérrez family I was questionably Southern Baptist, naturally I converted to Catholicisim, specifically the Americanized version of Roman Catholicism… with Nash as your father… like isn’t Judisim passed through the parents, like don’t both your parents have to be Jewish for you to be considered… I dunno, worthy? Are you still allowed to be Jewish?” The last little bit comes out in a rush, Danika likes knowing more about different religions in general, but her upbringing (in both households) has left her with a bit less time to study them.

“Oh it doesn’t matter who the father is, it's all to do with the mother. If the mother is Jewish then so is the child. Is the simplest way to describe it. Next time I can explain more since we have more things to cover right now” Nessa waves her hand dismissively.

Danika shoots her a relieved smile, glad that her lack of knowledge didn’t blunder their friendship, considering she’d already sort of been bad. “That’s good. I lowkey can’t wait to hear about you and Nash bonding.” Nessa looks at her warily,

“I don’t know about that. He had a lot of time to come forward after the divorce like I said. And 8 years after I turned 18. I don’t know how much bonding we can really do… Do you think when we have kids I can raise them Jewish at the very least teach them of their heritage. I know Dom, Luis and Finn are catholic and Rhea is Christian oh this is gonna be a problem isn’t it.” Nessa plops her head down on the table repeatedly, the thunking filling the small cafe.

“Uh, my Dems is Catholic coded, but - I don’t think you will have a problem.” Danika waves her off, “Let me see, when Dom and I had the twins, we did traditional familia names from his side of the family, but but he let me have them both baptized in the Catholic way and the Southern Baptist way, no offense to the Catholics, I’m not sure what throwing some Holy Water at an infant does, best to just dunk them completely under and wash the sins of the parents off early…” She mutters the last part, sounding a bit like Angie and Rey. Shaking her head she adds, “I don’t know how much you know about Nash’s son, the one he lost, but Tristian struggled with Alcoholism, during his sobriety journey, which… I might be off a bit but probably a lot of that after you were eighteen time, Nash was focused on getting his son sober, and the sobriety fucking killed him, like it was a seizure brought on by his body pushing back on the lack of alcohol.” Danika explains evenly, “Rey, my Rey, was so broken open, for him, we all prayed for Kev and his wife, Tamara.”

“So you mean to say I’ve lost both brothers to drugs and alcohol then, and I guess I get it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. My whole world has been turned upside down, and what if this gets out… I’m supposed to have my first match soonish…..” Another look of realization crosses Nessa’s face, “Son of a Bitch”.

“Which son of a bitch are we cursing now, beebs?” Danika grabs for another cookie. “If it’s Tio Adam, er, Edge, then we can curse him and wish for a child to be named after him in the Jewish sense, not the Catholic sense.”

“No it's Cody’s ass, he knew and before his match with Finn came up to me and said that we, this new generation needs to stick together. He fucking knows and gave me his and his wifes number.” Nessa explains.

“Oh, I’d been meaning to ask if you’d met Cody. He trained me at the Nightmare Factory.” Danika beams for a moment, then, “Dusty knew Kev, so does Dustin - Cody’s older brother, they are pretty tight even with Dustin in AEW.” Danika offers, “So Cody probably thought you knew by the sounds of it. Him and Brandi are good people, you should know I’m biased because our kids are friends, but they both love wrestling, and both are very devoted to the children of past Wrestlers.”

Nessa sips her tea, “Well I think it is clear to him now I didn’t know, we, that being our lovely idiots jokes about my dad not being my dad and mom having some explaining to do.” Nessa sighs heavily. “I have to talk to Kevin don’t I?”

“Not to be that person, but yeah, you absolutely do. Nessa Nash has a hell of a ring to it. I mean, as far as ring names. It’s probably cooler than Danika Mysterio.” Danika offers, attempting to cheer her up, “And as far as having a parent in the business, Nash is probably one of the better ones. He got his life sorted, and together. He’s not… he’s not a bad man.” Danika offers, reassuringly, “If anything, he’s been misunderstood for a long time. It could frankly be worse, could you imagine being the love child of Chyna and Hunter? The Industry wouldn’t know how to handle that, just… trust the other legacies, they can guide you through how to be a legacy without being super Charolett about it, or like Cody about it where he’s obsessively in love with his father’s fame to the point he wants to finish his father’s story.” Danika thinks for a moment, “Maybe don’t trust Edge though, he likes stepping on legacies to get what he wants, other than recent stuff, just the whole fake-married-to-Vickie-Guerrero bit after Eddie’s death should be enough warning.” Danika devours her cookie with a sad look.

“Well I’ve not had a run in with him thankfully. I guess after Raw I’ll meet up with Kevin with one of the group, maybe Dom. I need someone who isn’t really close to him to be my support and the way you describe Luis and Kevin's relationship makes me worried Luis will try to push a bond. Dom would be squarely on my side that I know. But wouldn’t Luis be hurt if I didn't choose him? As for the other legacies, I think I will, we know Roman knows and already supports me… the bastard, and I guess I'll do that.”

“Dom is your best bet, Demi is a huge fan of Nash, and Fergie is friendly with him, they’ve worked together in the past.” Danika thinks about her question in regards to Luis, “I think Luis would ultimately understand, you just have to be open and explain it to him - you aren’t sure if you're ready to have a real relationship with Nash, and you don’t want Luis to be negatively impacted if something goes wrong between the pair of you. If Roman knows about your relationship to Nash you can bet the twins and Solo do too, so don’t let that catch you off guard, and probably Heyman as well.” Danika reminds.

“Well I know the twins know, they were dropping hints when I did their checkups before Backlash. I honestly think all the legacies know or figured it out…”

“They too are about as subtle as a brick to the face.” Danika hums. “No one really talks about this outside of the Industry but there are two classes of wrestlers, born wrestlers like the legacies who tell each other everything even if they don’t like each other and those who fought their way in. Through adoption I get the legacy flag, just like you get it through Nash. There is a division, and it sucks, no matter how hard you try to shake it off, but you're probably right. One legacy knows, and they all do, and their spouses.” Danika offers, sadly, “So, quick question, our worlds tend to be similar enough, how bad is it when Edge restarts the LWO, like is Rey heartbroken? Does Chavo Guerrero have shit to say? How does Dominik handle it?”

“Oh Jefe started it after Dom betrayed him, Dom is hurt and Edge is MIA since Wrestlemania. Chavo from what I hear is not happy with it either. And he has been in constant contact with Dom.” Nessa starts fiddling with the plate of cookies, unsure if she wants to grab another.

“I’m sorry, fucking what? Rey hated LWO when he was bullied into it the first time, why in the fucking world would he have restarted what he saw as a discrimination group against most wrestlers, that were by and large the answer to NWO without ever being able to handle the fucking…” Danika’s rant tapers off, and is replaced by a bit of giggling. “Oh god…” She trails off, “Chavo must be pissed in your world, he always felt like Eddie replaced him with Rey, and your Rey just fucking…” Danika’s laughter is getting louder and louder, sides shaking a bit, “That is… that is so… Oh I wish I could tell the others.” She finishes, giggling harder. Nessa can’t help it but starts giggling as well at how absurd it all is.

“I pray Jefe comes around, if he doesn’t it will just Kill Dom.” Nessa softly says out loud once the giggles die down.

“Dominik is a lot stronger than most people give him credit for, we both know that. My Dominik had to discover that his real father was Eddie, that Angie cheated on Rey, and that Angie blamed Rey for her infidelity, and that her hatred of one act of perceived kindness from Eddie has now caused her to regret Dominik… Your Rey, while a bastard, doesn’t sound like he’s taken it to that level, just yet. Even with him being worried about your marks, he’s still Jefe, still trying to protect, he just can’t understand yet.” Danika, sobering up from her giggles, admits, “Rey wants to restart the Filthy Animals, as a secondary stable to our Judgment Day, his own nod to Konnan.”

“I wish I had your Jefe,” Nessa groans, “I could tell him and not Angie that I am getting my IUD out.”

“Oh, Madre is gonna want them babies.” Danika teases.

“She is already harassing us about it, and Benito. Hunter dropped hints as well. LIke damn give us some time to figure things out please. I may have had sex with Dom but I don’t think we are back to that… yet…”

“When the time is right, the time is right.” Danika shrugs her shoulders, “Angie was livid when Dominik and I first got pregnant. She wanted us to get married. Not happening, we both agreed we wanted to marry for love, and now that we are a polycule like… marriage is hard.”

“Marriage is hard normally, I think it is hilarious we are talking about kids and not marriage, but something might come up in the future. You know, thank you for making me feel better, I feel more grounded. Who knows maybe next time I will be pregnant…” Nessa jokes, the wish clearly in her voice.

“I will do my solid best to bring Angel next time I see this place, so you can cuddle a half Dominik baby.” Danika promises. “And if you want to be pregnant, then do it, your career isn’t wrestling, you told me that yourself. With women like Maryse getting storylines while pregnant I’m sure you can too.” Danika adds, “In my AEW contract, and my WWE contract, I have a stipulation that guarantees if I am injured or otherwise unable to compete I get to be a manager or I get to be an assistant to the GM.” She flashes a predatory smile, “I worked my ass off to get those assurances.”

“That is a good idea, I think I am going to read over my contract again. Knowing Jefe he might have done something like that knowing him and Ma.” Nessa taps her chin.

“The caveat to that, for me anyways, is that I don’t get to have a creative say in my hair or clothing or my characterization.” Danika shrugs.

“Yet I have that for the most part. I’m just lucky I'm in a story with Luis and we are all actually together. Like last Monday in kayfabe, Benito called me a whore after hitting me with the kendo stick. Poor thing felt so bad after and then proceeded to harass me for nieces and nephews again.” Nessa hums thinking, before adding, “Apparently we are going for a love square between me, Dems, Dom and Damo. I don’t think that will work… Oh shit yeah we just blew past your Finn problems. Honestly you might just have to sit him down and go hey we love you like we love each other and just reiterate how much you love him and that he is worthy. It's like the negative you hear it enough you believe it but this time with positives” Nessa glances at the clock, frowning as she realizes that time has gotten away from them again and they have less than ten minutes until the hour is up.

“I wish I could say we hadn’t already thought about that in the case of Fergie.” Danika tracked Nessa’s gaze, and sighed, “Ten minute warning, huh, doesn’t Tommy normally-” Her sentence trailed off as the man himself reappeared from the back with new drinks for them both, a bag for Nessa, and two different delicately wrapped pastry boxes. “Hey, Sergeant Tom, while I’ve got you here,” Danika snagged his wrist, batting her lashes up at him, “Next time, instead of a kitchen back there, think we can have a wrestling ring?”

The man gave her an exasperated look, “Contrary to you're believes, Ms. Danika, this is not the Room of Requirement, from Harry Potter.” That made Danika snort, “However, there are things that… just like myself, will appear when they are needed.” He gave her a wink, before he looked to Nessa, “I hope you enjoyed your visit, Ms. Nessa.” With that he wiggled out of Danika’s grip and headed for the back.

“You know, I still don’t know if he’s the TARDIS or if this building is the TARDIS…” Danika mumbled under her breath, before sliding out of the bench seat, she’d slid into so she could hug Nessa, she stretched her arms above her head, before moving to lean against the opposite side of the booth, stretching again, popping her back and shoulders before rolling her neck just right, the crackling noises made her grin and hum contentedly before she slid into her side of the booth again, “So, now we have eight minutes.” She offers, looking at her watch, “I don’t think goodbyes are going to get any easier.”

"No, I don't think so. I wish we existed in the same universe so we didn't have to meet only when things go to shit. I think when I get back to the hotel I'll tell them as a group about Kev." Nessa looks at Danika sadly.

Danika tried to give her a reassuring smile, “I’m sure Kevin Nash won’t be the hurdle you think he is. I’ll talk with the others and figure out how to prove to Finn that we love him, and want him for more than just sex… although I imagine the sex is going to be delicious…” Danika trails off, clearly thinking about Finn, his abs, and the implications of getting him naked in her bed.

"OH THAT REMINDS ME!" Nessa startles the other woman with her shout, making Danika shrink away, her hands instinctively coming up to her ears, it’s the first time Nessa has seen any of the scars she assumed Danika had from her upbringing, frankly it's a different sort of unsettling with how Danika presents herself, charismatic and larger than life. Nessa blushes and continues this time quieter, "So they came back after Dom and I did the bing bing and of course Damo was pouty. But Dems said we both want her under us soon and Finn said all of us."

Danika relaxes and rolls her eyes, “Who wouldn’t want one of us in their beds, honestly. We are a whole meal… Did you just call sex bing bing?” A smile pulls at her lips, before she’s giggling again, “Bing bing… That is… you're my official favorite human.”

Nessa blushes harder at the praise and tries to defend herself,"it's less vulgar than the other words and .. well… shut up" Nessa tries to hide her face, even though the older of the two it’s clear she’s more modest and respectful about certain things.

Danika snickers hard, “Vulgar is a fun word,” Then adds, “I’m not sure what our idiots call it, but unless they are being romantic about it, I think we universally just call it fucking around. Not important, we are running out of time.” Danika pouts, “So, you are headed back to the hotel and are going to talk to your idiots about Nash - I’m going back to Ohio to talk convince Fergie that we really do love him, and then I’m going to squish Shelton Benjamin and Vero Rodriguez under my killer heels.” She wiggled her eyebrows elaborately, and pretended to squish the napkin on the table with her fist.

"Yes and I'll keep the boys from catching a case on JD as well. Now that I think about itIi have to add Kevin to that list…" Nessa realizes as Danika nods along empathetically - over protective father figures can be the worst, even if they are only doing what their hearts demand.

Tommy cleared his throat from behind the counter, “Not to rush you ladies, but…” He tapped the clock ticking on the counter, they had under three minutes.

“And yet you will.” Danika levels him with a rather unimpressed look, before sliding out of her side of the booth, grabbing her bag, and moving to help Nessa stack all of her gifts together so they can muscle them into the large bag Tommy had brought Nessa, settling the box of pastries on top of the gifts. “So… obviously, we needn’t try to find this place, it finds us.” She offers meekly. Tears sting at her eyes, she’s never been particularly good at goodbyes.

"Hey Tommy, will it find us for good stuff too, not just the bad?" Nessa asks, tears pricking her eyes as well, pulling Danika into a tight hug. Danika hugs back just as tightly, squishing her face into Nessa’s neck, the older girl taller than her this time.

Tommy smirks, “That is completely up to the pair of you, and what your hearts need.” He taps the clock again, the minute ticking down. “Go on now.” He offers a bit sternly.

"I'll go first since I got here first," Nessa offers walking to the door, sadly not wanting to leave her friend. Danika watches her push out, and disappear from the front view of the coffee shop, for all intents and purposes, Nessa is now lost to her until the universes collide again.

“Hey, Tommy, what happens if we…” Danika turns to find him gone, “For fucksake, someone someday is going to answer the question: what happens if we leave together.” She huffs, before slamming out the door herself, scarf kicking up around her shoulders.

-/- Nessa deflates as she steps onto the sidewalk and turns around, the coffee shop no longer there, in its place was a plain brick wall. The street is abandoned save for a few people walking the opposite way down the street. She is thankful the street is well lit and she can see the hotel just a block away. She checks her phone to see only one missed call and a text from each of her partners responding to her initial text asking for some time alone to walk. She sends a quick message to the group chat, “We need to talk about Hunter just told me, I’m almost back.” sending that message opened the floodgates and her phone blew up with messages asking if she was ok and what happened to make her run out of the arena. She hugs the strap of the bag closer to herself, careful to not crush the pastries that she is going to use to bribe the others, ducking her head a bit as she takes off walking.

-/-

A light dusting of snow has landed on the sidewalk as Danika presses back out into the crisp air. She cradles the pastries closer to her chest, before taking a few steps away from the ringing bell. She looks back, amused to see that Tilted Dimensions has vanished, in its place a stone gray painted building sat vacant with a For Sale sign tacked on the window. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her lips as she makes her way back to the travel bus, darting across traffic, more than eager to meet Kevin Nash now. He might not have a daughter in this universe, but she and her kids could fill in some of the holes in his heart - if he’d let her. Her heart turned sad at the thought of Finn’s little broken gaze lately, shaking the thought from her head, Nessa was right, they (Luis, Demi, Dom, and her) had to fight for him, he was more than worth it.

-/-

Nessa enters the front lobby of the hotel and goes straight to the receptionist, a sheepish look on her face.

“Excuse me miss. I’m sorry but I lost my card to my room 512, booked under the name Martinez.” Nessa informs the young woman behind the counter. The young woman with the name tag Taylor, tosses her bright red hair behind her shoulder and giggles.

“Not the first wrestler to lose their card tonight. Here you go” She activates a new card and slides it over. Nessa thankfully grabs it and holds it in her hand, her other one still holding the box of pastries. She goes to the stairs wanting to delay as much as possible not wanting to have this conversation. Five minutes later she is in front of the hotel room she shares with her partners trying to ready herself for the fussing that is about to come and the answers she is about to give. She swipes the key card and enters the room, averting her gaze and closing the door behind her. There is a silence in the room, everyone waiting for Nessa’s lead. She heads over to the bed where Dominik is sitting next to Rhea, Finn and Damian sitting opposite them. Nessa sits beside dominik, resting the messenger bag in her lap, the box of pastries on top. Her gaze still staring at the brown carpet of the hotel.

Rhea clears her throat, deciding to break the silence, “We are glad you are safe. Your text earlier worried us. Now will you tell us what had you rushing out of the arena alone at night in an unfamiliar place where you can’t really speak the language?” Rhea softly chides, her worry showing through her voice and Nessa looks up, her hands trembling as she holds out the pastry box. Rhea reaches over Dominik and grabs the box, placing it on the bed beside her. Dominik grabbing Nessa’s hand, rubbing circles into the back of it. Nessa swallows thickly, the knot in her stomach reforming.

“Uh,... I… Uh. Hunter had Kevin in the office… He uh…” Nessa sighs, slumping against Dominik, struggling to find the words.

“Did you get fined?” Finn asks, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Nessa shakes her head. “No, uh Kevin needed to talk with me….. Um… I… The betting board was right….” Nessa manages to get out, hoping they catch on quickly.

“The betting…. OH… OH A Chroí i am so sorry.” Finn realizes first and slides off the bed getting to his knees in front of Nessa, resting his hands on her knees, squeezing them to try to offer some comfort.

“What, that you are secretly a…. Oh that isn’t what had the most tallys when we went in” Damian begins to joke, the realization making his heart break for Nessa. Seeing her in such turmoil and being unable to help making him feel so useless.

“He uh, Kevin… he is…” Nessa stutters, struggling more to tell her partners, people she loves than when she told Danika. With Danika it didn’t feel so real but to say it out loud now makes it all too real.

“Kevin is what, what about the betting board?” Dominik asks, clearly confused. “Dom” Rhea softly calls his name, her tone telling him to stop. Nessa takes a deep shaky breath and swallows again.

“Kevinnashismyfatherandidontknowhowtohandlethis” Nessa blurts out, staring at the wall behind Damian and squeezing Dominiks hand a little harder. Finn gently grabs Nessa’s face to have her look at him, his eyes scanning her face.

“Say that again but slower. We don’t know how to help you if we don’t know what is wrong.” Finn soothes, his accent helping ground Nessa who nods her head, his hands following the movements as they are resting on her cheeks.

“The locker room was right, my mother… had a relationship with Kevin Nash who is my father and I don’t know how to process this” Nessa sniffles. Finn uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears that escaped before standing up, pulling Nessa up momentarily and taking her spot on the bed and pulling her onto his lap. Her messenger bag placed back on her lap.

“First Nes, I think you should talk to your mother, explain what you were told and get her side. I’m sure she has a good …” Rhea begins to try to defend Nessa’s mother but Nessa interrupts her.

“She did, he was an abusive asshole to her and then to me up until she left him. Just my luck i fell into a similar situation before Dom.” Dominik squeezes her hand and gives her a soft smile when she glances over at him. She continues on, telling them what Kevin told her before she ran out of the arena. Nessa fiddles with the flap of the bag waiting on their reactions, glancing at their faces which are a mix of pity and understanding and curiosity. Damian who is still sitting opposite Nessa is the first to speak again.

“I still think it is a good idea to talk to your mother, she would have some good insight as to what you should do next and maybe why he just now told you at 26. I also think that you should talk to Kevin. By the sounds of it you ran out of the arena without hearing him out.” Damian offers his thoughts and grabs Nessa’s hand, his chest tightening at the betrayed look she is giving him.

“I know you are close to him and look up to him and can offer me insight to him as a person but he just dropped the bomb, no lead up, flipping everything I know about my life on its head. I need you on my side in this to help me, not to push what might help someone else.” Nessa explains, trying to pull her hand back from Damian but he won’t let go. He sighs and takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding,

“I am on your side in this, we all are and want what is best for you. I think we can all agree that at least talking to him, hearing him out once you have had time to calm down and think it through yourself will help you decide how to go forward. I promise you I will not push you to something you don’t want. If you say no the topic is dropped. I’ll even offer this Mariposa, Dom is clearly your comfort, your person, your safe space. Take him when you talk to Kev.” Damian offers, pulling her hand to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Nessa lets out a sigh of relief,

“Thats what my friend Danika thought I should do. Get your insight on Kevin and take Dom when I talk to him. Oh she also helped me find some gifts for you guys, well for me and you.” Nessa takes both her hands back, wiping the snot from under her nose and flipping the flap of the bag over. She pulls out Rhea’s shirt first handing it to her. “This is a loan of sorts, I promised we would share this shirt with her, but she figured you’d appreciate seeing it again. She is a big fan of yours” Nessa winks at Rhea who takes the shirt so gingerly Nessa thinks Rhea is afraid to rip the shirt. Treating it like a delicate antique.

“Well when you see her next thank her for me. This is actually very sweet.” Rhea smiles, setting the shirt on the bed, all of them watching what Nessa will pull out next. She pulls out the replica batman car and hands it to Damian, Finn eyeing it with Jealousy.

“Thank you Mariposa, and thank Danika whoever she is. Also, please understand if you don’t want to talk to him that is your decision and I will support it.” Damian promises, setting the box on the bed beside him, keeping a hand on the box. Nessa sighs and rests her hands on top of the messenger bag and looks Damian in his eyes.

“Damian, I know you will support it on the surface, but deep down you would want me to talk to him and at least have some sort of relationship with him. I know that you see him as a type of father figure, at least in the industry. And that is ok Luis. But thank you for trying to push your feelings aside for this.” Nessa softly calls him out but her tone holds no malice, only understanding. Damian relaxes seeing Nessa isn’t upset with him just the situation. Nessa clears her throat and gets off of Finns lap and reaches into the bag again this time pulling out the lego set and handing it to Finn whose eyes light up.

“Oh this is way better than the batmobile thank you, i’ve been looking for this everywhere! You have to tell me how much this cost your friend so i can pay her back it must have cost a fortune.” Finn turns the box over in his hands, looking like a kid at christmas and glancing at Nessa.

“She said there will be no payback. Money is no issue for her and she wanted to do something nice for her friend by treating her partners. She is the only other person I know in a relationship like ours so she is really helping me navigate things.” Nessa explains, her hand in the bag, the picture in her gentle grip, knowing this next one will be bittersweet.

“Dom, this one I don’t know how she found it but she has connections and called in a favor with a distant family member.” Nessa explains pulling out the photo of him and Eddie and handing it to him. “She thought you should have it.” Dominik takes the picture in one hand, the other tracing around Eddies figure, tears welling up in his eyes before spilling over. The grief of missing him coming to the surface. Rhea wraps both arms around him, pulling him to her chest and running her fingers through his hair. “Eddie would be so proud of the man you have become.” Nessa sits back down this time next to Dominik, resting her head on his back, wrapping her arms around around them while they allow Dominik to cry, getting out his hurt and pain of missing is Tio Eddie.

“He would be so mad at how I am treating my dad” Dominik sniffles and Nessa scoffs as does Damian.

“He would be pissed at what Oscar has done to you and Nes. Would have whooped his ass over it actually.” Damian points out, lightly tapping Dominiks foot with his own. “He also would have dragged you back to Nessa by your ear and pulled both of you to a chapel to get married.”

“I don’t know how he would have taken this” Dominik gestures between all of them and Nessa giggles. “A little of oscar, a little of pride and I think he would have accepted us like your mom did” The others making noises of agreement. Bringing up Angie brought another thought to her head that she tables for later, knowing this moment is not the time to bring it up.

“Look, it’s late and we have had a very taxing day and we have to catch a flight super early tomorrow to be in Florida so we can stay at Dems before Raw. So lets go to bed. Things will be better in the morning after we sleep.” Damian suggests, parroting something his mother told him throughout his childhood that rarely failed. No one disagrees, but no one makes a move from where they are sitting, Dominik still sandwiched between Rhea and Nessa, holding the picture of him and Eddie. Finn caressing the box of Legos and Damian looking at the four of them with a mixture of adoration and annoyance, yet again he is going to have to be the adult.

“Get ready for bed, Now” He orders, putting more timbre in his voice which gets the others moving, scattering around the room like cockroaches, grumbling about him Domming them until he clears his throat and they continue in silence not wanting to earn a punishment that night.

#dominik mysterio fanfiction #the judgment day fanfic #damian priest fanfic #finn balor fanfiction #rhea ripley fanfiction #poly judgement day

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 7 days

Text

Arbutus: Ignis Scientia x Reader

Arbutus flowers were tightly wrapped in gentle and clean wrapping paper, a silver ribbon delicately tied into a simple bow as a card dangled from the knot. The folded paper read the same as it always had whenever he would send flowers. His careful and magnificent cursive spiraled across the small white canvas to spell out a small story that could make a movie last weeks from the amount of care he poured into writing those few words he writes every time he does this.

‘I will be back soon, I promise. With love ~ Ignis.’

Carefully unraveling the ribbon, I took the new flowers and replaced them with the already wilted ones he had sent two weeks prior. All arbutus flowers, all gentle pastel colors, all fresh and smelling straight from the florist. It all meant the same, it all meant the exact same thing every time he sends me flowers time and time again. It was like purgatory, like the story of Sisyphus: A goal was in front of me - right in front of my eyes - but fate simply dragged me away no matter how much I had pleaded for fate to unhand me from her cold and unloving grip.

He was right there, miles away in the lit up Citadel working his life away like he has been doing for years. This was his only way of communicating with me, letting me know he still cares enough to send me flowers, letting me know he still hasn’t forgotten about me or my undying love and care to him. But this love was nothing but torture as I was unable to communicate back as he was always busy, never having time to answer my calls or messages as he had either just entered a meeting or was being questioned by a royal official or he had just left on a hunt for a daemon terrorizing the streets of the new Insomnia.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair how I couldn’t say something back to him. My only proof to show that I still loved him, that I still care for him, was to keep the arbutus flowers for as long as I can until he sends me another fresh bouquet. That was the only way I could prove it to him and fate herself.

Peering out of the large window, my eyes landed on the Citadel, gluing my sights to the large building and watching as the building stood still and towered over everything.

That was where he was working non-stop for the past two years. He had to stay there as soon as Noctis went missing and darkness plagued everything. He had a job to do, people to protect, papers to file and a city to run. He didn’t need any more distractions which is what kept me from going to the Citadel myself as I feared I would make things worse.

Feeling my chest tighten, I let out a soft sigh as I turned around and wandered around the apartment. It was lonely in the cavity I had once called home with him until he was placed back into the line of duty. It just seemed… hollow without him here.

My fingers gently pressed against the leather chair that Ignis had claimed for himself. My nails dug into the beige seams while my thumb stroked the dark brown leather that had laid unused ever since he left. It hasn’t been used or moved ever since he left for his work. I didn’t dare sit in it.

Pulling my hand away, I wandered around a bit more as I observed the walls and made eye contact with pictures and portraits of Ignis and I along with photographs of our adventures until my eyes stopped on the fireplace.

I had just gone into one big circle as I was now standing next to Ignis’ chair once more, staring at the fireplace - which had not served its purpose for awhile - as my eyes stilled on the portrait hanging above the bricks. It was our wedding photo, dusty and unkempt which hid most of our faces and bodies.

How long had it been since I cleaned it?

Reaching up, my fingers slid under the dusty silver border and gently tugged it down. As I brushed my fingers along the dust, I made sure I could see Ignis’ face past the dusty glass causing my heart to ache.

He was smiling with tears brimming his eyes and his nose turning a light pink. I remembered that day: He was so emotional that day. It was the first and only time I have ever seen Ignis cry from… just him in love and in happiness.

My throat tightened and tears had brimmed my own eyes the more I had cleaned the portrait until I had realized I was sobbing silently when my tears started to smack against the clean glass.

Wiping away my tears and finishing up, I tried to calm down. I left the portrait on the coffee table and made my ways over to the back of the living room to where the records and wine were kept.

My fingers weaved to the knob, one hand pulled the door open gently and slipped the fingers around a bottle of unopened red wine while my other hand flipped through the records. It was mostly classical and jazz with a few old rock records from the seventies and eighties. Eyeing the record player not to far away, I slipped a hand down into a random record case and pulled out the disc before making my ways over to the object. Sweet music filled the quiet void of the apartment as soon as I set the needle down, classical tunes and harmonies dancing through the air to calm even the most agitated behemoth down.

I hadn’t realized what my hands were doing until I felt my nails digging into the cork of the wine bottle and popping it open softly. As I looked down, I smiled slightly as I realized it was Ignis’ favorite brand of red. Of course, my hand would pick this in these trying times.

It also didn’t surprise me when I “accidentally” took out two wine glasses instead of one from the cabinets. A part of me wanted to pour the liquid into the second glass as my hope made me think and believe that Ignis would one day truly return to this apartment.

Tipping the glass bottle, I drained most of the contents into both glasses as I still held onto that childish hope that would soon be swallowed up by nothing more but the harsh reality. The red liquid poured down my throat, attempting to remove the tightness in my chest and stomach, but it didn’t do much.

The portrait seemed to call me while I was halfway through my glass, the picture haunting me more and more as I just felt… depressed. Walking my ways from the kitchen counter to the portrait, my nail grazed Ignis’ face, tracing his jawline and his hair that been groomed downwards for the occasion much to my pleading.

I found myself smiling softly the more I looked at the two of us adorned in white and smiling as much as we could.

I hadn’t realized the jingle of keys or the twisting of the brass knob until the front door had creaked open. Turning my head slightly, I just knew by seeing the cane in the doorway that it was him.

I set the glass down as quickly as I could before just racing into his arms and engulfing him in a tight hug as I started to shake and tears starting to pour out of my eyes once more.

He smelt just the same: Baked goods and pastries, a faint aftershave and a bit of sweet red wine.

His hands grasped my waist and drew me in closer until there was no space between us as his hands squeezed my body while we both stayed silent for just a pregnant pause.

“You’re home,” I managed to whimper out as I buried my face into his neck.

“I’m home darling,” he reassured me.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #ignis scientia #ignis x reader #ignis scientia x reader

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 17 days

Note

Oh no, what happened to Trickster? I'm not up on DC Comics.

Ooooh, boy, where do I start?

Original Trickster James Jesse has been largely missing since New 52/Rebirth/whatever latest continuity reboot. He was dead for quite awhile before that (having been killed protecting Pied Piper in the largely shitty Countdown event), and seemed to be non-existent in the new continuity, with Axel as the main Trickster. And Axel is a cute lil' guy, but James is my Trickster of choice.

He finally came back in Josh Williamson's run, in a story arc called "The Greatest Trick of All," which revealed that James had been locked up in Iron Heights for years, tormented by Warden Wolfe, who was basically using him to test their security measures. Then he escaped and has been building a little criminal empire, and somehow using the Sage Force to brainwash people. When he makes his big move, he brainwashes most of Central City into mindless happiness, while his select group of Rogues loot the city. Oh, and he was also dating a police officer while using his actual (stage) name James Jesse (which makes no fucking sense, even with Trickster long out of the public eye that name should have run some bells), and it is implied that she was also brainwashed, which means some serious consent issues if they ever slept together.

Williamson's version of James was generally MUCH nastier than he has been in the past. It can be partially justified by him spending so much time in Iron Heights alone and forgotten, but it's still taking the character to a shitty place. JJ was always an asshole, and his "reform" in the 90's mostly happened because he was afraid of going to Hell and meeting a certain demon with a grudge against him. But he still tended to be one of the less violent Rogues who never killed anyone to my knowledge. (If you only know JJ from the Flash TV show, ignore that, Mark Hamill is great but the show got JJ really wrong). Williamson pushed James into a dark and cruel territory, and had him doing things like shoving his abusive parents off a building (Flash saved them).

Williamson also added this new trait of James seducing women and using them as part of his plans. He did it with the police officer, he also recounts dating a lab tech from Star Labs to steal information to make his anti-grav shoes, and THAT is a retcon that DEEPLY pissed me off. James MADE the original shoes, both compressed air and anti-grav lift versions on his own, because he is very, very smart, despite acting like a silly little guy. AXEL is the Trickster who got his start by stealing someone else's tech, and while Axel has modified the Trickster gear and made some of his own stuff since then, James is the one who invented it all on his own, and Williamson basically took that away from him.

Going after women was also never one of James' character traits. He is an all-purpose con-man that fools everyone, but he never targeted women specifically prior to Williamson. In fact, 90's James arguably drank his Respect Women juice. He helped Catwoman with a job, developed a crush on her which he expressed by blurting out this long speech about how he thinks she's amazing, figured out her secret identity and kept quiet about it, and donated a bunch of money to a charity that he thinks she would approve of. All without necessarily expecting her to fall into bed with him, or getting angry when she doesn't. 90's James also flew across the world when he heard that his former girlfriend Mindy Hong was in trouble, and helped rescue her son (who also turns out to be JJ's son). James was not someone who went out of his way to mistreat women.

Williamson also wrote the Black Label Rogues mini-series, a depressing noncanon future story where Captain Cold gathers people for "one more job" and gets most of them killed. Future James in that one is performing a stage show, seducing rich old ladies to sponge off their money, and is portrayed as basically the worst out of the group - such a shitty dude that Golden Glider kills him and no one cares.

It's funny, in an interview Williamson said of James, "I love him," but that statement was immediately followed by "He's just a crazy asshole." Williamson obviously does NOT love James, or else hasn't read anything with him prior to Countdown, and his portrayal of the character seems closer to the serial killer Mark Hamill version. He strips away any kind of heart or likability from the character and makes him "just a crazy asshole," like a less interesting Joker. He made James significantly worse than he had been even in his pre-reform days, and the "darker edgier" Trickster isn't even particularly interesting. So yeah, I want Josh Williamson to never write most of the Rogues again, but especially keep his hands off James Jesse.

The James Jesse Trickster is definitely one of those characters where I'm like, "I love this dude, but only in these specific runs, and then he hasn't been written well in 20 years."

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dreamperson-poll · 1 year

Text

girl who set the city on fire

dreamed by me! mod rem

former lemonade seller, now rebelling against the aristocracy

in a world where everyone has fire powers and everyone is ruled by the rich (aristocracy)

the commoners basically live like slaves (if you serve an aristocrat) because of horrible work contracts where aristocrats take almost all the profit

anyways i’m on an airship and i’m talking to a janitor who i find out is a resistance fighter and wants to bring down the aristocracy

he says he came here to sabotage the ship but when i point out that’ll kill everyone including the aristocrats he gives his job to me

so i go to the engine and under the pretense of cleaning i wipe across it and dislodge a few wires

i set the wires on fire too

oh, and most everyone in this society has fire powers to different strengths. the world is mostly built on metal since metal doesn’t burn i walk back out and join the commoners in the lower class deck of the air ship

it’s just a big empty metal room bc the aristocrats really do not care about us

i talk to this girl who’s a few years younger than me

the plan is that ill leave it to burn for a bit and then i’ll run to the lord’s office and tell him about it and gain his trust

when i get there, though, (uh oh) someone else is already telling him although he’s just saying the wires were dislodged… i guess my fire burned out

anyways, they’ll catch me no matter what so it’s better to just give myself up under the pretense that i’m harmless

so i rush in and say “that was me, sir, and i’m so terribly sorry. i must’ve dislodged them when i was cleaning.”

he narrows his eyes and says “who are you?”

“the janitor, sir”

he slides a contract at me and says “sign this. you’ll work for me until you pay back the damages done”

i become one of his workers

i tell this to the girl who i talked to and she tells me she’ll go with me since she has nowhere else to go

we land and the lord’s son (mini-lord) tells me i’ll just serve him drinks as he takes his sword fighting lessons

he tells me to get hot cocoa so i do from a drink dispenser

i bring him hot cocoa and he says “i’ve been sparring i can’t drink that!”

so i leave but as i’m walking away he says “wait! i want cold water!”

i tell him “i don’t know where that is, sir”

he leads me to a packet rack and takes of a packet labelled pure cold water

he says “here it is!” and starts to mix the packet with water from the water dispenser

i say something complimentary sarcastically and as i walk away he says “you could at least try to sound more admiring!” i ignore him

side note: the water of the society we live in has been pretty much totally filthied due to lots of smoke and ash and the like most plants and things have also pretty much died out

drinks now come in ‘packets’ which are artificial flavorings and you can mix it with water and it automatically purifies + flavors

the reason there’s a packet for cold water is because water cannot feasibly be cold in this world anymore so artificial temperatures have also been created

i get back to the girl and say “let’s get out of here now. he won’t notice i’m gone for a while”

she says “ok!”

we walk through the city district we’re in

note: like i said, the architecture is mostly metal since, again, metal is not flammable

(but under the right conditions mixed with a few more.. reactive ingredients, it will burn)

architecture is a lot of building upwards - taller, lots of window escape routes in case of fires (which happen frequently)

i’m not actually sure whether or not people would need escape routes - are people fireproof here? it’s never addressed

so i’m walking with my little friend and i see a drink stand

i go over and ask for a lemonade (for my friend)

seeing my friend walk over, she pulls out two lemonades

we each take one and say thank you! snd start to walk away as she says “now give me 20”

tragically we’re both poor and so we sigh and return the drinks to her the girl running the lemonade stand asks me why i wanted a lemonade if i couldn’t even pay for it

i lower my voice and tell her

“it’s been a really rough time and she’s stuck by me for the whole of it and i just wanted to thank her somehow you know?”

and she asks me “what happened?”

and i explain how i set some stuff on fire and now i owe money even though it’s only a few wires but the lord is still going to extort me after that with an insane rate of interest so basically i’ll never escape i also tell her i’m a rebellion fighter and the plan was to get into the household and okay it would’ve been better to do it without the crippling debt but since i got caught it’s better to take what i can get she gets up and says “follow me”

she takes me to one of the tallest buildings - probably an aristocrat’s business building - and walks up a set of stairs on the side to where the power bank is

she sets the wall on fire but it fizzles out quickly and only two bricks are still lit

she says ugh and continues to try setting it on fire

“do you need help?” i call

“no i got this”

finally she gets it right and the whole building is quickly enveloped in flames and she jumps off the platform and i catch her and we run away laughing

“okay lets get you out if here before you’re caught at the scene if an even bigger crime”

so we run and i grab my friend as we pass and we go under the arch that signals the border of the city district and go into a different one by now the whole district is on fire and we’re just laughing

#dreampeople #girl who set the city on fire #mod rem #this was the most elaborate worldbuilding ive ever had in a dream and i only wish it could happen again

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dylansslutt · 2 years

Text

teacher 3/ t.s

warnings: cussing, mentions of child death, mention abuse, alc/pills

the past week has consisted of starting your new routine with the shelby’s. charles was the sweetest making the whole job a lot better, unlike his father who spoke a mere couple of words to you.

he picked you up on time, and dropped you off. other than that nothing else, so things were weird.

today was saturday allowing some time to relax. you had a glass of whiskey in hand, a smoke in the other. your comfort book in your lap, the familiar feeling start to spread through you.

setting your book to the side, you place the glass next to the bottle of pills on your nightstand. the doctor gave them to use when this anxiety (he says its called) happens: it helps relax you. sighing you glance at the time, only 2 pm.

the store was on the plan today, but you felt extremely lazy today. against your pleading brain your feet move to get dress.

locking up you make way towards the city. the weather wasn’t too bad today, people were out and about today. your eyes cross over the garrison, leading you to head in. it wasn’t dark at all, and you could use a drink before the errands.

the door swung open with ease, happy to not hear much noise. what you didn’t expect was to be faced with thomas shelby. who was about to enter the private room before his eyes laid on you.

“miss.y/l/n.” he announces, eyes never leaving yours. swallowing thickly nodding towards him.

“good day mister shelby.” the small lip smile appears across your features, making way to move past him. his hand wraps around your bicep. the touch puts a halt in your actions.

“come, have a drink.“ he swings the door open, letting go of you. without a word you walk in, seeing that it was kind of like a office.

“do you own this place too?” the question was serious, as you sit down in a chair. eyes roaming the place, it was pretty for him to design.

“i do.” he answers setting the glasses and bottle on the desk, leaning against it instead of sitting. you stare up at him, as he pulls out a smoke. he offers one to you, which you gladly take.

he pulls out a light, the routine in motion. you inhale the smoke, watching him do the same. he turns slightly allowing himself to pour out two glasses.

he hands the glass over, slipping in your grasp. you thank him softly. “how was this week?”

“it was fine.” you answer shortly, growing tired of the in between ways of the man before you. he nods, eyes observing you like some prey.

“i want you to move in.” he states making you choke on the liquid you were drinking. the coughing fit lasting a few minutes.

“move in? are you out of your mind?”

this was absurd, saying yes to a job was one thing... moving in?

“its easier commute, ill supply whatever you need. you arent under any rules, just would be easier on charles.” he states as if it wasnt a big deal at all.

the glare was uneasy to hide, “easier on charles or easier for you to keep a eye on me? i already quit a job to take yours, now i must leave the one place i’ve gotten in my name!”

he lifts off the desk staring down at you, but you quickly rose out of your seat. failed attempt of matching his energy, since he was much taller than you.

“why did you run away from your husband?”

“how did your wife die?”

the comeback was stupid, yet you failed to keep it down. your eyes soften, darting away from his cold gaze.

“she was shot.”

a small gasp leaves your lips, eyes finding him once more. you didn’t mean to pry, but he started it. yet now you felt like you could tell him your past.

“i was pregnant...and he uh- he beat me.” your eyes watered, the thoughts resurfacing. “i uh...i lost the baby.”

a silent tear slides down your cheek, hands roughly rubbing it away. thomas held an indifferent look, something you can’t pinpoint.

“if he ever tries some’ again, i’ll take care of it.” was the only thing that came out his lips, he swipes the glass up in his hand. he reaches down and places it in your palm.

you smile softly, gulping the rest down before setting it on the desk. knowing he is still out there doesn’t take the fear away, even with thomas at your aid.

“you can’t promise that, thomas.” you whisper back finally, turning back to grasp your bag. the material bunched in your hand, you give the man one last look.

you didn’t say goodbye, nor shopping. just home to drink the pain away.

the next day you awoke, hungover with the worst headache. the night consisted of drinking your sorrows away and sobbing to yourself.

telling thomas your secret made you never want to face him, yet his proposal did ponder your mind. you didn’t know why your mind always wandered about him, he has been the biggest pain in your ass.

the way he acted though is what intrigues you, his way of holding so much power without boasting about it. a gangster was the whispers on the streets, yet you didn’t know exactly what he did.

so what did the gangster want with you?

you made way down the road, the food market up ahead. today’s weather was cloudy, hinting a storm to come. funny how the weather tended with your emotions.

grabbing a small basket, throwing in the items of choice. you pay and head out, debating whether to try and find thomas. not paying any attention as you round the corner, you bump straight into someone.

stumbling back slighty, an apple slips out onto the pavement. the man reaches down grabbing the fallen fruit, “my apologies, mrs.landers.”

the name alone almost made your knees give out, but his smiling face in front of you sent you into panic.

“what are you doing here?”

everything was bringing you back, like deja vu. the crowds around you seems to fade out, the attention only on the man before you. stepping back with your hand out.

“stop.” you try to sound confident, but your voice wasn’t steady. he steps forward making you back up again.

“i told you i wouldn’t stop looking, wife.”

your stomach churns and without a second thought. you run, not even worried about how you look. weaving in between people, desperate to get away. no clue on where to go, you look around seeing the familiar place not too far ahead. the garrison.

glancing back seeing he wasn’t following anymore, you slow down the air finally entering your lungs. you were a mess but still paranoid, hes here now. slowly you enter the pub, looking at everyone.

luckily no ones attention was on you, the man nods as you approach. “whiskey please.”

he turns and grabs the bottle, before sliding over the glass. you pay and take a gulp of the drink, having no idea of what is to be. your eyes flicker to the closed door of the private room.

no debate your feet bring you to the door, silently praying he was inside. you turn the door nob, relief spreading through you at the site of him.

his eyes glance up and furrow at the site of your slight frizzy hair and red cheeks. “y/n?”

you dont bother sitting, staying close beside the door. “i’ll move in.” the words leave your mouth as he sets the newspaper aside.

“i’ll have someone get your things as ya’ work tomorrow.” the words leaving his mouth brought you relief, him not questioning you. also not having to be alone, safer with him. then at the house he probably already found.

he knows where you live.

“can i come tonight?” you didn’t mean for that to come out. everything felt unreal and eerie, goosebumps rose along your skin.

“why the sudden change of thought?” his eyes never leave you, knowing he was dissecting you in his mind. your behavior was strange and out of place, he knew it too.

“i just thought about it, why are you regretting asking?”

he leans back exhaling the smoke of his cig, “do i need too?” probably. he stood up stubbing the smoke out, glancing towards you.

“ready to go?”

you nod opening the door, praying you don’t see him on the street. following behind as he reaches the vehicle, allowing you to enter before he gets in. silence fills the ride, only your bouncing knee details the emotions.

you were stressed and scared.

the ride to the shelby residency was calmer, the medicine finally started to kick in. you glance over to the man, observing him the way he does you.

you were moving into his home; one he lived in with his wife. you weren’t sure how to feel about everything, but with the current situation. it helps your here and not home.

we pull up to the home, parking in front of the familiar door. thomas lets you out, grabbing your bag as he walks forward. you trail behind remembering where to go.

maid frances walks in as thomas closes the door, “frances show y/n where her room is.”

you glance back at him confused, “where are you going?”

he glances over his shoulder, “i have some business to attend too, let frances know if you need anything.” and with that you were left alone with her.

she was a nice lady, dealing with her when you worked. everything now was different, you hadn’t been anywhere but the downstairs area. following her up the steps, she looks back at you with a smile.

“clean sheets are on the bed, i made it up when i heard ya’ be movin’ in.” the room was spacious and pretty, you smile towards the lady.

“thank ya’ frances.” you set your bag onto the bed, feeling the exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks.

“would ya’ like anything to drink, dear?” you turn to face the lady.

you nod softly, “may i have some tea, please?” she nods, heading off leaving you alone. bottom lip between your teeth, the door shuts close. slipping off your clothes and sliding on your night gown.

you put the rest of your clothes into the drawer, setting the bag beside the stand. the comforter was soft under your fingers, the bed more comfortable then the one at home.

a knock sounds the room, “come in.”

thomas appears a cup of tea in hand, your eyes widen in shock. glancing down at your night outfit, not expecting a chat from him.

“we need to talk.” he states making your heart race a little. setting the cup beside you, he sits on the bed.

not knowing what else to do, you sit beside him. “talk about what?” he was facing the door, as if he’ll leave in any second. you sat knees close to your chest, staring at him.

“what had you upset earlier?” the fact that he figured out something, made your stomach drop.

“i dont know what you mean?” playing dumb always works.

“something upset ya’ so bad, you’re here tonight.” his eyes now stare you down, as he shuffles to pull out his smoke.

he did have a point, and you don’t know why you are afraid to tell him. maybe because you sound pathetic and weak.

ignoring his statement, you steal a smoke from him. you hold it against the candle flame, bringing it to your lips inhaling. he still was looking at your for a answer but you didnt know what to say.

“nothin’ i can’t handle myself.” the words were light against your lips, as if you didn’t really believe them.

“since ya’ live here now, i dont need lies.” the smoke leaves his mouth with each word. you inhale the smoke as you grab the tea glass. taking a sip, you internally curse yourself.

“the husband i ran from...” the sentence trails but thomas seem to catch on. he sighs before standing up.

“i dont know how he found me! i swear if i could just kill him, i would.” you don’t know why you were explaining yourself but thomas walks forward. your teary eyes look up to his, and for a moment you thought his eyes flicker towards your lips.

“what’s his name?”

“jack.” the name was a whisper, and it haunted you. a sob escapes your lips, hand covering your mouth.

“i-im sorry.” thomas hands found your face, pulling you to look up at him. a sniffle leaves you, “i dont ne-need to be saved.”

that was a lie, you were drowning and he saw it. he saw a piece of himself in you, and it scared him.

“ya’ will be just fine, alrigh’?” you try to lean back but his grip became a little more forceful. “alright? nothin’ will happen to ya’.” he reassures, determine to make you understand.

you nod softly, not up to speak. he lets go of you, standing back a few steps. without another word he turns and opens the door.

“goodnight y/n.” he calls over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

getting that off your chest was a relief, but the ache didn’t fade. only to be topped with a feeling within you, one you felt about the man that was just before you.

a single tear rolls down your cheek, as you throw the now unlit cig in the ashtray. your head hits the pillow, but no rest comes to you... only the memories.

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut #peaky blinders imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut

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kailspider · 2 years

Text

Lil' Theif

(Sam Winchester x Reader)

Prompt: As the Winchester boys and (y/n) travel all over that sometimes leads them to share necessities.

Warnings: mentions of sexual tension/further sexual actions, mentions the smell of cigarretes, partial naked dean and sam?

AN: I think you guys will love this one, i dont know how i got this idea but i knew i had to write about it.

(No one's POV)

Apart of the job is constantly trying to find new work wherever it may take us, this time it was Las Vegas. Sin city always has the whole load case when it comes to the supernatural. We checked into a small motel just across from a Denny's. By the time the hunt was completed we were covered in aches and bruises. Not to mention this demon left behind a horrible odor, worse than usual that soaked into our skin.

As Dean pulled the car around the back of the motel, Sam and (Y/N) waited in the front lobby for him. The smell of cigarettes and the sound of elvis could be heard above us in a tiny speaker attached to the ceiling. The front desk attendant probably assumed we were out of our minds seeing us in our "after- hunt state".

The bell that sat on the door made a jingle sound, signifying someone had walked in. Dean looked exhausted, Sam had offered to drive the remainder of the way but you know how he is with baby.

(Y/N'S POV)

"Dean, what took you so long? i'm starving man"

I said obviously to mess with him. He looked up at me and shot me these daggers in his eyes, I laughed grabbing my backpack along with Sam's since I lost a rock-paper-scissor match in the car. As Sam grabbed the key to the room I started slugging along the heavy backpack, I love the man but damn what did he have in here.

Sam like a little kid ran past me in a gust of wind, then followed by dean who was trying to beat him to the door. Just our luck the motel only had one room left with two beds, so that means for however long we remain here I will be stuck in a room with these two knuckleheads.

I finally made it to the door a few minutes after them, the room was cold and smelled exactly like the lobby. I could hear the shower running already and made eye contact with Dean who was already spread out on the bed closest to the air conditioner. I sighed and dropped the bags on the other bed.

Dean looked up when he heard my loud indicator of exhaustion,

"Chop Chop kid, this is why I don't play that game with Sammy." he laughed and went back to laying down flat.

Now it was my time for staring, I plopped onto the wobbly bed trying to rest my eyes for a quick minute. The shower shut off and that was my cue to lay back against the headboard. I grabbed the tv remote quickly turning it on to find something for background noise.

The white bathroom door opened and the steam was so bad that I could feel the heat sticking to me. The scent of nature, almost pine and sandalwood filled my nostrils immediately. I turned my attention to the big figure standing in the hallway

Sam had walked out in nothing but jeans, no shirt, and a towel for his wet hair. He was moving his hands in a back and forward motion attempting to dry his hair, showing off the muscle definition of his arms and literally everywhere else.

I was trying not to imagine what would've happened if he had forgot his clothes accide- woah snap out of it. I am in love with him but he does not need to know this just yet. I didn't even realize I was staring for so long until i heard a devious laugh from the right side of me.

Of course, someone did take notice. This devil's name was dean. He had noticed almost immediately the trance I was in because of the sight before me. He shot up and quickly ran to the bathroom for his shower turn. Before I could object that I wanted to go first, he had locked the door. Now, it was just me and the half naked Sam.

I won't lie, I am sweating bullets. He not only walked over to my bed where I was spread out, but he also sat down throwing the towel he had to the side and watched whatever the remote landed on. His laughs filled the room at the rom-com on the television, my view was now the muscular and wide back of this man.

As a way to distract myself, I was getting up to gather my clothes from the bag on the floor. I noticed sam had laid back with both hands behind his head. His body was now closer to where I was, giving me a better view and a stronger smell of his wash. It was enchanting, I quickly finished grabbing my clothes and had a plan to bang on the door until dean got out. As I turned to head towards the door, I tripped on dean's bag dropping my graphic t-shirt and underwear onto sam who looked fast asleep.

I mentally wanted to scream and take off out of the room, but it's okay no one saw. I was slowly reaching for my stuff, not even realizing the shower had shut off. I managed to get the shirt but the underwear was on his jean area. I managed to push down my embarrassment and slowly reached for the-

*Bathroom door opens*

"Well, well, well kid. You just couldn't resist yourself while I was in the shower, I can't believe you had the balls to do it first considering sam here-" he was louder than usual and had awoken a napping Sam.

Sam opened his eyes to see his brother in only a towel around his v-line, and his other best friend stopped in motion above his jeans where your underwear had fell. He immediately saw the situation and blushed hurriedly getting up. Grabbing your underwear like it was cursed object and handing it to me.

The only thing that could be heard now was an annoying laughing dean. I immediately made my way to the shower with no words and tried to stay in there forever, but my skin was shriveling so I had to get out. I walked out in actual clothes unlike some of these people, and noticed the winchester boys whispering. I didn't like it, not one bit. The room fell silent and I just looked skeptical at them.

The silence was broken by dean coughing who was now fully dressed,

"this room is truly the life of the party, well I want food so I will go pick something up, you and sam wait here until I get back" he motioned grabbing his keys and sam's wallet. I turned around to watch dean already halfway out the door, he turned back, winked and left.

I HATE HIM. i cannot believe he would do this, I slowly turned back around to stare at the other brother whom was staring at me as well. I laughed awkwardly and made my way to the other bed. The tv was showing the flintstones and somehow I wish i was in tv land and not here.

Sam kept shifting in his seat across the room, then stood up and walked towards me. He stared at me until I had to acknowledge his presence. My eyes slowly moved up his abs and found myself avoiding his gaze.

He cleared his throat,

"(Y/N), when have you ever sat across the room for me. Come sit down with me i'm not going to bite. I mean unless you want me to" he sneered.

This was not my sam. What did dean do to him? Could he have told sam about my crush?

Sam was still staring at me waiting for an answer, I looked up and said,

"Well why don't you come lay over here? effort goes two ways you know"

Wrong choice of words. All of a sudden his big frame was crawling over me to get to the other side. The bed dipped causing me to roll more to the left than I'd like causing me to meet into his side. I moved quickly back to my resting state, with now sam at my side.

Awkward silence filled the space between us, it was never like this. He's my best friend and I couldn't believe how nervous I was. I placed my hands to the side of my body so I could relax a little but found my hand touching his at an angle I didn't dare to look at. I moved my hand away but all of a sudden felt him put it back down to where it was.

When I turned to say something, Sam had been staring at me for I don't know how long. As in an affection stare, but he couldn't right? until he confirmed it,

"how are you so beautiful, when you're so nervous princess" he said softly as if he only wanted my ears in the entire world to hear it.

My ears turned crimson red, along with my cheeks, not to mention my heart jumping to a sky high limit. I didn't believe a thing I just heard. I didn't want to face him so I looked away but was stopped by a large hand turning me back around to face him once again. He leaned in real close when it looked like he took a deep whiff of the air surrounding him.

He had searched for the smell, but couldn't place it. He picked up a strand of my hair and it was like a slot machine winning. He smirked slightly and motioned my head closer to him,

I bent down and heard him say,

"You're a lil thief you know that? using my favorite shampoo and conditioner. I never thought I would be so attracted to this scent on someone else." he said in a very husky voice.

I was in complete silence, so many things ran through my head at once. I decided to play along before I chickened out, I bent my head at a slight angle to stare him in the face. Sam had beat me to it once again,

"From now on, only you are allowed to use my bathroom essentials, and when you do so I want you to wear my clothes to bed only. Got it?" he said waiting for a response.

I nodded my head in a quick reassurance. We both were having fun with this new feeling we both discovered together. I spoke up finally,

"How much time do you think we have before dean gets back?"

#sam supernatural #sam winchester #supernaturalpov #supernatural #x reader #fanfic #dean winchester #winchester brothers #supernatural x reader #supernatural gif

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dusk-army-blog · 1 year

Text

Incident

Ever since the incident, I've come to dread the colors. You would, too, if everything was grayscale and a splash of red or a yellow glow meant something was amiss. I don't really remember what things looked like before; yes, there were colorful signs and clothes, but the city has always been kind of gray. I'll look at a shop on the way to work and a part of me knows, "That OPEN sign is neon blue," even though what I see is dull as stone. So, when a person walks by, highlighted in red, when I don't need to remind myself what color something is supposed to be, that's when the dread kicks in. Because it means that it's time to do my job. Being dead sucks.

I... don't remember how it happened. Not exactly. The memories are clear enough before the incident. I stopped by the convenience store on my way home from school. Lots of students were there that day, crowded into a tiny building with a broken air conditioner. I wanted ice cream, but they were out. Settled on cold bottle of cola instead. Anything to beat the heat. The bus wasn't running; I think there was an accident somewhere on the route. Just as well. Who'd want to be crammed into a metal box crawling across the pavement in the middle of summer?

Besides, I had a friend that worked for public works department, so I could take a few shortcuts that weren't available to most people. Turn down an alley, unlock a door to an abandoned construction zone, and voila, three blocks of junk instead of six blocks of traffic. I took shortcuts like that one all the time, but... Well, next thing I knew, I was watching my own funeral. Mom crying. Friends wondering if they could have changed something.

I tried to retrace my steps a few times, to figure out what happened. Best I can come up with is this: there's a factory right next to the shortcut, one of those ugly things from the industrial revolution. There was a plan to tear it down, but no money to do it with. High winds, maybe a bird landing in the wrong spot, whatever the exact reason, some bricks fell off one of the smoke stacks. Clonked me right in the head. Probably. I can't exactly ask, you know? There's no guy in a hood to come tell you it's your time, no angel with a little book recording when and how you died. Really, I wasn't even sure I was dead until I met Gramps.

Actually, I guess I've been lying here. Just a bit. I'm not alive but, technically, I could be deader than I am. At least, that's what Gramps told me. Never got to meet him when I was alive, but I saw pictures so I knew who he was. Big muscles for such an old guy, from a lifetime of work in a steel mill. And, even after death, there's still work to be done, and huge labor shortage for it. Those colors I mentioned, the ones I can still see. They're some kind of interference between the living and the dead, usually vengeful spirits or something like that. Red ones aren't so bad. They're usually angry, kinda stupid even. Easy enough to deal with. But the blue ones? Don't get me started on the blue ones. Being dead sucks, blue glows fill me with terror. But, at least I get to hunt ghosts for an unliving.

#fiction #dream writing #story idea

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violetreminder · 4 months

Text

Salem is a hellhole, and its not even a unique hellhole.

I need to get out of this fucking city. My mother admitted recently that our moving here to Salem was probably the worst thing that happened to my life. Lately this has made me reflect more about just how I really feel about this city, and while I've never liked it, really taking time critically thinking it over more just makes me livid over this dump. While I cant and dont blame this place for *every* bad thing and inconvenience ofc, it cannot be understated how much of a fucking HOLE this city is. All the big employers that arent State work are mostly Caretaking or Medical, and failing that? Well I hope you love serving drinks and/or sliding into sub-mediocrity in any number of dead-end underpaying jobs. Once you get off that dead-end job and want something to do with your night? Well you get your choice of dive bar in which to play pool and hear the same people sing karaoke to the same overplayed country songs every night. Beyond that? Well practically everything that isn't a bar closes by mid-day since this place is packed to the brim with geriatrics, so really you can go do meth and jump off the pedestrian bridge into the Willamette for all the city seems to care. The city is also INCREDIBLY car-centric, which is already bad enough before you actually *drive* on the roads and realize the street grid may as well have been designed by a committee of 4th graders. Blind turns and piss-poor lane management abound. Wanna take a bus instead? Good Luck. To say public transport is underutilized and chronically underfunded is a MASSIVE understatement. Despite living just an hour south of Portland, home to one of the most comprehensive and effective public transport systems in the entire country, Salem only recently started running weekend service for buses after DECADES of not even doing that much (seriously it was 2019 for Saturdays, 2021 for Sundays, a reminder that this is in a CAPITAL CITY). Which stings so hard because in the early 20th century, like many cities of its time, Salem had a functioning and effective electric streetcar system that was totally ditched in favor of carving out these godforsaken roads ans suburbs in the 50s for a deluge of personal automobiles and the aforementioned underfunded buses. Yet more examples of rational and sustainable city planning absolutely destroyed by fossil fuels. Now, a moment of peace, because of course being here for basically my entire life has meant I have met many wonderful friends here. Even someone so filled with impotent rage as I am can take a moment to recognize that there are good things here, usually smaller, subtle delights, but I cant help but see a lot of those happening in spite of this foggy bog, not because of it. I cant help but feel some kind of helplessness typing this out though, because while these complaints are (roughly) valid, theyre far from unique. You can easily find this exact story told in hundreds of cities across America, especially in smaller capitals. The same destruction of public infrastructure, the same awful car-centric design, the same slow death that is living in a geriatric alcoholics paradise. Not to even mention the same homeless problem that plagues not only the entire nation, but the West Coast especially, and in this regard Salem *IS* actually a little more unique. You see not only do we have your standard homeless masses abandoned by the city to be swept into the clutches of religious organizations that just want to put more seats in their pews over actually aiding their community (or into the cold clutches of death if the churches dont like them), but *in addition* when the state closed its mental asylums it just threw the populations of those facilities into the streets of Salem, where they remain to this day weaving in and out of the State Hospital or the State Pen. Man if this had any organization or other ultimate point than "Salem sucks and will drain the life and joy out of you while calling you a bitch" I've lost it by now. I'm just so tired and angry.

#personal #rant #salem oregon #you get to be either a rich trust fund kid living South or West before moving to Eugene to play Lacrosse #or you get swallowed into the Torture Vortex and turned into a husk of yourself #god help you if you live on Lancaster you never had a fucking chance

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thekingsy · 1 year

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"The Lethal Man" Short Story

Project Title

Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy “Story Mode” Trailer

Project Role(s)

Video Editor

Project Description

This video is an edited, 30-second trailer for the video game, Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy from the game's "Story Trailer" made for social media use.

Skills Showcased

Video editing, storytelling, creative asset use, editing for social media

Software Used

Adobe Premiere Pro

Equipment Used

Personal Computer

December 25th. Walking the streets on a dark, cold Christmas night on the way to the bar. The smell of chimney smoke, smog & piss filling the air. People getting in fights on every corner, crime everywhere you look, and no one bats an eye. Never a dull night in Phorrea.

Sitting at the bar before starting the next job. Liquid courage & a stogie before dealing with another case. A necessary evil. Every cop is dirtier than a baby’s diaper in the mud, so I pick up the slack. Good ole supply & demand. At least it pays well. Time to get moving.

I arrive at the address provided by the client. A small, well-decorated apartment. Medical books on the shelves & dexterity tools on the desk. The tenant was either a surgical student or had weird collecting habits. Walking into the kitchen, traces of blood & mud are found.

I go to the bedroom to find it untouched. It looks like a young woman lives here. I hate these kinds of cases. It takes me to that dark place. Back to that night. It’s like a hole I can’t climb out of –

I shake it off & focus.

The trail of mud particles shows the scuffle started at the front door & ended in the kitchen where there are traces of blood. The blood is dried & looks a few days old. Whoever did this had time to come back & try to clean up the mess left behind.

This is bush league. Sloppy. This is the work of some low-level cat, no way this was a professional. Not that I can say much, I’m no professional. I’m as close to a low-level detective as one can be. Luckily, I have a brain that works sometimes, not that it does me any favors.

I search the kitchen drawers & find a roll of clear packing tape. I tear a piece off & use it to grab the dirt particles from the carpet. I take the tape back to the kitchen & grab a glass from the cabinet to get a better look at the dirt. Like I said, my brain works sometimes.

I take one look at the clay-colored dirt & there is only one place in this shithole city it could come from.

The docks. A criminal’s wet dream.

A necropolis of bones & souls of those unfortunate enough to come across some of the crazy pricks this city hosts.

This well has run dry. Time to head to the docks.

As I head out the door, I notice an envelope sitting on an accent table. The senders name & address has been torn off; the letter taken. On the top right corner of the envelope is a familiar crest.

My eyes go wide; I freeze. I’m seething. Consumed with rage. All of those emotions rushing back. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m about to lose it. It’s been 15 years since –

(STOP! BREATHE! NOW’S NOT THE TIME! SHAKE IT OFF MARTIN! FOCUS!)

I stop. I breathe. I focus.

I move towards the door & leave the apartment. I get in the car & I light a cancer stick. It helps calm the devil. Medication & therapy could fix it, but with no insurance, it’s nothing but a pipe dream. I’ll let the stick will take me first.

As I leave the scene, I look in the rearview mirror & see a “Joe’s Cleaning Service” van pull up. Everyone in this town knows Joe’s Cleaning Service is a front for the mob. Professional cleaners for a professional price. Only City Hall crooks could afford a service like that.

Everyone in this town is mobbed up. The police, the lawyers, the DA, and the mob boss himself, Mr. Harvey Short, the Mayor. It’s why I have a job doing this. Anytime something big or little is called in, it’s ignored & brushed under the rug & I pick up the slack.

Halfway to the docks.

(It’s time.)

Investigating that young woman’s apartment reminded me of what happened 15 years ago. It still lives in my head. No matter what I do, it never goes away. Every case, it’s as vivid as a theater screen. My poor angel. If only I got home sooner.

This town. It can change you in a heartbeat.

There is no law, no order. Everyone is their own judge, jury, & executioner. It’s why any case I solve, the criminal doesn’t get a second chance. I am the executioner. The completely incompetent, incredibly sloppy executioner.

I guess that’s why I’ve been given the moniker, “The Lethal Man.”

I don’t care much for it, but it seems to have a boogeyman effect on the trash that live in this town. All I care about is taking out the trash & providing closure to those who need it. Getting paid is a bonus.

Finally, I pull up to the docks. I step out of the car & I’m hit with the smell of old faithful, death & despair. There is no life at the docks. No spirit, no hope. The only guarantee at the docks is finding dead bodies & a stench that will take weeks to remove from your clothes.

As I make my way to the boardwalk, I take in the only impressive part of this dump. Makeshift shops built out of old shipping containers. Drug dens, black-market bodegas, brothels, gambling; if you want it, the docks have it. You’ll pay for a good time with your life.

As I walk down the boardwalk, I hear the sound of & see container doors closing. A normal occurrence for me. It’s times like this I enjoy that I have a reputation that no one likes to challenge. Makes it easy to get through hell pits like the docks.

I reach the end of the boardwalk & take a look behind me. I lock eyes with a sole straggler who proceeds to bang on a container door frantically. He’s screaming, “LET ME IN! LET ME IN!”

The look of fear in his eyes as he stared down the boogeyman. It’s like a drug. It fuels me.

I turn the corner to make my way to the port. Most of the investigations I’ve solved have ended with a body being found in the harbor, so when a case leads me to the docks, it’s the first place I check. I stop to light a butt & it begins to rain. An all too familiar setting.

The rain puts out my match & destroys my last cigarette. As I throw it to the ground, I hear the loud metal grind of the container crane moving. I turn around and look up to find a shocking clue to the investigation.

The young woman!

Hanging from the container, strapped at the wrists by metal chains crying out for help. Similar to how I found my angel all those years ago. My heart rate jumps to 200 bpm in an instant!

I yell out to her, “STAY CALM! I’LL GET YOU DOWN! I PROMISE!”

Flashbacks of that night 15 years ago consume me in a flash.

Getting home late from a shift at the Phorrea police department to find my angel strung up by chains in the kitchen. Eviscerated like an animal in a slaughterhouse. As pale as a ghost.

If only I had left on time. Maybe I could hav –

(WAKE UP, MARTIN! FOCUS!)

I snap out of my haze & book it toward a ladder that would take me up to that storage container. I’ve got to help her. Somehow. Someway. I’ve got to get her down. I’m about 50 yards away from the ladder when suddenly – time stops.

A click. A thud. A crash. Silence.

The crane that – the container that she – had fallen – crashed – it happened in a flash.

She was gone. I couldn’t save her. Just like my angel. Incompetent – sloppy – if had been there sooner – it’s happening again.

I fell to my knees, rain falling on my face in the moonlight. I’m glaring at the moon. Eyes wide, breathing deeply; I feel like I’m going to explode. All of my senses are heightened. It feels like I am trapped in a time loop, being forced to relive that moment.

All of a sudden, in the distance, I hear the splashes of someone running. My neck whips my head around to see a man running away from some barrels nearby, gunning it for the warehouse. I jump up & begin sprinting. My eyes are locked on this man; I have tunnel vision. I’m running faster than ever. Rage has taken over my body. It feels like a superpower.

I feel like I’m being controlled by a motor. As I begin to gain on this scumbag, he turns around to see my eyes stabbing needles through him & screams out for help while trying to run away. It’s no use.

30 yards. “HELP!” 20 yards. “PLEASE HELP!” 10 yards. “OH GOD! HELP!” Zero.

I tackle him to the ground. I turn him over & mount him.

“WHY’D YOU DO IT!?”, I screamed.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”, he said in a panic.

“LIAR!” I drove down my fist like a hammer over his nose.

“I’M SORRY!”, he cried out.

“WHY DID YOU KILL HER?!”, I screamed.

“SOMEONE WANTED HER GONE!”, he screamed in a haze.

“WHO?! GIVE ME A NAME!”, I yelled as I raised my other fist.

“I D O N ’ T K N—“, is all that he could say before driving my other fist down.

“LAST CHANCE – GIVE. ME. A NAME!”, I screamed while raising both fists above my head.

“I c a n’ t . – T h e y’ l l k i l l m e.”, he slurred, barely conscious.

(MARTIN! STOP! DON’T DO IT! BREATHE! FOCUS!)

“WRONG. ANSWER!”

I scream at the top of my lungs as I bring down both of my fists AND THEN –

Silence. Everything goes black. Complete darkness.

(Oh, Martin. See? See what happens? Do you see what happens when you can’t control yourself?

When you don’t listen to me? You let the devil in your mind win & now you’ve lost your lead to the bigger fish.

Remember: Stop. Breathe. Focus. Listen to your angel.)

I start to come to. First, my hearing. No sound other than the rain hitting the ground. Then, my vision returns. I’m looking straight up at the night sky, rain falling down on my face. Breathing heavily, my heart rate through the roof. Slowly lowering as I come back to reality.

I raise my hands to see them painted crimson, covered in viscera. I slowly stand to my feet, knowing of the carnage that lay below me. This wasn’t the first time this happened & it won’t be the last. I shake it off & focus. I need to call the client.

A jingle plays.

That man – his phone is ringing. I walked back to where he laid & reached into his pocket. I see the caller ID & my eyes widen. “Maria” is calling. That name – my wife, my angel – this isn’t a coincidence. I take a deep breathe. I focus. I answer the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Williams or should I call you ‘The Lethal Man’?”, the voice on the phone mockingly asked.

I answered with silence.

“I presume you dispatched the owner of this phone. Why, thank you! That must have been very satisfying for you.”, he excitingly proclaimed.

“Why?”, I answered tersely.

“Vengeance, of course! The last time I hired this man for a job he walked away unscathed! I ordered him to gut some nosey cop’s wife because he was poking his nose where it didn’t belong!” he said with malice, cackling like a lunatic.

It felt like my soul had left my body. The man that I am standing over – who murdered that young woman – was the bastard who took my angel away from me 15 years ago. He was hired by this pompous asshole on the phone? Who is this prick?

Suddenly, my phone vibrates.

“Enjoy your payment ‘The Lethal Man’. Oh, didn’t I mention? I’m the one who hired you for this investigation! Isn’t that hilarious?” As he cackles over the phone, I check my phone to see a payment has been sent by an unknown account with a note that reads – “15 years and you’re still coming up short.”

That’s when it clicked. I knew who I was talking to. Thinking back, I should’ve known who it was from the very beginning. Some low-level mobster I busted back when I was working for Phorrea PD. I laughed into the phone.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY?!” He angrily shouted as I laughed into his ear.

“I’ve let you have your fun over the years, but you are becoming a nuisance to me & my business! THE TAX MAN IS COMING TO COLLECT! Enjoy your last few hours because this entire town is going EAT YOU ALIVE!”

As I let this insufferable man finish screaming & ranting, a calm comes over me. I close my eyes, take a deep breathe, exhale, and focus. Before launching the phone into the harbor & heading back to my car to prepare for the ensuing war, I laugh & say to the man –

“Sounds like a fun time. I’ll be seeing you – real soon – Mr. Mayor.”

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lillaxtrigger · 2 years

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Street Smarts: Chapter 7

The rays of the morning sun beat down along the eastern faces of countless buildings that make up the city of New York, shining against every single window and casting their shadows upon the opposite ends. Strolling through out of these ends be our violet psychic himself, walking along the street with his light leader on the other end of his phone; recalling to Monty how: “So, how exactly do you expect me to find this psychic when we barely know a damn thing about them?” “Hey, don’t go bitching to me cause the info the mob got on this guy’s sketchy. All they figure is that rumors of some guy going around pick pocketing people.” “Oh god, a dirty pick pocket. Someone call the national guard.” Wedsle sarcastically says.

“Quit being a jackass and listen, today’s the day the district where your heading has their annual food drive. It’s actually pretty damn big for taking place in a small part of town. Our guy out here was last found skulking around there, probably combing through for a bite to eat or some cash.” “Any idea what this scrapper can do?” “Some. Witnesses claimed they were left speechless when they realized what they had picked from them; not like amazed, I mean literally speechless, like their voices were just gone.” This tiny tidbit of info urges Weds to stop in the street for a brief moment, recollecting a similar happenstance he had heard of not too long ago.

“Um...Wh-why’re we going after a guy like this now? Seems like were picking at pretty small spuds here.” “Because Weds, this food drive in particular is being run by the local church.” Monty warns, the purple psychic stopping and standing on end upon the mention of this particular fact. “Which means that-” “Apostles will be among them trying to scope this guy out. We can’t risk them getting their hands on any more psychics, not with us preparing to storm through their HQ.” “So, what do you want me to do with this guy once I find him?” “Same thing the mob wants out of every psychic; either their cooperation or their head.” “Right...” “Just go about this in any way you can here, Weds. I know you won’t let us down.” his lightly leaders departs with before hanging up the call; leaving him to contemplate over what action should be taken over this familiar foe.

It’s gotta be that one kid I ran into a couple weeks back, the way he described the people he stole from losing their voices just sounds way too damn similar to be a coincidence. If he’s really around here, and the cult’s got their eyes peeled for him, then he might not have much of future among them for much longer. But even if he says no to those religious fanatics, I doubt the kid’ll be willing to work for the mob anytime soon either. And with this whole psychic struggle coming to a boil, taking no for an answer won’t be an option, no matter who gets to him first.

The shadows cast upon the New York buildings stretch across the city’s central park, slowly receding across the area as the morning sun rises further up towards the sky; a pair of familiar mobsters strolling out underneath the tree’s of the park. “Real nice day out here. Not too cold, plenty of sun. Wish we weren’t on the job, else I’d take a seat under a tree and just snooze the day away.” Thursotte wishes. “Yeah. It’s...pre-pretty nice day.” “Something up or…” “No no no. My dad and I just used to come out here and play on the weekends when I was little. Used to go out playing catch, catching bugs, bird watching, stuff like that. Used to skate in the ice ring when winter it. Had a lot of fun on those days.” “Aw that’s nice. When’s the last time you’ve been here with your dad?” Thurs questions, one of which causes the lively young lady to start sweating up a storm.

“Um-Uh...Y-You know who were meeting out here?” she swiftly dodges the question with. “Mnn. No idea. The e-mail Monty got just stated to meet out in the middle of the park so that we could pick up a package. Somewhere on the bridge actually.” “Which bridge?” “Which?” Thurs utters. “Yeah, there’s like dozens of them out here actually. Did they specify which one?” “Nnnnnno…” “God dammit! This’ll take all day then.” “No, wait, wait. I think I remember something he said that was specified in the email; we were supposed to meet the deliverer out on the western end of the park.” “Fah. Least that narrows it down somewhat.” “You sure your doing alright? You seem a little uncomfortable.” “I’m fine, Thurs.” “Alright…” he recedes, both of them passing by the contours of a playground.

On this same playground, long long ago, a young little girl lets out a playful giggle as she’s swung high in the air on the swing set by a large man; the guy holding the biggest smile as she continues to push the little girl, who demands that he go: “Higher Daddy. Push me higher. I wanna touch the clouds!” “Sure thing, pumpkin. Control tower, we are ready for lift off.” the man confirms before pushing the little girl once more.

Though the father puts half of his strength in the push, it still sends the young girl swinging way up high; so high in fact that she launches right off the swing and starts to plummet down towards the ground. “Baby!” the dad shrieks, racing out to his little girl as she careens through the air screaming. Thankfully though, the father proves fast enough and manages to catch his little girl just before she falls to the rugged playground mix of wood chips and gravel; the dad letting out a panicked sigh before asking his daughter: “Satette! Are you okay!? Are you hurting anywhere!?” “No, I don’t think so...” “I’m so sorry, baby. We can go home if you wanna, I-” “Throw me up again!” the little girl joyfully demands. “Huh?” “The wind in my face felt awesome. Made me feel alive. I wanna do it again!” “La-La-Lets-Lets not go pushing our luck there. I don’t wanna get two heart attacks in one day. Why don’t I just spin you around on the merry go round instead, sound good?” “Okay…” the young Sat sighs, picking herself off the ground and following her father over to the piece of playground equipment.

“You sure they’ll be fine going out to the meet up sent by that email.” Frida questions her leader sitting beside her in the passenger seat. “Both of them are still real fresh meat.” “You worry too much, Frida; I’m sure both of them’ll be fine. Sat’s will be in her natural element surrounded by all that nature, plenty of tree’s plants, birds, fish, and other flora and fauna to work with in case things wind up going south. And Thursotte, you’ve seen how well he’s been doing handling his powers. I’m sure if he causes an accident, they might come out with only a few bruises.”

“That’s not what’s getting me.” “Then what is?” “You had the two of them stop by central park to pick up a package for you; it was supposed to be…” “10 pounds of C4. Needed them for a couple of traps I wanna plan when we go raid the apostles. Got a helluva good deal of Craigslist.” Among their conversation over the legitimacy of the pickup, Frida directs the moving van into the highway and merges with the traffic flowing within as naturally as water dropping into a running river. “You find it a tad strange that the email had them go meet out there in the morning. Like you think it’d be smarter to exchange something as dangerous as plastic explosives in the middle of the night.” “You say as we haul thousands of dollars worth of ammo around the same time.” points out Monty, slapping his palm against the back wall of the passengers cabin. “You mean while inside an inconspicuous moving van?” “I mean, its the same principal, ain’t it?” “No. No even close.”

Yet in their smooth drive through the highway do neither of them pay any mind to the countless vehicles they cruise alongside with; failing to notice one of them a car down a little ways down. Along the passenger side of this car can bundles of hard wire string be found; the driver reaching his free hand to touch the steel wires to let a lime aura spread through the string, causing the wires to slither up through their arm.

“Look, I’ll text them to keep their eyes peeled for anything suspicious; will that get you off my back?” “The only way your gonna get me off your back is with the jaws of life. Even if they have the edge, sending two newbies out in the field by themselves is still reckless.” “They got this, okay. Those two need some practice on they’re own if they wanna make it far in this business filled with backstabbing bastards. I had you and Weds go through some missions by yourselves around the first few months and you two turned out alright.” Monty explains. “That’s because I’m a former CIA agent and Wedsle is...I don’t know what the hell he is, but I can definitely say he’s capable. Sat’s still a little wet around the ears and Thursotte, he’s barely know’s what he’s doing.” “If they have each other’s back then they’ll be fine, I don’t get why your so…” “So what?”

“What uh, what’s on your side view mirror?” the light leader points out. “You spot somebody tailing us?” asks Frida, jerking her head towards the mirror in question. “No, on the rim, you see it?” Peering to the part of the side view mirror attached to the truck, the dimensional psychic starts to notice a piece of wire string tied to the arm, stretching out behind them. “That a piece of string?” Monty questions. “Looks like it, but what’s it attached too?”

Following where the piece of steel string was attached to, the two of them are left astonished when discovering the other end tied to the rim of a truck beside them; the driver of the truck completely unaware of this piece of wire being there. “The fuck!? How did...Why is the string tied to both us and the truck!?” “I think we have bigger problems.” the light leader warns, glaring over to another piece of string that comes out from the hood of the moving van. In following this piece of string, Monty is left just as perplexed when find the other end attached to the bed of a car next to them. “Found another in our engine hood tied with the bed of the car beside us.” “There’s another one under our bed too!” Frida warns “What!?”

With a glance towards the bottom, the light psychic finds his driver’s claim to be correct and discovers yet another string attached to the bed of their truck; this time leading over to the van driving in front of them. “I see more of them! Way more of them!” Its among searching along their moving truck that the two of them discover numerous more steel wires wrapped around their vehicles from top to bottom; each of them attached to the several other cars and trucks moving with them through the inner city highway.” “What the hell’s going on here!?”

What the hell is going on here? Wedsle is left utterly astonished over the sheer number of people attending the food drive; practically crowding the numerous stands that line the entire block, serving a wide assortment of food like fresh gumbo, steak, mashed potatoes, corn, turkey, ham, beef, and so much more. A few of them of it decorated with Christian iconography and slogans of Jesus. Knew Monty said this whole food drive would be big, but holy shit. Might as well just be a big ass food party at this point.

Wedsle injects himself into the large crowd of attendees swarming through the block wide food drive in search of the psychi; the late morning sun glistening against the crosses set through this church held event. His attention is drawn to the stands set up run along the street, peering to the cooks and people serving their food to those willing to pay. Most of the people behind the stands here probably aren’t in the cult; they’re more likely just church goers or volunteers wanting to help out, but it’s also possible that the theirs a psychic planted among them. If not among the staff, likely somewhere close by keeping watch; maybe atop one of the buildings close by for an eagle eye view. Could my powers to cause a stir; but depending where the apostle is, my aura would be easy to spot. In any case, think its best just to blend in with the crowd and hide in plan site til that kid shows up and-

In looking through the numerous stands set up along the sides does something among them force his attention over to one of them; Wedsle left completely taking aback as he stops dead in his tracks. No way. Locked in his sites be a stand selling plates of freshly made flan, with any semblance of a line practically nonexistant. Is that fucking flan!?

The girl at the counter lets out a disappointed sigh upon the lack of any customers drawn to their stand, slumping down as a middle aged man in the background mixes together the ingredience to make the french dessert. “Come now, sweetums. You need to perk up. How do you expect to draw in the people while your being such a frowny wowny?” the man tells the girl, putting the fresh mixture in the fridge beside them. “Dad. This clearly isn’t working. Why of all foods did you think Flan would sell here?” “This Flan recipe's been in our family for generations. I just know that when they take their first bite, the taste will send them to heaven.” “In the middle of an American urbana. Dad, if you seriously think the people out here, used to stuff like burgers and hot dogs, are gonna be clambering for a bite of this stuff, then you’re-” The girl is astonished when somebody slams their fists down onto the counter and quickly turns back to find the man in the purple blazer eagerly standing on the other side with his mouth watering; pulling his wallet out fast than they eye can see as he demands to know: “How much for a slice!?”

Shoving a spoonful of the pudding concoction right into his watering mouth, Wedsle lets out an orgasmic shutter as he partakes in the wondrous flavors swirling through his cheeks; the psychic’s taste buds basking in the incredible taste brought upon by the sweet mixture as tears streak down through his cheeks. Aw yeah...That’s good right there. Gonna have to ask that guy later about the stuff they but in here to give it that extra kick of sweet shit. His girl at the counter didn’t look to bad either, might ask for her number when I go back again.

As the violet psychic sat to enjoy every bite of the wondrous french dessert, he fails to realize a young boy eyeing him out along the alleyway opposite to him; the site of the purple man causing child to back deeper into the alley. Among his retreat deeper into the alley does the boy accidentally back into a couple of trash cans; the aluminum garbage cans tumbling down and spilling onto the concrete, all without even making a single sound however. Cloaked in an aura of salmon pink, not even the trash inside the cans made a single peep as they scatter across the alley; the boy in rags paying little mind as he races towards the other side of the alleyway.

Finishing the last of his flan slice, Wedsle throws the plastic plate and spoon out in the garbage can as he peers out to the ongoing crowd strolling in front of him; licking the last pieces of pudding off his mouth as he venture into the river of people. Right, now back on track. Last I saw that kid, he looked like he wasn’t having the best kind of luck. The clothes were pretty torn up and ragged, didn’t look like he got much to eat either; poor kid probably stole from people cause he’s hungry. So in a place as packed with this much food going around, he’s gonna be looking to nab a couple scrapes he can cleanly get his hands on; even more so with his power over sound. He knows he’s gonna be hard to sniff out in a crowd this packed; doubt I can even see his fear emanating with so many people around too.

The purple psychic manages to make it out of the thick crowd and onto the other side of the road; the traces of pink aura coming from the alleyway immediately grabbing his attention. Upon heading down into the alleyway, Wedsle spots a pair of knocked over trash can with bits of psychic aura still left across its aluminum. Sweeping one of the can lids right off the ground, the purple psychic tosses it right against the solid brick wall and finds it to not make so much as a single rattle; not even between the wall nor the aluminum lid. Yep, this is definitely the kids work. Question his where the little scrote scampered off to?

With confirmation of the young boy dwelling out here among the other patrons of the food drive, Wedsle continues through the alleyway in hopes of finding more traces of aura to lead him to the kid; unaware of another following behind him among the shadows. Quite literally in fact, for inside the shadows themselves does the upper half of a figure emerge out from their depths, glaring to the purple psychic as he strolls over to the other side of the alley.

But as this figure swimming in the shadows watches the guy in the purple blazer turn the corner, an unexpected hiss makes it jump; the shadow looking over to find a stray cat growling at it from behind the back of the dumpster. To quell the cat’s constant hissing, the man in the shadows dips his arm back into the darkness and has it emerge out alongside the feline from the shadowy side, and tightly clutches its head before thrusting it against the brick wall. After smashing its head into the wall beside it, the shadowy figure lets its head go to watch it alley limp on the cold concrete; its then making sure the poor feline makes not another peep that the man delves back down into the shadows and slinks through the darkness in pursuit of Wedsle.

The day goes into the afternoon as Satette and Thursotte continue their search across the western side of Central park; both of them combing through every bridge and arch set through the preservation in search for their package handler. “Anything?” the lively psychic asks her partner as she inspects one side. “Nope.” Thurs answers as he searches through the other.

With not a soul waiting for them on that bridge, they move onto the next archway close by; Thurs searching over the arch while Sat combs through the under path. “See something?” the chaos inducing psychic asks. “Nothing down here.” his fellow mobster responds.

They move their search efforts to another bigger bridge overlooking a small canal, Thursotte combing above while Satette swims through the river below; Sat surfacing from the waters before she questions: “Find anyone up there?” “No, not a soul.” “Dammit.” the lively psychic curses as she casts out a vine of greens up to the bridge railing.

“I’m starting to think that this whole package pickup might be illegitimate...I mean, like in the sense of it being trustworthy.” Thursotte expresses, leaning against the bridge railing as Sat climbs up from the river. “Yeah, this definitely reeks of a trap. Like did the email Monty get specify even a time?” the lively psychic questions, pulling herself up to the top of the stone bridge. “Not that he mentioned. No say of location, no time to meet up with. Real unprofessional honestly. I-I know this stuff is shady dealings and all, mobster business; but you think they’d leave some small details to clue us in with. But nope, nothing.” “If really is a set up, then we need to come up with some kind of plan. We’d be sitting ducks with both of us standing there like a couple of dumbasses.” Sat claims while ringing the river water out from her dress.

“Your suggesting one of us should act as bait just in case?” asks Thurs. “I’d be our best move. I go wait out at the bridge while you hide and jump in if something goes wrong.” “Wait, your wanting me on standby!?” “Yeah, figure with our kind of power sets, I’d be better on the forefront in case our little meet up tries anything right out the gate. A lash out with a vine whip to the stomach; a piece of tree bark to stab in the eyes; that sort of self defense stuff.” “And if that goes out the window?” “Then that’ll be your queue to step up and make shit hit the fan.”

“What, no, absolutely not! You know I can barely control what happens after I get the ball rolling. Something could go horribly wrong on our end and I wouldn’t have control over it.” “Then don’t.” “Huh?” “If its something out of your control, maybe don’t try to; instead just work around it.” “Wha-what does that even mean.” “My dad always said that whenever bad misshapenings reared their ugly head, we just gotta go with the flow. Look at those oncoming disasters and tell them “No, I ain’t gonna let this weigh me down. I’m gonna swerve right through your sorry hide.”. Basically, don’t try to take control of the chaos around you, instead just go with it. At the very least, you won’t hurt yourself as much?” “You ever put your dads words into practice?” Thurs wonders. “Sometimes, and I only end up with some scratches and bruise.” “Hmm...I don’t know. With my powers in particular?” “I’m sure that tidbit of advice’ll apply to you using them the most. Now, come on. There’s only a few more bridges out on this side of the park now; I’m sure we’ll find whoever set this up and find out if its a jump in waiting.”

The polished brick of a bridge overlooking a big canal glistens against the afternoon sun, the sunlight broken by Satettes single shadow as she stands waiting right in the middle; casually waiting as she looks towards both ends. And while the lively young psychic patiently awaits for their contact in plain site, her chaotic partner sits idly by along the forest line standing against the eastern end of the polished bridge; hiding away atop the thick tree brush. Despite his fellow mobster waiting at the bridge seemingly composing herself as calm and collected, Thursotte can’t seem to muster the same attitude as he waits for his moment; nervousness and worry course through him as he watches from atop the tree’s.

Seriously can’t believe she’s making me be on standby for this. What’s Sat even expecting me to do up here, just use my powers on leaves and hope for the best? Last time I tried triggering Murphy’s law with my partner close by, Wedsle wound up getting his head hit by a bucket of cat litter and left with a bleeding head. I can’t imagine what’d happen if I do that stuff out here. We’d have a way better chance of success if we just switched places; there’s plenty of tree’s and grass around us to take advantage of. Best I could be in this case is acting bait.

Satette’s patients in waiting for their supposed contact starts to wear thin as her attention drifts over to the river running underneath the bridge; her thoughts in turn drifting over to days of her childhood she had shared with her dad forming in the river reflection. A pair of fishing bobs buoy along the calm river water, little Sat and her dad sitting atop the bridge guard; her father peering to her as she waits for a bite, noticing his daughter growing impatient as she keeps wriggling her line out of boredom. “Honey, you ain’t gonna catch anything fidgeting your line like that.” he claims. “Dad, I’ve been sitting here for hours now and I haven’t gotten anything.” the little girl whines. “Satsy, it’s been fifteen minutes.” “It feels like forever.”

“Yeah, you want me to tell you what I always do while I’m waiting for a bite?” the dad then tells her. “Whats that?” “Whenever I’m feeling all fidgety about sitting down til my catch bites, I think about a song I use to hear back when I was your age. Really helps pass the time and keeps me steady.” “What songs do you think about?” “Well, We didn’t start the fire usually pops in my head. Used to listen to it while I was cruising around. Just let Billy Joel run through in your head and I swear you’ll get a bite by the time its done.” “Alright.” the little girl says, taking a little breath before glaring down to her bob floating along the river.

The young girl puts every once of focus she could watching her line bob along the surface as she starts to run the song through her head; letting the lyric’s of Billy Joel ring in her mind and keep from wandering off as she stares into the waters. Her father watches as she keeps herself utterly still, left surprised seeing his little girl not move an inch as she eyes the line of her fishing rod.

Little Satette’s patient’s eventually pays off, the song in her head stopping abruptly when feeling her rod being tugged; Sat waste not another moment as she jerks her fishing rod back and starts to reel it in, screaming in surprising excitement: “I got something, I got something!” “Oh, uh, Sat! Relax, just keep the line steady!” her father tries to warn her. “It’s fighting me dad! I-” Before the little girl could stand back on her feet, the fish caught in her hook proves strong enough to jerk back with enough force to throw her off the bridge; young Satette plummeting down towards the river as she hears her father scream: “Sat!”

Just before the little girl could take the plunge down into the river, her father’s hand clutch her leg and holds her above the running water; the sudden chain of events making Little Sat loose grip of her fishing pole. A small defeated groan seeps out from the little girl as she’s pulled back up onto the bridge; helpless to watch as her fishing rod floats down the central park river. “Sat, oh my god, are you okay!?” her father worries. “Yeah, but my fishing pole.” “Its just a pole, Sat. We can get another. I’m just glad your alright.” “Aw, I had it. Then it got away from me.” “Hey, its a start. You manage to sit there still long enough to get a bite, and that’s a real nice first step. Keep at it and it won’t be long before you’ll be able to catch anything.” her father encourages. “You..think so?” “I know so.”

A brief sigh escapes from the Satette as she withdraws her thoughts back from those days of youth she had spent with her father; rubbing the palm of her hand on the exact spots her father and her use to sit at. But midst her reminiscence does a strange detail of the bridge she stands on finally come into light; realizing the guard rail she leans on left a little bent inwards. And its in checking the rest of the bridge behind her, she discovers the bend to trail all the way to the other guard rail; right down to the polished brick that makes up its structure. When the sound of crumbling rock then reaches both of her ears, she realizes the ends of the bridge being uprooted from the earth and rising up. Sat glances down to the fold in the brickwork to see it beginning to close. What the hell’s happening!?

Am I seriously seeing things right!? Thursotte is left at an astonishing loss as he holds a full picture of the situation his lively partner is trapped in the middle of; the bridge Satette stands in the middle of folding inwards, with not a crack or crumble to be seen anywhere as it closes as neatly and easily as a piece of paper. The bridge is folding itself up!

Whilst tied across the several cars of the highway, the piece of wire string refuses to severe against the sharp blade of Monty’s knife, no matter how much the light leader slits, slashes, and strikes at the steel grade string. “Dammit. Not even a budge. These steel ass strings are everywhere and my knives cut an inch through them. You got anything in your jacket arsenal that can do the job?” he asks Frida. “For cutting stuff like that? No way. All I got with me is several pistols, a couple of uzi’s, a snipe rifle, grenades, a rocket launcher, and a couple bag’s of M&M’s I’ve been saving for later.” “You happen to bring a bolt cutter?” “Wh-what the hell makes you think I had the foresight to bring those?” “I don’t know, I’m fucking just…”

“As long as these damn strings are tying our truck to every other car around us, we’re practically stuck in a gridlock. Any idea’s?” the dimensional psychic reviews. “I can see aura running through these strings, so there’s definitely psychic shenanigans afoot here. We deal with the psychic, this web of steel should fall apart.” the light leader claims, watching a lime power surge through them. “This truck doesn’t exactly have autopilot installed.” Frida brings up, keeping tight grip of the wheel. “That’s fine, stay inside and keep your hand on the wheel. I’ll just need a pistol.”

Within the car driving next to them, the driver looks out the window to see the lightly leader climb up to the roof of his moving van; further alarmed when seeing him wielding a pistol. Though she attempts to veer away from the scene, her arms and legs refuse to budge a single inch; her panic growing when finding her arms and legs paralyzed to the wheel and petal.

“Dad, there’s a guy with a gun on top of that truck! We need to get out of here!” a young boy in the truck behind them warns. “I know.” “Then why aren’t we taking an exit!?” “I can’t move.” “What are you-” A terribly frightened gasp escapes from the young boy the moment he turns back to his father in the drivers side; quaking when discovering lines of steel string constricting his dad’s arms and legs, making him keep his hand and foot on the wheel and petal. “Dad!” “These strings, they got my arms and legs.” he claims struggling to wriggle out from their grasp.

Monty refracts the light around him to render himself invisible as he takes his stand atop the moving van; greeted with an unexpected site when taking in his surroundings. Along several cars and trucks that surrounds them had the string weaved its terrible steel, over and under the dozens of vehicles, running above the highway roads; all of it encompassing a terrible web of grade A steel running everywhere that surrounds them. Thought I had more time. This guy works hella fast. I wonder if...

Curious over the properties of this web of steel string, Monty decides to test by tossing his invisible dagger out to a bundle of the stuff running in between the corner. As soon as the weapon lands on a single piece of the steel, the other strands around it loosen to wrap themselves all around the invisible dagger and ensnare the weapon. The light bending psychic is left further astonished when its already viper like hold against the dagger grows tighter and tighter, strangling the weapon in its cold tight grasp until the squeezing pressure breaks Monty’s weapon to nothing but pieces. Well, damn. Guess stepping across the web is out of the question. Better not touch them at all to be on the safe side.

Knowing full well not to so much as lay a single finger on the surrounding steel string, Monty takes a bounding leap over to the car next to him; careful for his feet not to land anywhere on the strings wrapped around the vehicle. The light leader peers off towards both ends of the highway and along the sides of the several vehicles driving through for any sign of his little steel web spinner; failing to find anybody among them beside the people in their cars. Where the hell is this bastard hiding? He wouldn’t be in any of the cars, people would be screaming then. This asshole has to be hanging out around here somewhere.

When aiming his gaze towards the other side of the highway, the lightly leader bares full site to a scraggly woman baring sickly skin climb atop one of the vans lining the lane as nimbly as a spider; an aura of lime coursing through her body as the boney thin girl scans through the highway for any sign of her prey. This dumb bitch. Can’t believe she gave away her position so easily.

A demeaning thought he levies against his web weaving foe as he aims the tip of his borrowed pistol out towards her, quickly pulling the trigger and sending a piece of led her way. Yet the bullet fail to meet its mark as a myriad of steel string emerge out from her shirt sleeves and catch the piece of metal and stops it midair when it was just moments away from hitting its target; a feet of which leave the light bending psychic dumbfounded. The fuck kind of spider sense bullshit is that!?

Just as he attempts to wrap his head around the events that had trumped his shot, Monty peers down when noticing the steel string wrapped around the car he stands on start to wriggle; the steel wire unraveling from the roof and flailing itself right at him. Shit, she didn’t give away herself to check her surroundings; she used herself as bait to figure out where I am! Attempting to escape from the lunging strings reach, the light leader leaps off to the truck set in front of him and plunges over; Monty clutching the rim of the bed just a snippet of steel wiring wraps around his shoe. No you fucking don’t!

With nimble ankles does the lightly leader slip out from the steel strings iron vice like grasp; force to discard his shoe as it slips off his foot in the process. His shoe isn’t the only thing Monty leaves behind, manipulating the light behind him to project a vision of himself attached to the shoe kept in his foe’s stringy grasp. After landing in the bed of the truck, the light psychic peeks out to watch the decoy of himself strung up and rend apart by a dozen of steel strings; Monty going through the effort to make the projection of himself bleed as its cut into pieces. Monty makes the piece of his projection fall to the road and vanish away underneath the bottom of the vehicles, returning his sites back to the web weaver herself to see the look of dissatisfaction in her face.

Looks like this girl isn’t stupid enough fall for that ruse; the lack of resistance when tearing apart the projection was probably a dead giveaway. I can make my death as visually accurate as possible, but as long as it doesn’t feel like she’s tearing into my flesh with those strings, she ain’t gonna quit. Need to think of something more convincing. Among pondering of how to better deceive his arachnid like foe, his attention is drawn to a couple of logs and tools set in the back of the track he hides in; the gears in his head swiftly turning to come up with an idea in the making.

An exhausted breath seeps out from the purple psychic as he leans against the bark of a small tree planted in the middle of the street, resting in the shade provided by its reaching branches; Wedsle peering around the numerous food drive patrons enjoying their meals as he takes a little break, failing to find even a hint of psychic aura among the crowd. Damn, this kid’s better at hiding then I gave him credit for, can hardly find a trace of him anywhere. Might as well be trying to find a piece of hay in a needle stack for how well this is going. Something tells me he’s gotten used to being a little sneak long before he got his powers; but still, he ain’t too used to them yet, leaving behind enough evidence of his psychic meddling to lend a good trail. Just need to follow the silence among the bustling crowd and tracking the little fucker should be a breeze.

Yet just when Wedsle was ready to continue his search through the popular Christian food drive, something wraps around his head and prevents him from moving another inch away from the shadows; whatever had clutched him pushing tightly against his nose and mouth, preventing even a sliver of air from entering. What the fuck!? I can’t breath! What’s even holding me!? Wedsle clutches against whatever was keeping him tightly bound to the small tree and discovers the texture and feel of them to be exactly like human arms, raising only more questions among his panic. The hell!? They feel like a person trying to strangle the life out of me! Need to get out of this!

But in his efforts to break free from whoever was holding him down, the violet psychic is even further shocked when he swings back to the other side of the thinly small tree he’s pinned from, failing to feel even a single soul standing behind him. I can’t even feel a damn bit of them from behind, then how the hell are these things choking me? Feeling up through the mysterious arms that rob him of breath, Wedsle is left even further perplexed when brushing his fingers up and feeling a transition from bare skin to hard bark. It ends right in the tree? Is this bastard in it or something?

Before he could wonder any further of the strange whereabouts of his strangler, the purple psychic starts to feel his consciousness fade along what supply of air he had left; Wedsle failing his legs about struggling to break free from his mysterious foe’s grasp. Grip too strong! Can’t get out! This seriously how I’m gonna die, choked to death in plain site like this!

But among his struggle to slip from his unknown foe’s clutches, Wedsle’s leg winds up kicking a passerby on accident; causing them to nearly spill the food they had on their plate. “Agh! What the hell, man!?” they exclaim in a huff as they turn back towards him. Right as this person veers over to the violet psychic, the arms holding Wedsle back swiftly slither off of him and let go, giving the mobster the chance to finally take in a much need breath of fresh air. “Eesh, what’s up with you?” the woman rudely asks as Wedsle move away from the tree he had just been pinned down to, looking back to find next to nothing held among its thinly bark.

Whatever was strangling me had me dead to right; what the hell made them suddenly stop? “Egh, whatever.” the woman brushes Wedsle off with, leaving him to ponder of what had spared him of his strangling demise. Was it that bombshell of a bitch threatening to catch it in the act? Why would it be so concerned about… Oh right, this guy’s an apostle. Some of the money rounded up here’s gotta be going into the cult’s pockets, doesn’t wanna risk breaking up this party and stopping the cash from flowing in. Even if I don’t know this guys powers yet, I found some leverage I can hold against him. Holding this as true, Wedsle delves into the thick of the crowd of patrons wandering through the food drive, making sure to keep himself right in the middle where he was in obvious site. I’ll move through the crowd to make my way through the city blocks, making sure that if this dip shit want’s me dead, he’s gotta do it with everyone watching.

Among his swim through the rivers of people dining on well made street cuisine, the violet psychic keeps his eyes peeled for any more signs of the silent psychic; a trace of aura, a lack of sound, anything that could clue him in on the kid’s whereabouts. Hate to think what would happen if that slippery mother fucker got to that kid first. With barely any sort of experience or know how’s on what psychic’s are capable of, if they caught him, he’d definitely be dead.

And when traveling among the thick crowd of food goers, a little tidbit catches his attention among the voices; one of which concerns: “Dude, I can’t hear what your saying.” Just this small detail alone draws him out towards the voice of concern; trudging through the crowd until coming out to a taco and burrito server held among the countless other food stands, with a pair stationed behind the counter. Between the duo does one move his mouth as if trying to speak, only for not a single word to come out; the lack of communication drawing out a frustrated breath from the other before he states: “Seriously, quit this whole mime routine and just tell me where the burrito’s that were on the grill went. If you haven’t counted them, then that’s profit down the toilet.”

Though neither of them are aware of what ails the two of them, a mere glance is all it takes for the purple psychic to deduce the cause; the man’s mouth plagued with an aura of salmon pink, the same power of which had silenced the trash lid before hand. Knowing the kids mitts had recently been here, Wedsle draws his attention over to the alleyway set behind the taco stand; a clear escape option for a would be little silent thief.

Traversing through the dark, sheltered from the sunlight within the alleyway, the violet psychic continues into its depths in search for any sign of the kid; Weds quickly spotting his obvious whereabouts when seeing a bunch of garbage bags coated in his pink aura of silence. Phft, jeez. Kid’s so green, might as well be fresh out the pussy. Wedsle strolls over to the aura covered bags and kicks the top of them over to uncover what lays inside; taken aback when finding not a soul hidden underneath their plastic. What the-

Before the violet psychic could even ponder of what trickery he had fallen into, he feels a blunt force thrust against him and turns over to see the kid himself having thrown a brick right into his back; Wedsle reeling from the unexpected blow as the psychic child tries to race away as fast as he could. But before the young boy could even take to the corner, he feels something clutch at the back of his shirt collar and turns back to find the man he had just struck having caught the boy in his clutches. Among his struggle to escape, the little boy fights less and less when he hears Wedsle for tell him that: “Kid, listen. I know you don’t trust asshole’s like me and your smart not to; but right now, you need to follow every word I say, else neither of us’ll make it out of this alleyway alive.”

In glaring back to the man holding him back, overwhelming worry and fright take the boy as he witnesses a featureless figure slowly emerge out from the shadow covered back of the purple psychic. The terrible dread in the child’s face urges Wedsle to peer back just as the figure from behind thrusts its hands towards his neck. Right when this strange shadow was moments way from grasping at the violet mobsters neck, his hands are stopped right then and there when Wedsle catches his mitts before it could start to strangle him. “Not this time, dip shit!”

While there was a brief moment among the shadowy figures assault, the violet mobster quicky turns to face the little boy watching this horrific scene play out and demands that: “Kid, take that rock beside you and turn up its volume. Make it as loud as you can when you throw it on the ground.” Alas are Wedsle attempts to hold the mysterious shadow figure back prove fruitless, watching as its hands slither back into the darkness held in his own enclosed palms; soon re-emerging out from the shadows along the wall and taking a tight grasp of Wedsle’s neck. “Agh!”

With little time to act, the small ruffian snatches up the small piece of brick sitting beside him and coats the rock in his aura before throwing it down against the concrete as hard as he can; the resulting impact creating an overwhelming loud boom that echoes out from the alleyway beyond. The terribly loud boom reverberating through out several blocks with enough volume to cause glass and weak solid wood to tremble, all with just the sound alone. Almost everyone attending the food drive stopped dead in their tracks upon hearing the insanely loud crash; all of them wandering what around them could make such powerful boom as a violet aura slither across the crowds. “What was that!?” “It sounded like a gun?” “A gun? Cannon more like?” “Mom, I’m scared!” “Think we should get out of here?” “Don’t know.”

After reeling back from the unexpectedly loud crash down, the shadow figure looks back to its foe and witnesses a string of purple aura running through Wedsle’s hand; the purple psychic warning the shadow to: “Don’t try anything else, jackass. The crowd already all riled up from that little boom the kid here made; with just one thought, I can make all these city block go completely ape shit.” While this warning alone is enough to make the shadow lay off a tad, the violet psychic continues to warn with: So what’ll it be, bud? You wanna risk your guys’ income just to take the two of us out?”

These words of warning against the shadow is more than enough to get the shade to retreat back into the depths of darkness; finally giving both Wedsle and the kid a moment to breath. “What was that?” the little boy shutters. “Don’t shit yourself yet, kid. We’re nowhere near out of the woods here. This thing might’ve backed off, but it hasn’t given up. As soon as we try to make our exit out from this block party, it’s gonna try and go for us again.” “What do we even do?” “Couldn’t really tell who that was. So the only option we got to nail this bastard is by surprise. The moment it comes out to do us in, we finish them then and there.”

Pieces of the western central park bridge’s support beam splash into the canal below as a dark indigo psychic force bends its stone as effortlessly as a bendy straw; Satette left right in the middle as the archway starts to quickly fold in on her. The lively psychic darts out towards one of the open ends in her attempt to escape from folding stone; her efforts put to a halt when a well dressed gent in a dapper hat leaps from underneath the bridge and halts her advance, this man introducing himself with: “Not so fast, dear lady. This cacophony of folds has yet begun to take to full swing. As its very host, what sort would I be if I not give my guest the best experience that Saddleman R. Jonson can provide.” “Sorry there, pallie. This girl’s got places to be.” Sat denies, casting forth a bevy of leaves and vines to entangle the gent with. “This party stops now, else we both wind up left in the fold.”

“Oh, a lady with thorns, it seems. No matter, I’ve always had fondness for gardening.” The dozens of fresh green plant roots and vines tethered across the gentleman’s figure are rend apart in mere moments when a long sword cuts right through them all with but a few slashes. “Such a mere hobby turns to that of a skill with enough practice.” With most of her plant ammo having been ripped asunder, Satette opts instead to make her retreat towards the other side of the bridge; its stone structure however already nearly folded up, leaving her little time to escape.

Watching his lively partner in crime in peril, Thursotte frantically peers across the branches he sits beside for anything he could infuse his power into and throw out to aid her; finding only a lone little acorn growing underneath one of the twigs above him. Really hope this doesn’t spiral out of control as bad. Upon plucking the lonely little acorn off the small tree twig, Thurs infuses the tiny tree seed with his power of chaos theory and chucks it towards the folding bridge; his hopes dashed witnessing the little acorn simply bounce off its stone. No!

Despite his attempts to interfere with the bridges folding seeming to have been ineffective, the little acorn continues to careen bounce across the grass until being swept away by a nearby squirrel; the rodent swift scurrying to the inside of a nearby tree to store the little nut with the rest of its stash. Simply shoving the tiny ass nut right in with the rest is far too much for the tree to hold, the inside of the tree starting to break apart from the overwhelming stock. The rest of the oak follows after and break apart under the inner pressure, a large chunk of the tree plummeting down towards the bridge.

Just moments before the bridge could completely fold Satette into its solid stone, the chunk of oak plummets right into the crack and stops it from crushing the lively psychic; the gent standing on the other side of the canal left flabbergasted from the unexpected happenstance. Nice going, Thurs. With the chunk of tree cracking under the folding stones pressure, Sat takes the opportunity that her partner had given and grasps one of its branches; the psychic using her powers to make the sizable limb fling her right out from the crevice. As soon as Satette lands right into the grass, she glares across the canal to the dapper man that had tried to crush her in his folds; Saddleman swiftly racing away as fast as he can before the woman he had once trapped bolts after him.

Oh jeez! Better follow after them. Seeing his lively partner give chase against their gentlemanly assassin, Thursotte tries to step down from the tree he was perched atop of in a hurry to help her out; but his foot slips off from one branch he steps on and swiftly starts to plummet down towards the earth, smacking against a few tree limbs in his unintended descent to the bottom. Ow…

The ongoing pursuit Sat holds against the assassin that had just attempted to fold her in grows hotter as both weave around the numerous other oak tree’s planted throughout the western side of central park; the lively young woman rips a small branch out from a tree she passes by and starts to use her powers to transform its very shape into a spiky splintered spear. The psychic of life aims the freshly made weapon’s tip right towards the dandy assassins head before hurdling it out to the fleeting gentleman as hard as she could; the grunt she makes in her throw drawing the man’s attention to her. Just as the spear was about to plungs itself right into his head, Saddleman whips the wooden weapon away with nothing but the swipe of his blade.

Right after having swept the young girls transformed spear away, the gentlemanly assassin clutches a branch that proves twice as large as he and starts to bend its oak with little effort; Saddleman waiting for his pursuer to approach for just the right moment. When the lively young lady finally catches up to her assassin, the gentleman lets the branch go to sling itself back; the medium limb striking Sat back with enough force to send her hurdling right into another tree.

After falling down onto the grass, Satette quickly picks herself back up to resume the chase, only for the Dandy to have slipped out from her site; a sharp frustrated growl escaping from between her teeth just as Thursotte finally catches up, asking: “Did you get him?” “No, dandy dick head wound up getting away.” “Aahh. This isn’t any good. He’ll rat us out to the apostles and send more guys after us.” “Calm down there, Thurs. This guy clearly ain’t leaving til he has our blood on that dumb sword of his. Question now is how we use that fact against him.” “Can I...suggest something?”

The eloquent song of the passing birds reverbs throughout the section of central park as Thursotte strolls deep along the forested area; humming to their song seemingly without a care in the world. And hiding among the tranquil scenery watching out for her partner in crime be none other than the lively young psychic herself, keeping an eye out from behind a nearby oak wood as she pins her hands to the grassy park lawn at her feet. Alright, Sat. Just keep dad’s advice in mind and snagging this guy should be easy. Now what was the song he said to keep in mind again? “We didn’t start the fire”. Right right.

This falsehood of peaceful carelessness is what exactly draws the dapper assassin in, the gentleman watching from the shadows held above the branches; keeping his eyes close to the young man in waiting for an opening to make his move.

Rosenbergs, H-bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom Brando, “The King and I”, and The catcher in the Rye. Eisenhower, Vaccine, Englands, got a new Queen, Marciano, Liberace, Santayana Goodbye.

When the moment finally comes for his time to strike, Saddleman leaps from the branches and plummets down towards his unaware target with blade in hand; swinging right to the back of Thursotte’s neck when descending down upon him. But his swords swing against the mobsters neck proves not as fatal as he had hoped, for rather than slicing through the young man’s soft neck flesh; the edge of the gentleman’s blade clashes against the blunt of hard oak; Thursotte’s very neck having been protected by a wrapped brace of wood. Yet does this botched attempt at the young man’s life fail to deter the dandy assassin attempt, bending the very steel of his long sword and making the edge swing towards Thurs’s visage.

We didn’t start the fire. It was always burning since the world’s been turning. We didn’t start the fire. No we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it.

Among playing the lyric’s of Billy Joels famous song in her head, Satette controls the lawn beneath their feet to make the blades of grass below their foe to extend upwards; each line of grass wrapping themselves through the gentleman well dressed figure. The countless strings of grass prove enough to bind the assassin where he is, letting Thursotte scuttle away from his swords length. “Yes, got em!” Thurs cheers. “Can’t believe that plan of yours worked.” Sat admits, coming out from behind the oak. “Just keep holding him right there. Make sure he can’t move a muscle.”

But just when it seemed like their victory against Saddleman was at hand, the hand of fate veers them away from their triumph when a wayward frisbee, coated in an orange aura strikes a large bird out from the sky; this falcon crashing down onto a withered limb held above them and causes it to break apart from its oak. Upon plummeting down to the ground beside them, some of the branches limbs brush against the dapper assassin and a chunk of the elongated grass holding his arms together; the gentleman soon bending his blade across the rest of his binds to free himself.

What!? How!? Its upon glaring to the rotted branch that fell beside them that Thursotte gets his answer, recognizing the aura shrouding the piece of large wood as his own chaos triggering powers. Your kidding, the power I put into that little acorn manage to bounce around from that tree that feel down and come back around to us, all in the span of 7 minutes? That’s insane!

“Thurs, look out!” he then hears from his lively partner in crime, snapping out from his astonishment to find their foe ready to plunge his weapon against him. Right before the assassins steel could slash against the young man, its edge is stopped by a thick shield of uncut oak; Satette having blocked the dandy gentleman’s swing with a plank of transformed bark and wood. The lively young woman shoves their assassin back hard enough to push him against the trunk of another tree. Saddleman quickly pulls himself together to witness the living psychic charging out against him with the wooden shield in hand, forming the bark into sharp pikes as she rushes at the gent at ramming speed. The dandy assassin bends the tree behind him back wards as he leaps right up, evading Satette’s shield tackle as he races across the bark; the top of the tree bending right down onto the ground as the gentleman flees.

“No you don’t!” the life psychic denies, throwing her wooden bark slab out at the escaping gent. Her swift efforts to stop their foe’s escape are snuffed when Saddleman jumps right off the tree and dispels his power from its wood; the hard oak snaps itself back into its original position and smacking the tossed shield with the blunt of its bark trunk. Satette’s own shield zips right past her head as swiftly as a shot bullet, feeling a mixture of surprised terror when glancing back to see her weapon lodge itself into the bark of another tree behind them. “Shit.”

Returning her sites to their dapper assassin, Sat witnesses the dandy dick attempting to make another get away; the lively psychic determined to not lose him this time as she sprints after and demanding Thursotte to: “Come on. He won’t get away from us this time!” “Ah...R-right!” Thurs follows, leaping right over the withered branch that had fallen to an offshoot of his influence and joining the pursuit against their gentlemanly foe.

Standing atop one of the many vehicles caught in the web of steel string, the light psychic makes sure every step he takes is a careful one; stepping over the dozens of steel lines ensnaring the countless cars and trucks. Any of my conventional traps aren’t gonna cut it this time, this bitch’ll just run a few string through to disarm them. It’s fine though. Just need to make sure all the pieces fall in to place and we’ll both be out of this stringy situation.

Among tiptoeing atop the numerous motor vehicles, Monty feels the one he stand on suddenly swerve and jolt a tad off to the side; the unexpected steering making the light leader loose balance and fall right off the side. Moments before any part of his body could brush against the web of steel wires threaded along the sides of the cars, he clutches tightly upon the side of the front window shield with foot resting on the car door handle. As the light leader pulls himself back atop the car, he beholds a worrying site when peering to the rest of the vehicles caught in his web weaving foe’s string.

“Ah! Whoever’s doing this make it stop!” a woman in one car screams in a panic, the wires wrapped around her arms forcing her to make these jolting twitches.

“Dad, please stop! We’re gonna crash!” a kid held in a truck pleads, tightly clutching his seat. “I can’t. These strings. I can’t control the wheel.” the father claims, fruitlessly trying to fight against the strings influence.

Monty is left astonished to discover his foe’s webs to be forcing the drivers within to make the drivers inside make jolting turns and swerves; some of them coming extremely close to bumping against one another. This web spinning bitch seriously that impatient for me to fall in her clutches that threatening to cause a highway accident’s worth it!? Seems like trying to bide my time ain’t an option anymore. This scene’ll get a helluva lot worse if I don’t act now. Just hope Frida won’t be too mad at me leaving her in the dark like this.

The dimensional psychic meanwhile keeps the moving van filled with dangerous and volatile ammunition steady, even among the dozen of cars and trucks swerving around and tempting to bump against her ride. Frida herself swerves the van around in tandem to keep from brushing against the other vehicles, nervous sweat running down her forehead as the steel webs encompassing the van give her little room to maneuver.

As if the predicament thus far wasn’t perilous enough, the dimensional psychic looks to her side view mirror to discover a few more strands of steel string slithering their way to the van seat; she’s left even more frightened when looking the other way and finding some of the wires already having slithered their way in. With little time to think of anything else, Frida quickly phases into the front of the driver’s front, merging with the rough van plastic keeping the wheel and peddles attached; her hands and feet still in the third dimension while the rest of her was hidden in the second. The length of steel wires slither across the inside of the van, searching for any sign of passenger or driver held within as they weave across the seat, counter, and wheel; Frida moving her third dimensional hands across the wheel as she attempts to keep the van steady, all while holding her breath as long as she could.

Just when she figures her sitiuation was simply hopeless, a chance arises when witnessing the web weaving psychic herself peek into the van herself; their sickly face taking a look in and is left perplex from the seeming lack of a soul inside. There! Gotta nail her before she see’s my aura! Acting fast upon this saving grace, Frida withdraws one hand from the wheel to reach into her jacket and pull out an uzi; the dimensional psychic breaching her arm from the second dimension to aim the tip of her gun towards the sickly woman’s head. But as she emerges out from hiding, the side of her weapon inadvertently brushes against one of her foe’s string; this one instant being enough to alert the scraggly web weaver to Frida’s presence.

Having been caught in the middle of the act, the dimensional psychic attempts to pull the trigger to end this fast; but the steel strings surrounding her prove faster as they wrap around her arm in but a split second. Frida couldn’t move so much as an inch of her limb when held in her foe’s steel stringy clutches; her index finger held back from pulling the trigger, left tied to its very guard. Helpless within the web weaves steel grip, Frida could only endure as the wires wrapped around her limb grow tighter with every passing moment; feeling its steel cut through her skin as it constricts her. Come on, Monty. If you got a plan cooking in your head, now’d be a good time to serve it.

Right when the sickly web weaving woman was but moments away from squeezing the blood from from Frida’s arm, she feels a sharp pain dig through her back; the steel string sowing lass swiftly glancing behind her to find the light psychic having shoved his dagger into the back of her shoulder. Yet before Monty could even begin to make another move upon their foe, the scraggly web weaver swiftly envelopes him in her countless steel wires; Frida helpless to watch as their foe holds her leader above as the wires around him tighten.

The steel string constricts the leader of light tight enough until blood oozes out from underneath the wires; parts of Monty’ body rapidly swelling from the overwhelming pressure the strings inflict upon him. And just as quickly as he had been caught, the light psychic is torn asunder by the wires incredibly powerful grasp; reduced to bloody chunks by their sharp vice clutches. His partner holding the wheel of the van looks on in utter shock as pieces of her leader tumble through the road she drives behind.

With one half of the duo taken care of the duo having been done in by her steel strings, the web weaving woman returns her attention to the other driving the van; the sickly lass commanding the strings holding her arm to tighten their grasp. Frida lets out a painful scream as she struggles to free herself from her foe’s grasp, with blood leaking out from under the strings like her leader before. Fuck! Her aura’s keeping my arm from slipping into the second dimension! Can’t slip myself free! This seriously how I eat it!? Ripped apart by strings of steel spaghetti!?

Yet this be not where the dimensional psychic meets her end, as the wires squeezing her suddenly cease their vice grip upon the blast of a firearm; Frida peering back to see a hole left against the side of the web weaving woman’s head. The hell!? A line of gun smoke comes out from seemingly out from nowhere near the back corner of the van; the light surrounding this side refracting to normal and revealing her thought to be dead foe. “Nailed it.” confirms Monty with a sly grin. The countless pieces of steel wire loosen their grasp against the dozen of cars and people within it held in its string as the web weaver’s body fall to the road; her lifeless body accidentally run over by the very same vehicles she kept in place as the countless lengths of steel string follow behind her.

Those within these automobiles are relieved as the wires holding them in place fall completely limb; this sudden nightmare they have experience finally coming to an end. “Oh thank god.” Someone in a car cheers as the wires around their body loosen. “Dad, those wires. They’re coming off.” a kid states. “I can feel my arms again.” the father rejoices.

When she slips out fro the second dimension and sits back into the driver seat, returning a comfortable grip to the wheel and peddle, Frida peer to the passengers side to find her leader climbing back in to take a comfortable rest; Monty letting out a relieved sigh when it was all over. “I…Fucking thought for a sec you were dead back there. How did you make all that look so convincing?” “Oh, my dear Frids. The manipulation of projecting light is but one piece of my work, for the sense of touch is another. For to truly fool the mind, one must control the senses themselves. Like the walking stride of livelihood we stroll through.” “...You gonna tell me what you did or not?” the dimensonal psychic bluntly asks, deflating her leader artistic limerick.

A couple cars dare stop in the middle of the highway when coming upon what appeared to be a grizzly site; one of these driver stepping out from their vehicles for a more personal look, greeted to what was in their eyes as a mess of meaty giblets splattered across the pavement. Alas when one of these morbidly curious onlookers reach to one of these chunks of what appeared to have once been a person, the illusion dissipates; the horrible scene losing its frightening impact when the pieces of man turn into chunks of long broken log. The stains of blood across the piece of highway vanishing without a trace as the ruse is lifted.

Though the city blocks the food drive serve are filled with mingling marry and the wafting delicious scent of freshly cooked meals, the purple psychic among them is left on guard as he escorts the young boy of sound through the crowds; the child isolating their voices so they could only hear each other as before he questions: “So, what’s the plan? We slip out of here from the crowd?” “Don’t know if that’ll work? That shadow shit head’s probably keeping a close eye on us, waiting for his time to strike. Good news is that he won’t try anything while we’re under the vial of the crowd like this. He does and I make this whole food drive go apeshit.” “That won’t last. The food drive’s going to end in a few of hours.” the kid warns, Wedsle glaring to the position of the sun above and noticing it beginning its descent towards the west. “Which is why we ain’t sitting on our asses waiting for him to take his chance out here. We’ll taking this fight right to him.”

Precious light starts to dwindle away as the sun begins to crawl down towards the horizon at steady pace, leaving more and more shadows cast by the buildings surrounding the city blocks. Among the dozens of food vendors that line the closed streets, a server in one of these stands is almost finished prepping a well dressed hamburger for a waiting customer; the server turning away from the dish for a brief moment to turn to the customer and state that: “Right, ma’am. Your burger is about ready. That’d be $4.55.” “You take card?” the customer wonders, pulling out her debit card. “Course we do.” After going through the whole process of swiping the card through the machine, the server gives it back before he turns to where he had left the burger; the burger flipper left astonished to find the freshly made sandwich having vanished. “Excuse me. Where’s my burger?” the woman wonders. But not even a peep could escape from the server as he tries to explain himself, like his very voice had been silenced by some unknown force; his lips flapping even when there’s no gabbing. “Are you playing some kind of game with me?” the customer goes, clearly left upset.

Underneath the counter of the burger stand does the featureless figure of dark stealthily surfaces from the shadows, its eyes immediately drawn to the salmon pink aura coursing across the stand manager’s body; the color of the aura making it easy to tell who had inflicted this silence upon this man. A glance over to the side reveals where this psychic street child had scuttled off towards, catching a glimpse of him scurrying around the corner with the burger he had pilfered in his grasp; the figure of shadows slinks back in the darkness upon knowing where its target flees.

Having retreated from the public eye among the recesses of the shadowy dead end alleyway, the psychic kid of sound reaches into the confines of his ragged coat to pull out the dressed hamburger that he had just pilfered from that stand a moment ago; just the mere site of its juicy meat making his mouth water. Right when the boy was but moments away from biting down upon the delectable tender burger, he feels a hand clutch at the back of his ankle and quickly glances back to see who had interrupted his meal; terrified to discover it be the man made from dark surfacing from the shadows that surround him. Try as the child might to escape from the figure’s grasp, its vice clutches prove far too strong for him to break free from; left only to struggle as the man of the dark begins to pull him down towards the shadows.

Before this heinous shade could take the child into the darkness, the very shadows that he occupies are suddenly lifted as precious sunlight shines down from above; the figure forced to let go of his victim so that it could slither away from the glow of the sun, the light causing the shadow’s very body to burn and blister. Once away from the natural sunlight, the shadowy figure glares upwards to what had cause the darkness to retreat and comes to witness the violet psychic standing top the roof of the neighboring building; chunks of the edge having been broken off from years of neglect. Wedsle kicks off a few more chunks of edge to let more of the sun shine down into the alleyway, forcing their shady foe to retreat into the depths of the dark.

Failing to see his slippery shadow bastard anywhere among the alley, the purple psychic them realizes where their foe plans to appear next and glares over to his own shadow cast against the rooftop, seeing the arms of the shade lunging out from there. Wedsle however proves a step ahead of the dark dweller as he leaps right over his foe with but a single bound; the unexpected jump urging the shade to retreat back into the shadow’s depths before the sunlight could engulf him.

Though his little one up against their shady foe fails to give him much satisfaction, as he gazes towards the sun and glances under to discover along the horizon that lines up to where they stand; Wedsle glaring down towards the street to witness the shadows slowly starting to roll in their way. Shit, I thought we had a little bit more time. The kid can’t get out the same way he came in either; the shadows are already covering his only exit. Once the sun starts set, we might as well be screwed. Need to think of something fast.

“The sun’s almost down, what do I do?” the kid whispers, his voice clear for the purple psychic to hear, despite the distance between them. “Don’t panic. Just pretend to be scared so we can bait this bastard out.” “But I am scared.” “See, already giving it your all. Now get near the corner and spread your sound power across the building. Make sure it’s completely silent.”

Despite trembling in fear from the dark terror looming around him, the small psychic of sound retreats to the corner of the alleyway, growing weary as he nears the edge of the shadows; the shade growing closer to his feet with every passing second. Wedsle makes a bounding leap over to the building that the kid was pinned against as the darkness draws near, immediately starting to stamp down on the edge of the fragile roof in his effort to break a piece off; the purple psychic making not a single sound as he forcefully kicks down on the piece of concrete.

When the darkness starts to encompass the kids whole foot, the figure of shadows emerges right on schedule and takes a tight grasp of the child’s ankle; attempting to pull the rest of him into the darkness. The psychic of sound clutching onto the ridges of the brick beside him in hopes of pulling himself away from the shades reach; yet are his efforts to escape are proven fruitless as he hasn’t enough strength, with his leg in pain from how hard their shady foe pulls on him with. It was almost as if the kid’s leg was on the verge of being ripped right off.

With one more hard stomp against the edge of the buildings, the purple psychic breaks off a slab of the roof and sends it hurdling down towards the bottom of the alleyway. The pieces of broken concrete rain down upon the figure of shadows like a tumbling hailstorm, forcing the shade release the vice grip he holds against the child to retreat back into the shadows; the psychic of sound swiftly scuttling away from the encroaching shadows.

Still perched atop the roof of the building, Wedsle glares down in the darkened part of the alleyway for any sign of their shady foe among the fallen pieces of roof, finding however, not a trace of his shadowy ass anywhere. The hell did he go? Yet in searching for the shady son of a bitch does the purple psychic fail to realize the figure himself slithering out from his own shadow again from behind him; only turning back to realize this fact when it was far too late. The shade shoves Wedsle right off the broken edge of the roof before sliding back into the shadows before his victim’s shadow leaves; the purple psychic plummeting down into darkened end of the alley.

Moments before the violet mobster could smack against the bottom of the alleyway, a pair of arms thrust themselves out from the shadowy side and clutch their fingers around Wedsle’s neck; his shade traveling foe holding him up in the air as it starts to choke the life outta him. Try as he might to free himself from the shadow’s stranglehold, Wedsle struggles to escape from the figure’s grasp as his foe’s grasp only grows tighter. Terrible fright overcomes the young child as he watches the unbelievable strangling from underneath, breaking out from his terror when reviewing the side of the building; the brickwork left cracked and decayed from years of neglect. It seemed like even the tiniest quake could make the wall’s foundation collapse.

Its with this fact before him that the kid starts to take action, snapping out from his paralyzing fear to swiftly move to a piece of the rooftop that the purple psychic had broken off; using every muscle in his little body to lift the concrete off the ground. The small psychic starts to infuse the heavy rock with his influence over the volume of sound; his salmon pink aura blanketing the stone as he further lifts it over his head. Finally does the young boy hurdle the piece of concrete against the fragile brick wall; the sound of the blunt impact as loud as lightning crashing down from the sky. The thunderous boom echoing all across several city blocks and beyond, making the buildings throughout the area tremble.

This terrible boom is far too much for the aged brick wall to handle and starts to crumble apart from the sound waves shaking its foundation; that side breaking apart from the rest of the building as the pieces of its brickwork start to fall. As the wall start to fall down towards the hard concrete below, the strangling shade lets Wedsle go to try and quickly flee among the rock slide of brick; its attempt however thwarted when that same purple psychic grabs its arms and keeps the shade from escaping, going: “No you don’t, you son of a bitch!” Both Wedsle and the shadow are caught in the avalanche of crumbling bricks and concrete; the impact causing a bellow of dust to blow out from the alleyway, drawing forth dozens of people, coated in purple aura, to the aftermath.

The people that approach find nothing but the remains of the wall piled up along the alleyway, with many daring not to near in the case of another quake following after. “What the hell happened here!?” “I heard a real loud bang and the wall just collapsed.” “Think it might have been an earthquake?” “Earthquakes don’t make sounds that loud.” “You think that somebody planted a bomb?” “In the middle of a food drive!? What kind of madman would-”

Among the growing crowds speculation and arguments is their attention drawn along the side of the broken pile, an arm bursting out from the depths of the wreckage; a site of which alarms practically everyone as they go: “Holy shit! It’s a hand!” “Somebody buried under there!?” “Start digging them out, quick!”

Several minutes pass as the compassionate crowd digs through the fallen brick wall, swiftly managing to pull the purple psychic out from the rubble and setting him down with a cup of water and a burger; one of these concerned patron’s asking: “You okay there, buddy? Feel like anythings out of place?” “Nah, just some bruises. I’ll be alright.” Wedsle claims. “Just some bruis…A whole wall falls on you and you come out with just some bruise!? How!?” “Lucky. I guess.” “Jeez.”

Yet contrary to the statement that he had given the worried patron, luck had nothing to do with him surviving that rock slide of hefty bricks, as he remembers the moments before he had fallen to the ground. Wedsle had uprooted the shady figure that had been strangling him further out from the shadows and pulls its dark body up over his own, forcing his foe to shield him against the crashing avalanche. If that shady piece of shit took the full brunt of the wall’s fall, then they’re pretty much out, if not down. Even if it was somebody hiding among this whole food drive, they ain’t gonna be prepping any meals anytime soon.

“Dad?” the daughter of the flan maker says. “Dad, the line out there’s getting pretty long. Is the flan done cooling yet.” But when looking into the back of their stand, the young woman finds her father laying underneath the table next to the fridge, slowly approaching as she utters: “Dad? You okay?” Grasping hold of the man’s legs, the daughter drags her daddy out from underneath the table; a horrified gasp escaping from her as she discovers the upper half of the man’s body. Having been beaten and pummeled into a broken mess, the man lay dead with whole dents strewn throughout his body. “Oh my god!? Dad!?”

“And that’s all the fat bitch sung.” Wedsle finished retelling on the phone, patched up for the couple of bruises that he had treated. “No kidding? Sounds to me like you had more of a fun time than we did.” Monty comments. “Yeah. Really makes you wonder how the apostles even find these freaks.” “Same way the mob found theirs probably.” “Te he...Yeah. Ain’t like we got any ground to stand on with that.”

“Speaking of finding. You ever wound up catching that psychic we heard would be there?” “Mmm...Nah, didn’t even find a clue.” “Nothing? Shit. Ah well, long as the cult didn’t get their hands on em, we can brush it aside for now. Say, you tasted anything good while you were on the look out?” “A burger, a taco...Did find this fucking good flan stand.” “Really!? Can you go back and get some to take home?” “Afraid not, heard the stand manager had an accident and keeled over.” “Dammit! Ah...Why don’t you stay and find some stuff we could eat later.” “You want me to be your delivery boy?” “Weds, come on. Its been a long day for all of us.” “Alright, alright. I’ll see what they got.” “Your a lifesaver, Weds. See ya soon.” “You too.”

“Thank you.” the purple psychic hears a familiar voice whisper in his other ear. Wedsle’s site wanders through the twilight streets surrounding him in searching for a sign of the kid, finding not even a glance of him anywhere among the stands. Even without single trace of the sound psychic anywhere, the gesture of thanks is more than enough to make the violet mobster give a grin.

From of the dozen of playgrounds be not a young soul on any piece of the mildly dirty equipment; the chains holding the swings dangling in the soft breeze and the receding sunlight reflecting off the finish of the metal not caked with dirt. The quiet solace of the empty children’s playground is shattered when pieces of splintered wood are shot against its metal equipment; the oak shards shot out with enough force to stick in its shell. Moment later can the dandy assassin be seen racing between the pieces of equipment, glancing back to witness his lively pursuer swiftly approaching as she brushes her hand against the grass; the lines of green enveloping the young woman’s arm as she nears the playground.

Coming first to a set of monkey bars, the dapper gent leaps up to grab one of them, using his powers to bend the entire piece of equipment backwards; Sat casts out the lines of grass out against her foe in hopes of wrapping her grassy mitts on him. Yet just when she reaches right through the monkey bars to try, Saddleman lets go of their metal and swiftly turns them back to normal; the piece of playground equipment lobbing the lively psychic across the playground and straight towards the nearby oakwood. Plunging down from the top of the tree, Satette tumble right into its very middle and right next to a squirrels nest; a dozen of the little rodents scurrying out from the hollow hole and over the lively young woman. Among their scampering escape does Sat manage to catch a couple of them before they could get away, the squirrels struggling to free themselves from her tight hold as she starts to transform their very flesh. Come here, you little furry boogers!

The dandy gent proves eager to finish off his foe as he races towards the very oak he had flung her to, skipping merrily with blade at the ready as he claims how: “Scurrying through the tree’s like a common squirrel won’t save you now.” Among his approach towards the oak wood his target dwells atop is a small throwing star made from bone and held together by furry flesh tossed his way; the swordsman effortlessly swatting the bizarre weapon away with nothing but the slash of his sword. “Afraid not, love. Care for another swing?” “Don’t call me love, you dandy dick head!” the lively psychic demands, leaping down from the tree and lunging against the gent. Swinging his weapon against the incoming young woman, the assassins sword is blocked by something the dandy finds strange; a sickle made from the bones of a tail with the handle of fuzzy fur. “My word. Such a bizarre craft. Wherever did you acquire it.” “Made it myself. Made from the stuff like the little guy right up there.” Sat admits, glancing up to the top of her foe’s blade. “Huh?”

A little peek to the tip of his own weapon reveals what his lively foe mentions and finds a squirrel lunging down right towards his face; Saddleman letting out a frightened shriek as the fuzzy little rodent claws at his face. Her foe distracted from the surprise squirrel assault, Satette kicks away the dapper gentleman with a foot to the stomach. Upon stumbling back to the playground, the dandy assassin manages to grab the squirrel off his face and throw the little rodent away, all just in time to witness his lively foe quickly approach with bone sickle at the ready. Saddleman reaches out to the nearest piece of equipment and bends it towards him to keep the woman’s weapon at bay; the sickle failing to slash through the piece of thick metal as the gent keeps his distance.

After ducking right underneath the piece of thick playground steel, Satette continues to pursue the swordsman up to a bigger set; this large part of the playground holding a walkway and bridge leading up to a slide. The lively psychic is quick to catch up with her dapper foe right at its steps and makes swing after swing against him; Saddleman stopping her repeated slashes with his own blade as the assassin backs away through the playground gym. Its during this exchange that the swordsman reaches aside to a metal bar making up the structure and bends it their way to catch his lively foe’s bone sickle by its curved blade; Sat’s weapon getting caught giving the gent an opening to thrust his blade towards her side.

Yet moments when Saddleman could plunge the steel of his blade into the woman’s stomach, his efforts are thwarted when a piece of oak bursts out from that part of her dress and stops the sword from harming her. Satette having spurred the gent’s sword swing, she kicks him away to give herself a moment to unhook her sickle off the piece of bent playground steel; her dandy foe bending his own blade into a right angle before throwing it like a boomerang.

The lively psychic ducks right under the incoming blade and lunges out to what she assumed to be her defensless foe, unaware of the very weapon she had dodge coming back around to her like a boomerang. When she was moments away from slashing at the man’s neck, the dandy’s sword returns to plunge its tip right in the back of Satette’s shoulder; Saddleman stepping aside as she stumbles forward from the unexpected stab. The dapper gentleman uproots his blade from the back of the woman’s shoulder before kicking Sat right off the edge of the piece of playground equipment; the lively young girl falling into the ground made from wood chips and dirt. Just when she was reeling from the pain surging through the stabbed part of her shoulder, Sat glares up to see her dandy foe leaping down to her with the tip of his blade thrust down her way; the psychic of life rolling away before the gentleman’s blade could plunge into her once more.

Once racing away from her dapper assassin, Satette hides underneath a piece of plastic equipment to try and tend to her wound; the young woman searching over to find her foe’s blade having left behind a hole going through her shoulder. Man, that stings. Need to patch this up, else I’ll bleed out. But with what, there’s hardly any first aid around here? Its upon wondering of how to close her shoulders gash that she turns her eyes over to the piece of oak wood sticking out from her dress, a rather strange way to tend to her wound springing to mind. Might not be the most sanitary, but its the best I can do right now.

Sat breaks off the piece of wood from her side and puts it right against her bleeding gash, manipulating the oak to bore into her skin and across her shoulder; the psychic of life letting out an incredibly pained hiss as the wood roots itself through her body. It takes every once of will she has not to scream out from the pain and alert her prowling assassin. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the wood to shut the fresh gash closed and stop the bleeding entirely. Fuck...Fuck that was bad. Definitely giving that dick what he deserves, but how to do so… A little look through the cranny she hides, Sat is taken aback when discovering a whole hornets nest lurking in the corner; the insects buzz echoing through the tiny nook. How the hell did I miss that?

The setting sun finally begins to brush against the city horizon, letting the fiery orange twilight blanket across the central park; the dapper swordsman searching through the playground with only so much light left. “Slippery lass, aren’t you?” Among his search does he manage to spot his lively foe’s partner approaching the playground from down the hill; a sly grin stretching across his cheeks as he opts to hide from the nearing young man. “Well, if I can’t take one out, suppose the other will do.”

When coming upon the park playground, Thursotte looks around for any sign of his lively partner in crime; a worry growing in the back of his head as he finds not another soul anywhere among the equipment. That changes when the young man peers down to the shadows beneath his feet, realizing their be another stretch of shade swiftly approaching his own; this prompting the chaos triggering psychic to roll away from their gentlemanly foe just before the steel of his blade could slash through him.

Just before the dapper assassin could lunge out for another chance at his head, Thurs takes a bunch of rocks and wood chips in his hand and demands that he: “Don’t move!” When stopped dead in his track, a slight snicker can’t help but seep out from the gentleman’s grin as the young man before him threatens him with only a handful of playground wood chips. “Or what? You’ll throw those wood chippings in my eyes?” “You’ve seen what my powers can do? You don’t know what’ll happen when I throw all this out.” “Well neither do you, from the looks of how your standing.” “The-the hell does that mean?” “Just look at you. The way your hand quivers as you hold that mess of playground dirt is all I need to tell how little confidence you have in yourself. Quiet sad if I’m being honest.” Saddleman pities, continuing his approach.

“I said don’t move!” Thurs again demands; yet his words of warning fail to deter the dapper swordsman, who continues to slowly approach. With the dandy assassin just a few more feet away from him, the young man panics and flings out the collection of psychic infused rocks and wood chips at his nearing foe; Saddleman backing away a tad as the mess scatters across his suit. The dandy gent is left a tad miffed from the dirt and wood chips the young man had flung across his clothes, letting out a little scoff before going: “Well, that was a tad awkward. Least you can do is face your death with dignity.”

With little recourse left does the dapper assassin lunges towards Thursotte with incredible speeds; aiming the edge of his sword to his open neck. But when just moments away from ending the young man’s life then and there, the playground dirt beneath him suddenly erupts in a plume of wood chips as long lengths of plant root rise from the soil and wraps themselves all through out the gent’s figure. Recognizing the natural green glow surrounding these roots, Thursotte does a quick look around for any sign of his lively partner in crime, finding right next to the swing set with one hand thrust into the ground. Glad she caught him in the nick of time, but how did- A little glance beneath his feet gives the young man his answer, looking to where he had scooped up the mess of playground dirt to discover several roots running along the underside. Oh, I get it. This whole playground’s got roots running on the underside.

Having caught the dapper assassin in her roots, Sat flings him away from her partner in crime and send him hurdling across the playground; Saddleman catching himself on the jungle gym before he could be sent further. The lively young psychic pulls her arm out from the ground with several roots in her grasp, racing after the gentlemanly swordsman as she thrusts the plants in her hand out; their vines stretching several feet away at him. It takes nothing but several slashes from the dandy man’s blade to dispel the incoming roots, shredding them to pieces before even a single one could hope of getting close. Yet the vines serve only as a distraction to keep the assassin where he stands while the woman that wielded them sets foot on the jungle gym; swiftly climb up towards the top in pursuit of the gent.

Saddleman delves right through the hole he stood underneath just before his lively foe could reach him and drop right inside the jungle gym. Sat transforms the bone sickle she had brandished against her foe into a sharp long spear made from bone before thrusting it at their fancy foe; the swordsman dashing aside the organically made weapon before going after his organic controlling foe. But rather than attempting to come at the woman directly, the gentleman takes hold of the bars she had stuck herself between and wraps the metal between her arm; bending them across her wrist to entrap her hand inside the jungle gym.

Having caught his lively foe in his web of bent steel, the dandy dick swordman leaps out from the inside of the jungle gym and swings his blade at the woman’s back; yet his attempt to end her life his again thwarted when the edge of his blade his stopped by something hard against Sat’s back. “That wooden armor trick again, please. I have just the solution.” With his steel still embedded in, the dapper gent starts to warp his weapon around the piece of hard material like a serpent, digging through the soil for their burrowed prey; the tip slowly, but surely going through the wood in moments. “And with your back exposed, there be not anything else to deter your doom. Watch in awe as uproot this shell to expose…”

The very moment that the dapper gent upheavals Satette’s shell from her back, a plume of black and yellow bursts out from within the shell’s recesses; the swarm of buzzing hornets erupting out and attacking the swordsman in the face. The dandy dick lets out a terrified and pained shout as the stinging bugs swarm across him digging their sharp stingers all throughout his body as he falls aside the jungle gym in a flailing panic. While the bending gent was busy fighting off the horde of insects that she had sicked on him, Sat attempts to pull her arm out from twisted piece of metal, struggling to get her wrist out from the inside as she peers to her partner in crime to request that he: “Thurs, help me out with this!” “Uh, right.”

Among approaching his trapped psychic teammate, Thursotte can’t help but peer back to their dapper foe preoccupied by the swarm of hornet; the gentleman racing across the playground as he tries to outrun the angered horde. “Where and how did you even get your hands on a hornets nest on short notice?” he’s urged to question. “Underneath one of the playground equipment. Up in the corner in one of the nooks.” the lively woman answers. “And they were down there long enough to build a nest that big!? The negligent of park safety, I swear to god.”

Everyone left among the playground distracted, none of them notice a wayward pebble, coated in a chaotic orange aura, comes flying in from the side and hits against the bigger piece of playground equipment installed; the small rock shaking the metal pole enough for a vital screw to come off. This screw alone was all there was keeping the large piece of equipment standing; for without it, the whole thing starts to tumble down as the orange glow spreads across its metal; the set collapsing against the neighboring swing set and making it fall in turn towards the next piece.

While trying to uproot his lively partners arm from the clutches of the bent jungle gym, the loud racket caused by the collapsing playground makes Thurs turn away to watch the scene unfold, going: “Uh, Sat?” “What?” Taking a peek to the scene herself, Satette witness most of the playground having been destroyed from the ongoing collapse, the orange glow causing it continuing all the way to a huge tire suspended by a piece of rope. This rope is swiftly cut when a jagged piece of metal flies right past and lets the massive tire loose, letting it roll away from the playground and down a shallow incline. What alarms them is what awaits at the bottom of this small hill; a group of small shady pre-teens wandering through the park, all of them too dazed to even so much as notice the giant tire threatening to quash them. “Sat, do something!” “I can’t reach them from here!”

Midst their panicking struggle watching the tire roll towards the disoriented children, something swift dashes past them and races out towards the ongoing scene; a cloud of hornets chasing after this fleet footed figure. Peering out in the direction this man sprints, Satette watches Saddleman jump up and across whatever playground equipment was left standing until he leaps several feet in the air, where upon the dapper gentleman hurdles his blade out towards the street like a tossed dart; the dandy man’s sword enveloped in his own indigo aura as it flies through the air.

Out dashing the rampaging tire, the tip of the blade digs itself into the soil set alongside the park walkway and injects the indigo blue power into the ground; this power causing the very piece of earth to quickly bend outwards in a sharp acute angle. This piece of rising ground causes the group of dazed pre teens to fall off to the side as the freshly made ramp sends the hefty tire right over them all; the piece of massive rubber continuing to roll past the kids until crashing against the fountain ahead, breaking the side of the stone décor into chunks. Dropped out from under one of the kids jackets in the commotion be a small bag of pills resting in the grass; a couple of the kids struggling to get themselves off the ground as they reach for the baggie.

Thursotte slowly moves the pieces of bent jungle gym as much as he can until the metal clutching his partners wrist is loosened enough; claiming that he: “Got it.” As Satette slips her hand out from the ensnaring steel, she left taken aback from their fancy assassin’s swift actions; despite being hounded by an angry swarm of hornets, he had took action to keep that small gang of kids from being crushed by the incoming hefty tire. Such actions remind her of the last encounter she had with a morally standing member of their opposing foes.

When having successfully averted the unsuspecting kids away from their doom, Saddleman is left to deal with the furious swarm of hornets that sick themselves upon him; the dandy gent continuing to race away from the horde as the insects dig their stingers into whatever of him they could. The dapper assassin races out towards where he had thrown his weapon in hopes of swatting some parts of the swarm away; but when only inches from reaching his beloved blade, the grass beneath his feet extends up and swiftly tangles itself throughout the man’s body, keeping from moving another inch as the hornets continue to assault him.

The swarm of angered insects however is dispelled when the blades of grass entangling him throw the man aside and send him hurdling into the trunk of a large oak wood; the branches of the tree trembling from the impact. Before he even has the chance to stand back up on his feet, a hand clutches at his neck and pins him to the oak’s rugged bark; the dapper assassin glancing up to discover his lively foe glaring upon him as she hold the man against the park tree. In keeping the dressed gent from escaping, the psychic of life commands the oak behind him to open wide; the bark parting to expose the inner wood like a serpent unhinging its jaw to its stomach. The dandy gentleman grovels in panicking fear as the wood starts to envelope his body, dragging him deeper and deeper into the depths of the oak tree; it was as if he was experiencing a terrible nightmare in real life, helpless in his struggle as the oakwood consumes his very flesh.

Yet when moments away from fully sinking into the depth of the tree, his body is uprooted from what he thought was his impending doom; the dandy assassin opening his eyes to discover the very same woman that was moments away from ending him, pulling out from the inside of the tree. Thrown aside onto the lightly dewed park grass, Saddleman is left speechless as the psychic that was about to entrapped him in the oak simply stares down upon him with a merciful glare. No matter what the woman’s reason for sparing him was, the dandy gent quickly rises up from the grass and sprints away as fast as his legs could carry; pulling his blade out from the soil in his fleeting escape.

In watching their foe disappear into the park forest, Thursotte comes up from the side and reviews how: “You had him right where you wanted him and you just let him go? Why?” “I couldn’t do it. Killing him right after he saved those kids; I couldn’t live with myself if I went through with doing him in then.” “...You thought about that guy in the store you were chasing around, the one Frida shot in the head?” “Yeah.” Sat utters.

“Alright, so...What excuse are giving to the others?” Thurs then wonders. “Your not ratting me out?” “Nah. Truth be told, I’d probably done the same thing if I were in your spot. There’s no way I could be as ruthless as the other mobsters; I mean, how could I look my family in the eyes if I were.” “Right...I don’t know, we’ll say we just gave him the slip or something.” “Think everyone’ll buy that?”

“I mean if anything, Monty’ll feel pretty sorry for leading us right into a set up without double checking, so...I don’t think we got anything to worry about. Hey, what did he expect us to pick up again?” “C4 or something like that.” Thursotte reminds him. “And he seriously thought it didn’t seem strange to meet up for that in central park?” “And during the day, too. I don’t really know what goes through his head sometimes.” “Jeez.” “Still, I’m glad he’s helping me understand my powers. I seriously think I would’ve caused a nationwide incident if he didn’t.” “Hey, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of them in no time. Just remember what I said.” “Right...what was that again.” “Don’t try and control the chaos, just go with it. If you see the scene around you fall apart, don’t try and stop it; try to think of how you can take advantage of it. Find the opportunities that your powers open up.” “You think that’ll work?” “I know it’ll work, if you take your time and look for the opportunities, you’ll be seen as a force of nature.” “Really.” “Yep.”

Least that’s what you taught me. As the twilight sun starts to vanish into the city horizon, the enchanting scene has her reminisce off when her father and her would cap off the day at the park; the man carrying the sleepy little Satette on his back as the night rolls in. Right, dad?

“I’m sure your dad would be proud of you.” “You really think so, Thurs?” Sat asks him. “Think what?” “Didn’t you just say my dad would be proud of me?” “I didn’t say anything.” Thursotte admits. “Then, who did I…”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

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magnificentmoose · 4 years

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matching your aesthetics to the neighborhood cat is the spring ‘20 look

#my face #hello ive been in new york for a week and everything is very munch scream #it is cold and Big and my job has me running across the city to go to museum libraries #ive been to the frick library several times now but not yet the frick itself #but i get free access to a lot of museums so im very !!!!

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Risk it - Harry Styles

a/n: this came so fast and typed most of it out at work lmao, but i kinda dig how it turned out!! hope you’ll like it too! as always, feedback is very much appreciated!

pairing: professor!Harry x Reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 11.8k

masterlist

You shake yourself a little bit to get rid of the spicy coldness that’s been lingering around in the city in the past few days. It’s only the end of August, but feels more like late October, though they say the warmness will return for a few more weeks shortly. That would be much needed, you’d love to enjoy some more lunches out in a park or down near the river before you are forced to withdraw into the insides for the rest of the year.

Looking around in the packed pub you look for the familiar golden locks of Piper and you quickly spot her in one of the corner booths, laughing joyfully with pinked cheeks probably from the almost empty pint of beer in front of her. Marching through the place you slide into the booth joining the group of three.

“And there she is!” Piper cheers.

“We thought you’re gonna bail on us,” Abigail snickers and you just roll your eyes.

“I said I would come, just had some work to finish before,” you tell them, shaking your cardigan down your arms quickly, the air is thicker, mustier and much warmer in here, but it’s not surprising, the pub is packed, just as usual on a Friday evening.

“You work way too much,” Piper shakes her head in disapproval as she downs the rest of her drink.

“I’ll be working way less from September.”

“Yeah, but you’ll spend the rest of the week in school, so it’s gonna be the same!” Mona chimes in with furrowed eyebrows.

“They promised me a fat raise if I get this degree within the next three years, I could definitely use the extra cash so I can finally buy my own place soon,” you explain.

You know they understand the situation and they wish you the best. They want to see you succeed in life and in your career, they just love teasing you about how dedicated you are towards your work, having to say immediately yes when your boss told you you’d get a new position and a raise if you finish the masters you never got to two years ago. You already had a handful of credits done that you’ll be able to get accepted, meaning you only have about one year worth of credits to finish in two years while working. It might get a little overwhelming to have an almost fulltime job and go to school but you’re determined to do this.

“We know, we know,” Abigail chuckles. “Alright, no more work or school talk tonight. We are here to let loose, so let’s get another round!”

Soon enough you are nursing a beer of your own, enjoying your time with your friends. It’s been long all four of you were free on the same night. Piper got married last year, Abigail’s work forces her to travel around a lot and Mona has a bitch of a boss, making her work overtime a lot, so it’s been hard to fix up a date that fits everyone. It’s been like this since you all finished your bachelors three years ago. You like to think you’re still a fresh little young adult who just barely stepped out into the big world, but it’s not true, hasn’t been for a while. You’re 24, you have a career, you live on your own, you take care of yourself fully. You are an adult, whether you like it or not.

Drink after drink, the four of you are getting tipsy, having an amazing time talking about the stories you shared back in university. Piper was your roommate first year uni, Mona and Abigail were in the room next to yours and you quickly became close friends, moved in for the rest of your studies until you all went your own ways after graduation, but keeping in touch as much as possible.

“I’m gonna get another one, but that’s gonna be my last one, because I have some work to finish in the morning,” you announce climbing out of the booth.

“No work talk!” Mona and Abigail shout at the same time making you laugh as you just wave them off and head to the bar.

You’ve been waiting for the line to get shorter, now only a few people are lingering around so you patiently wait for your turn, clutching onto your card in your hand. You don’t pay much attention to the tall guy next to you, only when someone bumps into you from behind and makes you fall against his side.

“Oh shoot, sorry! Someone pushed me,” you apologize immediately as the guy looks at you over his broad shoulder and your gaze meets a pair of green eyes framed with long lashes and a curious look in them.

“No worries, Love,” he smiles and you almost gasp at the British accent that laces through his voice. You take a quick moment to inspect the man, he is standing almost a full head above you, wearing a simple black shirt and brown slacks, a set of bulky rings sitting on his fingers that are spread out on the counter in front of him, his whole left arm covered in ink and you feel the urge to examine every figure on his golden skin. His chocolate curls are kind of a mess, but still look well placed, you bet he is the type who only runs his fingers through his hair and makes it look breathtaking. He is handsome and definitely your type, looks older than you, but you wouldn’t think he is over thirty.

“What’s your order?” he asks and your eyes snap up to him, realizing he is still looking at you.

“Huh?”

“What’s your order? I’ll get it for you so you don’t have to wait longer.” “Oh, I’ll just have a stout,” you tell him, feeling a little flushed from his offer. His eyebrows rise in surprise. “What?”

“Didn’t take you as a stout person is all,” he smirks at you as the bartender appears in front of him with his drink, asking if he wants anything else. “And a stout, please.” The guy nods and disappears to get your drink.

“I uhh—I only have card though,” you speak up realizing you can’t pay it back to him.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be fair,” you protest and he seems amused that you don’t just let him pay for your drink.

“How about this: you pay for the next round. Me and my mates are sitting over there, just come over when you finish this,” he offers, pointing at two guys sitting a few booths away from you and your friends.

“This was supposed to be my last round. I have to work in the morning,” you breathe out tilting your head.

“What? Work on Saturday? What kind of job is so cruel to make you work on a Saturday morning?” he asks with a boyish smile.

“One that pays my bills and most importantly my beer,” you chuckle softly.

“Okay, then make it just a soda,” he cheekily says and you feel giddy that this man is so keen on having another drink with you.

“I guess that could work,” you smile just as the bartender appears with your drink and the handsome man pays for the drinks, just then you realize you don’t even know his name. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” you tell him taking your beer. He tugs his wallet into his pocket before holding a hand out for you.

“Harry. Nice to meet you,” he smiles warmly and the moment you take his hand, you feel the tiny sparks. This man is surely something else. “I’ll be waiting for our next round,” he cheekily tells you raising his glass before the two of you part and go back to your own groups. As expected, your friends are already waiting for you with wide eyes and excitement, having witnessed your little chat with Harry at the bar.

“Who was that?! No, wait, it doesn’t matter. You need to go home with him!” Abigail smacks her hand to the table earning a chuckle from you.

“Don’t be dramatic, I just met him.”

“And you have to get to know him better. Deeper, you know what I mean?” Mona prompts.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you all. He is hot, but I’m not looking to day anyone right now.”

“You know, it’s starting to get boring to hear you say that you are just working on yourself these days. That’s not what you’re doing,” Piper gives you a look. “You are wasting your time on work and school and all these stuff that will be there when you’re older. Live a little, Y/N!” she begs.

“You guys make me appear like a no fun bitch, but that’s not who I am!” you defend yourself, though you know they just want the best for you.

“A fun bitch would ditch us right now and go over to their booth and then ride his dick all night.”

You gasp at the unfiltered answer you just heard from Mona, but deep down, you know she is right. You haven’t really let yourself be a little crazy in a while, your one night stands stopped the moment you graduated and stepped into the world of work. It just didn’t fit into your everydays, you had a lot to worry about, making a living and keeping your life on track, but you have it all now. What’s stopping you from hooking up with a cute guy?

“I’m not gonna just ditch you guys, came here to spend time with you!”

“Shut up, we are leaving then,” Abigail snaps, downing the rest of her drink in a blink of an eye and for a moment you’re speechless.

“What? No! We never get to spend quality time together, all four of us!”

“Honey,” Mona sighs. “We love you and we know you need this. So go, get the tatted hottie and we’ll meet up another time when you’ll get to tell us all about how good the D was.”

“Jesus, you guys are unbelievable,” you chuckle shaking your head, accepting the fact that they are really forcing you to do this.

They all quickly finish their drinks and get ready to leave, hugging you before they exit the place, leaving you alone in the booth. Staring down at the stout in front of you, feeling nervous to just walk up to the guys a few tables away, though Harry told you to go over, however he didn’t invite you to join their group, just promised another round.

You take a few long gulps, hoping the strong drink will bring out your courage and before you could talk yourself down you grab your bag and drink, heading over to Harry and his friends. He is sitting at the far end so he easily spots you walking over, perching up in his seat when he sees you approaching.

“Hey,” you greet them all with a shy smile, waving around. There’s a blond guy sitting across Harry and a brunette with equally as many tattoos on his arms as Harry.

“Hey, you haven’t finished your drink,” Harry observes with a small smirk.

“Um, no. But my friends left and I was wondering if I could… join you guys.”

“Oh, the honor is yours! Take a seat beautiful!” the blonde one immediately slides further into the booth so you can sit across Harry. “I’m Niall, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“So very nice to meet you,” he grins at you, words thick with Irish accent. “That’s Louis over there,” he gestures towards the third man who nods in your way with a welcoming smile.

“Hi. I’m hoping I’m not interrupting though.”

“Oh, never,” Niall shakes his head immediately. “We saw you chatting up Harry at the bar, have been teasing him about going up to you since then,” he cheekily comments and you see Harry giving him a look, but Niall couldn’t care less.

All three of them are hilarious and you love the dynamic in their friendship. Niall is clearly the loud one, Louis is the cheeky who is always up for some mischief and Harry is somewhat the serious bloke, but it’s clear he doesn’t say no to any crazy ideas his two friends make up. You love the teasing and joking, they make you feel welcomed and as if you’d known them for longer than just an hour. As promised, you pay for Harry’s next drink, but you stick to just a lemonade, not wanting to overstep your own boundaries.

All while you’re sitting with the guys, you keep catching Harry eyeing you, your gazes meet over your drinks and at one point you feel his leg finding yours under the table, your ankles pressing together as he nudges you with his feet. You feel like a giddy teenager flirting with her crush, Harry’s effect on you is probably very clear too, but you don’t care.

Louis is the first one to leave and Niall follows not long later, leaving you alone with Harry. The nerves are raging in you as you try to figure out which way to take it. Though he seems like a nice guy, you still don’t want to take it any further than a hookup. Dating is just not in the cards for you right now. But how do you imply a one night stand? Do you ask him to come to your place? Or do you go to his? You would rather go to his so you can sneak out first thing in the morning, spare you an awkward talk over breakfast before you leave.

“We should… get going too,” you suggest and Harry nods in agreement, finishing up the last gulps of his beer. You take a deep breath and decide to just be straight forward. “Maybe I could go to yours? Have another round there?” Your suggestion comes out fainter than you intended, but you still manage to sound confident. Harry seems a little surprised, but he doesn’t voice it.

“Another? Thought you were done for the night,” he tells with an amused smirk.

“I’m sure you have something alcohol free,” you shrug innocently.

“I surely do,” he nods. “Alright, let’s get going.

He calls an Uber and the two of you sit close in the car, thighs touching and at one point his large hand finds your thigh, squeezing it gently that sets a fire in your core almost immediately. It’s been long you’ve been touched by a man, you were starting to forget what it feels like, but you know Harry will remind you well about it.

He lives in a nice townhouse and you note how it’s not too far from the campus you’ll be going to a lot in a week. He keys the two of you in, switching the lights on in his cozy home. It’s not messy, more like lived in. A lot of books everywhere, the furniture doesn’t match, but all together, the whole place is pulled together somehow. It’s very like him.

“So, what would you like to drink?” he asks walking into the open concept kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. “I have some tea, orange juice, water…”

As you watch his broad back, his muscles moving under the soft fabric of his shirt, you quickly forget about any drink. You want him and you want him now. Walking up to him you slide between him and the kitchen counter, catching him by surprise when you cup his face in your hands and pull him down into a hard kiss, but a moment later his arms wrap around you, lifting you up from the ground until you are sat on the counter. You open your knees so he stands between them, his crotch meeting yours as you kiss messily, all tongues, tugging and nipping, but oh my! You absolutely love it. The man has a mouth full of magic and you can only imagine what else he can do with those lips.

A whimpered moan leaves your mouth when you feel his growing bulge rub against your core as his lips travel down your jawline and throat, kissing and licking on your heated skin.

“Harry, bedroom,” you demand grabbing onto his shoulders and he doesn’t waste a moment, picking you up into his arms and heading somewhere down the hallway. You can’t quite comprehend what way it is, you’re way too lost in the feeling of his lips on your collarbone and neck, surely leaving marks on you.

He lays you down to a king sized bed and gets on top of you right away, following his wandering down your body. His ring clad fingers work fast on the hem of your shirt, pulling it off you in a moment before he kneels up and gets rid of his own shirt. He looks breathtaking, all the tattoos littering his chest and stomach, you just want to kiss all of them, feel his skin on your lips.

As he unbuckles his leather belt you push down your skinny jeans, throwing the item to the side without ever taking your hands off him. The man surely has all your attention.

When his slacks join the rest of your clothes on the floor he climbs on top of you again, kissing down the valley between your breasts that are still covered in the lacy bra. Your underwear doesn’t match, but something is telling you Harry is more eager to see you without them than to examine them. When he hooks his fingers into your panties and starts pulling them down, you reach to your back, unclasping the bra and in a blink of an eye, you’re lying completely naked in front of him.

“Fuck, you look so hot, Y/N,” he breathes out before those magical lips start working on your nipples, making you moan and whimper under him.

Kissing down your stomach he spreads your thighs wide, gazing down at your naked sex and for a moment you feel a little self-conscious, but the lust in Harry’s eyes quickly makes it disappear.

“You’re gonna let me have a taste, baby?” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine as you nod eagerly.

He is not a tease. Harry dives right in, his lips meeting your clit, working his magic and you cry out his name, fingers tangling into his locks to keep him in place, not that he is about to stop anytime soon. He clearly enjoys pleasuring you.

“Oh fuck!” you gasp when his tongue runs down your slit and he slowly pushes into you, making your back arch. You need him inside you, you need him to fill you up right now or else you’ll burst. “Harry,” you breathe out, tugging on his shoulders, urging him to come back up.

He climbs up your body, a satisfied smirk on his glistening lips and when he kisses you hungrily, you can taste yourself on him.

“Condom,” you urge him, hands pushing down on his briefs, lips still locked as he reaches to the bedside table. You hear the familiar sound of the package ripping before he leans back, your eyes falling on his naked erection for the first time and your lips part seeing his cock, knowing already he’ll feel you up so well. He rolls the condom on easily before returning to you, but you don’t stay in that position too long. You want to ride this man, see him come undone under you. Being on top is already one of your favorite positions, but with Harry, you just know it’s going to be amazing.

You push on his shoulder and he understands your intention without a spoken word, so he rolls to his back and lets you straddle him, glancing down at his cock that’s now grazing his lower stomach, so hard and throbbing just for you. His fingers dig into your hips when you wrap a hand around his length, positioning him to your center.

“Oh fuck!” he moans when you ease down, his cock filling you up inch to inch, feeling so amazing like nothing before.

“Shit,” you breathe out gasping when you sit on him fully, taking his whole length inside you, stretching your insides so nicely, your wet walls hugging him perfectly.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs lowly as you start buckling your hips, moving back and forth, up and down, the friction you’re creating swallowing you up entirely.

Harry can’t take his eyes off you, a hand wandering up to cup your breast and you cover his hand with yours, encouraging him to squeeze, making you moan passionately. He starts buckling his hips in sync with your movements, meeting you with every little thrust, hitting just the right spots, building up your orgasm so easily like no man has ever done before.

“Harry, oh God!” you moan, falling forward, leaning onto your arms next to his head, your lips meet in a hungry and demanding kiss as he wraps his arms around your body, thrusting up into you hard and so good, you whimper against his lips.

“You’re gonna cum for me, baby? I wanna see you feel good,” he pants, never slowing down. A few moments later he rolls the two of you around, your back hitting the sheets again as he moves one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, hitting a spot that almost makes you see stars.

“Oh yes! There! Don’t fucking stop!” you cry out so loud, you can only hope the walls are thick enough to keep your voice locked in the room.

“Not planning to,” he chuckles shortly before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You hold onto him for dear life, fingers digging into his sweaty skin, feeling as if you are melting into him.

Harry rocks into you relentlessly, your toes curling as you feel your orgasm finally arriving, making you gasp for air.

“Harry! I’m gonna cum!” you moan and he lifts his head, never stopping, not even for a second. His green eyes lock on your gaze, curls flopping into his forehead as he watches you in awe.

“Let it go for me, baby. Cum all over me, I wanna see how good I’m making you feel.”

“So fucking good!”

He picks up his pace just enough to make you lose your mind. It hits you like a pile of bricks, your orgasm washing over you in intense waves as you moan his name again and again. Your walls clench around him and it’s enough to throw him over the edge as well. His thrusts become uncoordinated and harder as his mouth hangs open.

“Fuck, Y/N! You feel so fucking amazing!” he whimpers through his pleasure and you watch him fall apart, panting and gasping for air, trying to remember every little detail about him. This is an experience you surely won’t forget and will probably fantasize about a lot when you’re alone at home, playing with yourself, seeking release.

A few more sloppy thrusts later he stops, kissing your lips passionately before he pulls out and falls to the mattress next to you. You both need a few minutes to recover from it, just panting and laying numbly next to each other, Harry’s arm thrown over your stomach. You turn to the side and immediately meet his glistening eyes, filled with satisfaction and bliss. When he finally recollects himself he pecks your lips softly before leaving the bed. You watch him remove the used condom, tie it and toss it into the small trash can near his dressed before he moves to the bathroom. When he reappears, he is wearing a fresh pair of boxers and he has a wet washcloth in his hand. Sitting beside you he gently cleans you up as you murmur your thank you.

“Want something to sleep in?” he asks then and you nod. He grabs you a t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts that you put on gladly. They smell exactly like him, soap, something citrus-like and a hint of anise.

He returns to bed and pulls you into his embrace, you gladly make yourself comfortable curled up to his side. Lying there, feeling his fingers gently running up and down your arm almost makes you want more from him. You could get used to share a bed with him and it’s not just because of the mind-blowing sex, but he is a lovable person. You feel bad you’re planning to leave without a trace in the morning, but then you tell yourself it’s what has to happen.

Harry doses off soon and you follow him right after, the warmth of his body puts you to sleep easily. When you wake up it’s still clearly early. Harry is sleeping soundly next to you, face squished into the pillow and you almost stay, wanting to see what he’s like in the morning, but you don’t let yourself change your mind.

You get dressed into your own clothes and leave the ones he lent you on top of his dresser. You tiptoe out of his room and grab your bag before looking for a piece of paper and a pen. You quickly scribble down a short note for him.

“Had fun last night. Hope you won’t be mad, but I only saw it as a one night stand. You’re an amazing man, Harry. I’m glad we met. Xx –Y/N”

It’s more than nothing, than leaving without a word and you don’t let the guilt take over you. Taking one last look around, glancing in the way of the bedroom where he is still asleep, you pack it all up and put it to the back of your mind before walking out.

The last week before your classes start passes by faster than you imagined. It’s your last week fully in the office so you try to work a little ahead, staying in afterhours so you won’t have that much to take care of while you get used to being a uni student again. You usually get home after nine and basically fall into bed right away, and you even work during the weekend before the Monday when school starts. You go to bed way too late so it’s not a surprise you wake up late. You get ready in a rush, throwing out your plan to get a coffee on your way out the window since you are way behind time. Running across campus you’re lucky you already know your way around so you don’t have to wander around, looking for the room you have to be at, but even when you finally reach the right hallway you’re ten minutes late to the class.

Introduction to International Relations, held by Prof. Styles, 8.30-10.00, it reads on the little timetable attached to the way next to the closed doors and you pray the man didn’t start in time, so you’d be late with just a few minutes. Taking a deep breath you push the door open trying to make no sound and unfortunately, you are met with an auditorium full of people, everyone looking at you as if it was against the law to be a little late to class.

What the Hell is wrong with students these days? Being late was usual when I was a freshman, you think to yourself as you step inside, closing the door behind you, getting ready to apologize to the professor.

“I’m so sorry, Professor Styles, I—Shit,” you end your sentence with a whisper as your eyes fall on the man standing on the podium. He hasn’t turned to you, his eyes are fixed on a paper in his hand, probably the syllabus because he must have been in the middle of introducing the class, but the sudden whispering that starts upon your apology that turned into shit, he finally looks up and his eyes fall on your frozen figure.

Professor Styles is none other than Harry. As in The Harry you met at the pub a week ago, had the best sex with and left without leaving your number to him in the morning. Now he is staring back at you with the same amount of panic and surprise as you.

“What—I uhh…” He clears his throat, looking around and seeing about a hundred pairs of curious eyes who are witnessing the awkward run-in. “Take a seat,” he then firmly says, clenching his jaw as you nod.

With your heart beating in your throat you keep your eyes down on your feet as you rush over to a free seat somewhere at the front, since the back is already kinda full.

“So, uhh—As I was saying this is an introduction so we’ll talk about a lot of different topics, I want you to have a view of the most important aspects before moving onto separate fields.”

You don’t dare to look up as Harry talks about the class, the syllabus, how the semester will be built up and what you’ll have to do to pass. Scribbling your wobbly notes, you nervously bounce your legs under the desk, flashbacks from your time with him popping into your mind through the whole lecture.

This feels like something straight out of a ridiculous movie. How is it possible, that the one time you finally decide to have a one night stand with a hot guy, he turns out to be your professor?! That’s just your luck, it seems.

Harry doesn’t drag the lecture long, dismisses everyone after an hour once every question has been answered. You plan to escape right away, but it turns out Harry doesn’t want to just sweep it under the rug.

“Can I have a word with you?” he asks stepping to your desk as you are furiously shoving your stuff into your bag.

“Uh, sure,” you nod, not like you have a choice. You’d love to run, but he is your professor, it would sit well if you ditched him on the first day of school.

You slow your packing down so you finish right when the last student has left the room. Grabbing your bag you turn to face Harry who now seems furious, vivid if you might say. He strides over to the door and shuts it before facing you.

“You said you’re working!” is the first thing he throws at you, making you raise your eyebrows.

“Because I am! I’m finishing my masters so I can get a promotion!” you defend yourself.

“Wait, so how old are you?” he asks with a puzzled look.

“I’m twenty-four, what did you think?” You feel offended, did he think you were younger or older? Neither would sit well anyway, so there’s no good answer.

“I-I don’t know, but when you walked right into my class I surely thought you were twenty or something,” he explains exhaling sharply. “Okay, so twenty-four. But still, you could have told me you are a student here.”

“Excuse you? Why would have I told you, we met that night, of course I didn’t share my whole fucking life with you! Besides, you didn’t say a thing about being a college professor either,” you spat at him and it seems like he realizes your argument is quite valid. He can’t blame it all on you.

“Okay, you’re right. Sorry.”

There’s a short silence as the anger dies down and the awkwardness and shock returns. It’s such an impossible situation, you never thought you’d have to deal with anything similar. Having an affair with your professor? This shit is straight out of some teenage drama.

“I can… drop the lecture, if you want. Only took it as extra credit, because I was interested in it,” you offer the first rational option that comes to your mind.

“No, I mean… you don’t have to. Messing around with credits at this time sucks, you wouldn’t be able to find something else.”

“Okay, so then what?”

“I guess we’ll just pretend like nothing happened,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Like you did in the morning when you left without leaving your number.”

His comment spikes, you can tell he was hurt that you didn’t stay, though now is probably not the best time to bring it up.

“Well, sorry. I didn’t think of it as more,” you dryly say.

“That’s not how you came off, however. Having laughs with me and my friends like we’ve known each other for years and then…” he doesn’t finish, but you have an idea what he wanted to say. And then you had insanely good sex and fell asleep cuddling. It feels illegal to even think about it in this building.

“Look, I’m really sorry I left like that, but look at it this way: if we would have taken it further, it would be way worse now, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe we would have talked more later and found out about this and wouldn’t have had to face each other under these circumstances.”

He has a point, but it doesn’t matter now. The past is the past and you have to figure out how to treat this odd situation.

“You think you can forget about it and we can be professional? I really don’t want this to affect my studies,” you truthfully ask. Harry stares at you for a long moment before nodding.

“I think we can make it work. We are both adults, let’s put it behind us.” You nod, satisfied with his answer. “So what’s your major and why do you need it for your job?”

“It’s communication. I’m set to take over our international partnership groups, but the board is set on having someone with a higher degree. I told my boss I started it back then but never finished when I started working. He said I would instantly get the position if I finished my masters, so… here I am.”

Harry nods, chewing on your answer. Suddenly, as you look at him, guilt washes over you. He is such a genuine and lovely man, yet you left so abruptly, never even giving him a chance. Not that it would have made this situation any different, but it seems like you hurt him.

“Harry, I really am sorry for leaving. I had a great time with you, but I don’t think dating just fits into my life right now. I felt like you’d want more and I didn’t want to deal with all the explaining and apologizing.”

“I get it. It just would have been nicer to talk it out. Not that it makes a change now,” he adds with a soft smile.

“So we’re good?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Professional and all,” he smiles nodding and you feel like a rock has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Great. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, professor,” you add a little cheekily and you see the fire in his eyes instantly, but he holds his tongue, not commenting on how sexual it sounds from your mouth. You couldn’t miss out on the teasing.

“Dismissed,” he nods turning away from you as he walks back to his desk. You walk out with the longest sigh that’s ever left your lips.

“Professor Styles! You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Piper screams at you over Facetime later that week when the two of you have your usual little chat. You’re making dinner while she lies on her couch, staring at you from the screen with the widest eyes. You just told him the whole thing with Harry and she almost choked. “The man is a professor? This shit is wild!” “Not just a professor, he is my fucking teacher, Piper!” you chuckle awkwardly. You still haven’t fully wrapped your mind around the fact that you hooked up with your professor.

“How old is the dude to be teaching at a university?”

“Well, he said he is twenty-nine. I might have done a little search and since he is british, schooling was a little different for him. Apparently, he finished high school early as a fucking genius that he is, then uni, masters and everything. He started teaching at my school two years ago. The guy is like a big name in the field of social sciences.”

“Damn, he is a gem. So what’s gonna happen now? Y’all gonna fuck on his desk after class?”

“Piper!” you snap at her.

“What? I hope you’re not thinking about passing on him.”

“I passed on him way before I knew he was my professor. We can’t have anything going on because one, he is my professor and two, because I’m not looking for anyone to date.”

“You are so full of bullshit, Y/N,” she snorts. “So what if he is your professor? Just for this semester. Keep it a secret and then it’s done. You’re not some eighteen year-old freshman, he is just five years older than you.”

“You can’t be serious,” you shake your head. “I’m not going to have an affair with my teacher.”

“Not an affair, a relationship! You gotta hold onto good dick if you find one. This is what I did with Ronan,” she smirks satisfied.

“Yeah, it’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Piper, have you been listening to what I was saying?” you ask in disbelief. “Yeah, five years is not much, but I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against teachers dating students.”

“Rules are for losers. You literally found the perfect guy and you’ll just throw him away? Said it yourself after your hookup that you liked the guy. Why are you being so difficult?”

“Sorry for not wanting to get myself or Harry out of the university,” you scoff turning the stove off under the sauce before you burn it all.

“Harry? So you’re just calling him Harry?” Piper wiggles her eyebrows at you, leaning closer to the camera and you just groan at her. How was this the only thing that stuck to her?

“I can’t fucking believe you,” you mumble under your breath.

“Okay, yeah, I get you. I truly do. But I’m also your friend who wants to see you happy. So I’m just saying that if he makes a move… be open. He is your professor for only one semester, so once it’s over you are free to do whatever. Fuck, date, anything.”

Soon enough you fall into a pattern with your everydays. Mondays, Tuesdays and Friday mornings are for school. Wednesdays and Thursdays are spent on campus at your lectures and you usually go into the office on Friday afternoons to make sure everything works fine before you go off for the weekend. Having so many credits accepted from before, you have less classes meaning that you have less work to do with school as well. There are a few papers and assignments, but nothing too crazy. You genuinely enjoy your classes, each of them unique in a different way but if you’re being honest, Harry’s class is your favorite. He has done a great job at building up the lectures. Introduction classes tend to be shallow and boring, but not Harry’s. He has chosen interesting but still important topics and he makes sure the students are always involved and he isn’t just reading up his slides dully. There are a lot of discussions, everyone gets to tell their opinion and Harry genuinely seems interested in anything his students have to say.

You also came to realize his class is full of girls, only a handful of men dared to sign up. You didn’t pay attention the first time for obvious reasons, but as you looked around the next week you saw heart eyes and lustful gazes towards the man standing on the podium talking. You’re not sure if Harry doesn’t notice it or just chooses to ignore it, but he is doing a good job at staying professional. In the aspect of your situation as well.

For a bit you were afraid he would have hard feelings towards you or treat you differently, but it’s not the case. You are just another pair of curious eyes and ears at his lectures, only that sometimes you catch yourself daydreaming about that one night. When that happens you can always feel yourself blushing and an irrational fear that Harry can hear your thoughts invades your mind, though it’s stupid. But you always try to stay low just in case.

It’s early October when an unexpected project lands in your hands at work, setting you back in your schedule. You work through the weekend just to get it right but that means that you couldn’t start working on your paper for Harry’s class that has to be turned in by the end of the week. So next Monday morning when class is over you walk up to him to ask for some more time.

“Hey, can I have a word with you?” you ask and as he glances up at you he seems surprised you initiated a private conversation.

“Sure, what’s the matter?”

“I just wanted to ask if I could have just a little more time to turn my paper in. I know it’s due Friday, but I’m a little behind and it would be amazing if I could work on it on the weekend. I’m sure I’d be done by next Monday.”

You’re afraid he might think you want to use your history and take advantage of it, but it seems like Harry looks more concerned than upset about your request.

“Yeah, sure. Everything alright though?”

Your eyes wander around the room, only a few more people are left inside and they are heading out as well. For some reason, you are a little paranoid that someone might figure out what happened between you and Harry though it’s nearly impossible.

“I’m good, I just got some extra work last week and it totally threw me off.”

“Oh, what kind of project?”

“I just have to put together a communication plan for three of our partners and it’s taking way more time than I expected,” you admit with a chuckle.

“I think I have an amazing book about international communication plans. I could lend it to you, if you’d like. It has amazing tips on sustainability.”

“That would be… amazing,” you say, surprised by his nice offer.

“Are you on campus tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I have a lecture. I can come by your office.”

“Fantastic,” he smiles warmly. “And don’t worry about the paper. You’re not the first one to ask for more time. If you hand it in on Monday it’s gonna be perfectly fine,” he assures you.

“Thank you Harry. I-I mean Professor Styles,” you correct yourself, feeling awkward that you called him by his first name, but he just chuckles.

“You can call me Harry outside class.” “Okay,” you smile nodding. “Then, see you tomorrow,” you say as you leave the room.

You spend the rest of the day working unfortunately, still a lot to do with your project. It’s hard to harmonize three different companies from three nations, working in different time zones. The next day you decide to skip your lecture in the noon. The professor is not too strict on attendance so you’re just gonna find a nice coffee place, set up a temporary office and work some more so you can finish everything on time.

You find Harry’s office easily. The door is open and you spot him sitting behind his desk right away, searching for something in a stack of papers. His office resembles a lot to his home, it has a cozy vibe but looks still very much academic with all the books lining on the shelves on the two sides of his desk. You knock on the doorframe as you arrive and his green eyes shoot up to your figure.

“Hey! Come on in!” he smiles at you. “Just a moment please,” he asks, still vigorously flipping the pages until he finally stops. “Here it is, I’ve been looking for it for ages,” he mumbles to himself and you smile. He looks a lot like the version of him you met at the bar. A fun, nice guy, clearly a little lost in his own world, but it amuses you rather then annoys. You wonder what could be happening in that brilliant mind of his.

He pushes himself away from the table and walks over to his bag that lies on the small sofa in the corner. Digging into it he pulls out a thick book that he hands over to you.

“Wow, lengthy,” you chuckle as you flip through the pages quickly.

“Yeah, looks a little dry but I promise it’s good. I put a note to the chapters that are the most relevant to you,” he explains and just then you spot a yellow post-it on one of the pages, a few more following behind.

“Oh, thank you. That’s really nice of you.” You smile up at him warmly, holding the book to your chest. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time,” he nods. “And how is it going so far?”

“Uh, it’s… going,” you say with a tired chuckle. “It’s a little tricky, but I’m sure I’ll solve it. I’m gonna work some more on it now, so hopefully I’ll be done within the next few days.”

“You’re not going to class?”

“No, I allowed myself a skip this week so I’m gonna find a café or something.”

“You could… stay here, if you’d like. I could even help if you let me have a look at it. I mean I’m not an expert in communication but I’m good with multicultural stuff.” His offer catches you by surprise and for a moment you want to say no, but then you realize he might actually be helpful. Another set of eyes is always beneficial.

“You don’t have a class?”

“Not until four, no.”

“And you sure I can stay? I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not. Please, I would love to take a look at what you’ve put together.”

You hesitate for another moment, but then let your bag slip off your shoulder as you walk over to the armchair in front of his desk.

You pull your laptop out of your bag and set it on the table so both of you can see from the two sides of the desk. You open up what you have so far, explaining it in details and Harry listens intently, nodding and humming along so you know he is following. At the end you tell him your concerns, the ones you’ve been trying to rule out these past few days so you can finish it all up.

“This looks amazing, Y/N. I’m very impressed by the way you synchronized it all.” “Thank you, but it’s not perfect, so I have a lot to work on. Any thoughts though?”

Harry asks you a few questions before he gives his two cents, telling you what he would do and change. His point of view actually helps a lot, allows you to see the whole thing from a different angle and he gives you some awesome tips. Before you could realize, the two of you are deep in the project, all kinds of books splattered across his desks as you work together to finish the thing. Two hours pass by as it was just two minutes, but at the end, you have it all figured out.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe it’s done!” you breathe out, scrolling through the document you put together for your boss. Everything is put together, well-thought and in place, thanks to Harry’s help. “Harry, thank you. You literally saved my life,” you chuckle softly, leaning back in the armchair you haven’t left in hours.

“You had a strong base, I just helped you find a few solutions, but it was all you.”

“Don’t belittle it, you literally had so many ideas even in fields you are not familiar with. You really are a genius.”

“I’m just good at using my sources,” he smiles at you, glancing down at all the books he has pulled out during the process. “It was fun working on something so practical, I’m way too used to literal things.”

“Oh stop, you want me to feel bad because you are this ridiculously smart college professor who doesn’t get to work on practical projects?” you tease him earning a boyish smile.

“Maybe I do want that.”

“Well, you’re not getting it,” you laugh and he joins you. Once the mood settles you realize how good it felt to be around him. The dynamic the two of you had was so great, working with him felt like a fun activity. And now that you’re done, you really don’t want to leave this office though you know you have to.

“You know, I might come to you with work stuff all the time. You just spared so much time for me, I really thought I wouldn’t finish before Friday.”

“My door is always open,” he smirks shrugging. “I’m glad we got to work together. You really are great at what you are doing. Your boss is lucky to have you around. I’m sure you’ll be an amazing group leader once you get your degree.”

“Thank you.”

His compliment actually means a lot. Aside from this weird situation, Harry is a brilliant mind in his field. Hearing him tell you that he thinks you are doing an amazing work is such a boost to your ego.

“Well, I owe you one for this,” you tell him as you start packing up.

“Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind for sure,” he smirks, watching you put your things away.

“Mhm, see you around, Harry,” you smile, waving in his way before walking out.

“See you, Y/N.”

Thanks to Harry you get to turn in your project in time and write his paper until the original due date as well. You send it in email and for your biggest surprise he answers later that day.

“Glad you could finish in time, can’t wait to read your thoughts on the topic! –H”

It’s a simple message, but what catches your eyes is the signature at the end. It reads his full name, Prof. Harry Edward Styles, the school’s name, his official office hours and at the very end… his phone number.

Looking at it you think it seems a little out of place, as if it doesn’t belong there originally, he just added it to your email, but you can’t tell. Is this a hint? Does he want you to call or text him? What if he puts it into every email, not just yours? Would it be awkward to text? Why do you even want to text him in the first place? You agreed to stay away from him!

It keeps eating you the whole evening, staying on your mind, doesn’t matter what you do. After you’ve drunk a glass of wine with your dinner you finally make up your mind, convincing yourself it’s strictly friendly as you type in the words.

Y/N: Turned my project in, my boss already emailed me he likes it so far. Thanks for the help again. –Y/N

His reply comes fast and luckily, he doesn’t question why you decided to text him.

Harry: Glad I could help! Ran over your paper, looks great too. You’re doing an amazing job, Y/N.

There’s no stopping after that. The two of you keep talking through texts and though it’s all casual and friendly, you don’t feel bad about it, because in class, you still keep it professional and you have no advantage. He treats you just like any other student, keeping your friendship away from whatever happens in the classroom.

The line slowly starts to blur, however. You think way more about Harry than you should and you actually find yourself regretting that you’re not able to get as close to him as you want. He fascinates and attracts you in ways no one ever could before and something is telling you he shares these feelings, but you are both keeping it at bay, afraid what would happen if you let your desires take the lead. You just wish you could go out with him, have drinks with him and his friends like the night you met him, forget about how he would always stand on the podium on Monday morning no matter what happens and he’ll be grading your papers. Mixing feelings with this impossible situation might turn it into a disaster and you know you have to stay strong, but it’s getting harder.

Harry is the kind of teacher who likes to finish his class before everyone else, so when December rolls around everyone already has their grades from the papers that had to be turned in through the semester, so when December rolls around it’s all just free talks, he starts interesting discussions about topics students want to talk about. His lectures feel like free time but still, no one skips them because they are always so entertaining and interesting.

“Alright, we’ll meet for the last time next week. As per suggested, we’ll talk about the European Union so get your questions and thoughts ready,” he smiles around, ending the lecture. “Y/N? Can we talk for a second?”

“Sure,” you smile at him. Putting your things away you walk up to his desk much more carelessly than before.

“So I have a question and you can totally tell me if you don’t want to go, but there’s this great International Affairs Summit next weekend just a few towns over, not more than a two hours ride. I thought that you might be interested in going? They’ll have some awesome presentations and displays, thought it might interest you.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, he seems nervous, stumbling over his words a little as he avoids looking into your eyes. He looks so much younger, not at all like the respected professor that he is. He is just Harry now, the guy you bonded over that stout he paid for.

“Sounds nice,” you answer smiling at him, he seems surprised at your answer. “I would love to go.”

“Really?” You chuckle at his disbelief.

“Really.”

“Just to be clear it’s not a school thing, it’s gonna be the two of us,” he clears and your grin widens.

“It’s clear. Still want to go.”

“Amazing,” he breathes out, a smile finally tugging on his lips. “I can pick you up in the morning.”

“Sure. Can we discuss the details in text? I have a meeting soon.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. We’ll talk later,” he nods enthusiastically, seemingly very joyful that you agreed to go on this trip with him.

“See you later, Harry!” you wave at him walking out of the classroom.

“Later!”

Piper would be very satisfied to know that you are going away with Harry this weekend. Though you still try to tell yourself it’s nothing more than just a friendly thing, you’re not fooling yourself. You want it to be more and now that the semester is over, your doubts and fears are almost fully forgotten and left at the beginning of September. Soon Harry won’t be your professor and you now see that it wouldn’t be that bad if something more happened between the two of you. You grew close through the year even though you only kept in touch through phone, appearing publicly wasn’t really an option, but still, you got to know him better and you liked him. A lot. There was no use in denying that.

Harry picks you up early in the morning and so the little trip begins. You take control over the music and play some of your favorites to him while he drives, educating him on recent popular music. Then he shows you some of his favorites, playing a lot of Fleetwood Mac and you weren’t expecting anything else from him.

He looks great today in a creamy colored knitted sweater, black wool coat and grey checkered slacks. His hair is now longer than when you met him for the first time, but it just adds to his amazing look, he rocks it pretty well.

The two hours pass by fast and you arrive to the Summit. Checking out the program the two of you choose the presentations you’re most interested in, leaving some time in the middle of the day to have lunch somewhere near.

You choose a sandwich bar that has a nice winter garden at the back looking out to a little pond. You sit at a small table, the conversation hasn’t stopped since the morning, only paused when the presentations were happening, but you always picked up right where you were before. Harry tells you about his time at university back in the UK and you’re a little surprised to hear that he was kind of a wild kid for a while.

“You? Wild?” you laugh. “I can’t picture it.

“It was mostly the first year though. Felt like I can’t miss out on anything so I was at every party and gathering,” he chuckles softly.

“And why did you stop?” “I don’t know,” he shrugs, but you know he is not telling you the truth, so you gently kick his leg under the table. “Alright, but you can’t laugh!”

“I won’t, I promise!”

“It sounds very nerdy, but I fell in love with studying. I mean I was always a good student, that’s why I could finish high school earlier, but I did it to be done with it already. But then I grew an odd love to studying, to learning new things. I wanted to read every book there is, know everything in the world.”

“And do you know everything now?” you ask with a soft smile, completely in awe with how he talks about his passion for sciences. You don’t find it funny at all, more admirable.

“Not even a fraction of it,” he chuckles. “But I learn something new every day,” he shrugs.

“What did you learn today?”

“That Nicki Minaj and Miley Cyrus had… beef?” He is a little unsure about the last word that you taught him today in the car when you were listening to a song from Miley. It sounds so funny hearing from his mouth.

“Yeah, beef,” you nod chuckling. “Great knowledge you’ve learned today.”

“I learn a lot from you,” he smiles cheekily. “But really. I’m glad you could come today. Felt like I needed to take this step since you took the one before this.”

“Huh?” you ask, a little confused about what he is talking about. Then, as if he realizes he just said something he shouldn’t have, he chuckles nervously, keeping his eyes on his iced tea on the table.

“Well, I hope this won’t be too weird, but when you emailed me your paper back in October and I replied… I put my phone number into my signature and told myself that if you use it, I’ll take it as a hint that you… are open to more. And you did send me a text, took the risk so I thought I should be taking it next.”

You look at him in awe. So you were right, he did put his number in just for you and wanted you to use it. You’re amazed at how sneaky he was to find out how you’re feeling about him, but now you’re glad you took the risk and texted him.

“So you asked me to come today. I see where we are standing,” you nod smirking.

“You’re not mad? At the number thing?”

“Why would I?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, but we agreed to keep it professional and all along I yearned for something more and threw you this hint. When I sent the email I wanted to take it back immediately, thinking that you’d see through me right away,” he admits.

“Well, I didn’t,” you tell him making him laugh. “I debated for a long time whether I should text you or not and then just… said fuck it!”

“I’m glad you did,” he smirks and his gaze holds yours for a little, you can feel the moment you’re sharing. This conversation has definitely opened a door for the two of you.

The rest of the day passes by peacefully. You love having Harry with you and discuss the presentations with him later. He has a great mind, you love sharing your thoughts with him, get deep whenever something really catches your attention. It’s so easy to talk to him and you actually feel like he values your thoughts, unlike some men you had to deal with in the past.

During the ride back home you keep thinking about whether you should take it any further or not. You surely don’t want him to be just a one night stand anymore, it’s still very fresh but you actually feel like you’ve started falling for him and you wonder where he is standing in the situation right now. Today has changed a lot so when he parks in front of your building, you decide to just risk it again, like you did it so many times with him.

“Would you want to come up for a little? I could show you that article I talked about today,” you say, trying to sound calm though you see the surprise in his eyes, he wasn’t expecting this invitation.

“I… would love to. You sure it’s not too late?”

“Positive,” you smirk at him unbuckling yourself.

He follows you up to your apartment. It’s definitely not as big as his home, but you take pride in it. It’s the perfect size for you and you’ve worked a lot on making it your home. Harry is looking around, inspecting the place as you walk into the small kitchen and grab two bottles of beer, offering one for him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, following you to sit on the plush couch you adore so much. It feels like a cloud is swallowing you up. “This place suits you.”

“Thanks. You know, this is what I thought about yours too.”

“Yeah? I think mine is just a mess,” he chuckles, taking a sib from his beer.

“It’s a good mess. Liked it.”

There is some tension, but in a good way if you might say. As if you both were unsure about where it’s heading, walking on eggshells, not knowing where the boundaries are lying as of right now.

“You know, the semester is almost over,” you imply, giving him an innocent look.

“I’m very much aware of that, the pile of tests on my desk waiting to be graded reminds me every day of it,” he chuckles making you smile too.

“Mhm and it also means that very soon you won’t be my professor anymore.”

You scoot closer, your knees coming in contact with his thigh and he sucks on his breath, looking down at the spot where you two touch. You really hope he won’t turn you down, because you’ve already gotten your hopes up about making it work.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you nod confidently. He doesn’t move and you’re losing patience. So grabbing his beer from his hand you place his and yours as well to the small coffee table before shamelessly swinging a leg over him, sitting on his lap. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders and his hands immediately find their way to your waist, his thumb caressing the skin that shows from under your ridden up shirt. However you see hesitation in his eyes.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on in your head, talk to me,” you ask him softly, tilting your head to the side.

“I just… I know soon it’s gonna be alright for us to… you know. But I… I hope you know it’s not a game for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I’m all in, Y/N. I know it’s been a crazy few months, but I really like you. A lot. I love talking to you, I love it when you are talking so passionately about things that interest you. I love how open and hardworking you are. I think that you’re an amazing person and I don’t want this to just be some passing, quick thing. I’m serious about this. About you.”

You can’t hold your growing smile back as your hands move up to cup his cheeks. Leaning closer you peck his lips softly.

“Great. Because I’m serious too.”

Harry breathes out in relief and a second later he is kissing you hungrily, letting his desire take over after holding back for so long. You weren’t the only one having a hard time during lectures. He hated how he always found himself looking in your way, thinking about how beautiful you are, how amazing it felt to hold you in his arms and it ached his heart that he had to keep himself so far away from you. When you took the risk and texted him, he could cry in excitement and he knew right in that moment that he is fucked for you.

Though it started a little rocky, now that he has you in his arms again, he wouldn’t change a thing, because it brought him to this very moment and he is overwhelmed with joy. He is more than ready to show you how serious he is about you, not just with his words but his actions, so he is quick to leave the couch and navigate into your bedroom to relive that mind-blowing night the two of you shared back in late August.

“Congrats, Miss Y/L/N. We are looking forward to seeing you work your magic as the leader of the group.” The executive manager shakes your hand and you see your boss from the corner of your eye, looking at you proudly.

“Thank you. I won’t disappoint,” you smile back.

You say your goodbye to everyone else in the room before finally heading out with the widest smile on your face. You did it. You finally got the promotion.

You finished your masters just a month ago and this meeting was scheduled almost immediately. For a while you were afraid they wouldn’t wait until you finish your studies, but they proved that they wanted no one else but you, making you feel so valued.

Walking back to your office you do the rest of your work left for the day, finishing up every pending task so you can be free for the weekend. When five o’clock finally comes you pack up and head out. Pushing through the double doors you step out into the warm July afternoon, immediately spotting a mop of curls you know all too well. Harry is waiting for you leant against his car with a huge bouquet of flowers, smiling at you with pride as he watches you cross the parking lot.

“What’s this for?” you ask teasingly when he pushes himself away from the car and kisses you softly before saying anything.

“A little something to celebrate your promotion.”

“How do you know I got it?” you ask, trying your best to sound serious. He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion.

“I knew you’d get it, who else would get it? Did they not fucking give it to you?” he asks, working himself up at the thought that you weren’t the one to get promoted.

“Relax, I got it,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him a little longer this time.

“I was ready to fight whoever I needed to,” he mumbles against your lips, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“What a gentleman,” you giggle pecking his lips again.

“That I am. And not just because I would throw a fist for my love, but because I knew you’d get it so I went ahead and booked us a mini vacation for this weekend. So let’s head home, you have thirty minutes to pack before we leave,” he smirks down at you, clearly satisfied with himself.

Harry is always full of surprises. In the one and half year you’ve been officially together, he never failed to surprise you with the tiniest things, make you feel loved and appreciated no matter how long you’ve been dating.

“Where are we going?” you ask in excitement, eyebrows shooting up on your forehead.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Harry listened to every hint you’ve dropped how you’d love to spend some time away in some cabin in the woods, disconnecting from the world just for a little and he found the perfect place for that a few hours away. He knew you’d be the one to get promoted so he took the risk to book it weeks ahead, making sure you’ll have the perfect place for the celebration. You have a slight guess it’s gonna be like that because Harry is great at taking hints, but what you doesn’t know is that deep down his already packed suitcase, there’s a little velvety box with a ring inside it that he plans to put on your finger this weekend, hoping you’ll give him the answer he wants to hear.

And you will. Because you are head over heels in love with this man, have been for a while and you want to spend the rest of your life with him.

The two of you head home and your hand finds his over the shifting gear, lacing your fingers together with his. Glancing at you he kisses your knuckles, pressing a long kiss to your empty ring finger.

“I love you,” he tells you and the three little words never fail to make your heart flutter. While the lamp is still red you quickly lean over and steal a kiss from his soft, pink lips.

“I love you too, professor,” you tell him teasingly. He didn’t like it when you called him that back when he was still just your professor, but since the air has been clear, he grew a liking to it, especially because he can’t get enough of hearing you moan it in the bedroom.

You call him a lot of other pet names too. Baby, H, Har, Sweets, whatever comes to your mind while he likes calling you his baby, Angel, Princess or Love. And as the two of you head home he thinks about how he wants two new names to be added to the list. Husband and wife.

Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

@harrysgloves

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yuzukult · 3 years

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acquitted love || sjn & reader

title: acquitted love pairing: johnny suh x reader genre: fluff, angst, co-workers!au, lawyer!au, one-sided enemies to lovers word count: 8.7k warnings: some language/cursing, brief mentions of sex but there's no actual discussions or explicit conversations of the topic, but generally pg-13 prompt: you absolutely hate johnny suh. but when your boss pairs you two up together for one of the highest profile cases, you’re left working close with your enemy but he doesn’t seem to think that way of you. a/n: tada!! i wrote this for the @/ficscafe fic exchange event!! so @urlocalnctstan , hope you enjoy this !! i tried to write it according to what you put as your preferences, but honestly T_T it was so hard bc i was just not getting any ideas!! hopefully this is something you’d like :D enjoy !!

“God, isn’t he just… so attractive?”

Along with a click on your tongue, you feign a hit in Hyeri’s direction, whose reflexes have gotten so much faster in the past couple years of knowing you and it shows when she cowers underneath your arm. She gifts you that not-so-apologetic smile, full of mischievousness because she knows no matter how annoying she can be, you’ll still love her nonetheless.

“Why do you keep talking about Johnny? You know he’s banned as a topic of our conversations.”

Hyeri rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her white frilled blouse. You know that she doesn’t actually inhabit any romantic feelings for Johnny, but she has a problem of thinking without the usage of her brain when she sees a hot guy.

Not that you think Johnny is hot.

No.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think he’s at least an ounce of smokin’ hot.” She’s unraveled her arms by now, poking your shoulder incessantly to grasp onto your attention as you're tapping on the buttons of the copier machine. “I bet if you asked him out, he’d say yes.”

You briefly glare at Hyeri. “You realize that he and I don’t get along, right? He keeps finding stupid loopholes in the system to win his cases. He thinks with his heart, not his head, and sometimes, with whatever that thing was in his pants.” And, not to mention that he walks out the court with that big grin stretched from cheek to cheek, giving the ‘good news’ to your well-respected boss (who you desperately seek the approval of but that’s a different story for another time). And every single time, she gives him that nod of appreciation, that ‘nod of approval’ if you will, when it should be given to you and not to some asshole who fucks his way to victory.

“But he’s so hot—”

You narrow your eyes at your friend, and with a stern voice, you call out, “Hyeri.”

She shrugs. “Honestly, though, he’s hella smart. He’s got a job here, and works under your boss. It’s Park, Kim & Associates—notice how Park is first, because she’s a fucking genius. She only picks the intelligent ones to work under her. Why do you think I’m still working for Mr. Kim?”

Park Seohyun and Kim Gonghyun—one of the biggest lawyers in the region, decided to join together to build their own law firm from the ground up. They were both highly respected in their field; Kim Gonghyun spent years of his life being mentored by one of the most famous judges, and as for Park Seohyun, she was, simply put, admirable because of the obstacles she has overcome to make her dreams of working in law to be real. Being a woman, young, and beautiful, she’s had her fair share of encounters with people who disregard her potential, that is until she met Gonghyun—who, admittingly is an old man who seems like he’d be traditional, sexist, even, but he proves to also make people realize how wrong they are with their impression of him.

But, as Mr. Kim is getting older, he’s gotten a bit… lazy.

In fact, he’s been slacking so much that he’s gotten a new rep in the office—if he was your direct supervisor, or your supervisor was under him, you were on the side of the office where all the easier, uncomplicated cases were assigned. Which meant that there was a slight possibility that your talents and skills weren’t as sharp and exceptional as you thought they were.

And well, Hyeri works directly underneath Mr. Kim.

Hyeri doesn’t want a heavy workload, despite the fact that there’s a plethora of files on her desk, stacked up one onto another as tall as her PC tower, and they were all open and closed cases—needless to say that she didn’t mind it.

“Okay, but you got offered a position under Seohyun. Do you really think you’re not wasting your potential?”

Hyeri scoffs. “Never. At least, not now. I’m still in my twenties, I’d like to enjoy my youth while I can, for your information.”

You quirk a brow. “And does any of that pertain fucking Johnny? The hot guy, so you claim?”

She immediately has her hand covering your mouth and you scowl. “Shhhhh, he works here!”

You bite the flesh of her hand and Hyeri instantly retracts. “You think I don’t know my archenemy works here? He sits directly across from my office—I get the best view of the guy and I’m not even one of his fangirls.”

“You’re not gonna be one of those girls who claim they’re different because they don’t like him but then end up falling for him anyway… are you?”

Your hand goes up and Hyeri crouches down.

“Stop it.”

“Seriously though! It’s the classic e2l love story,” she has her hands gesturing in front of her like she’s making an imaginary rainbow, “Two lawyers, constantly butting heads, accept each other’s differences and learn to love—“

“The fuck is an ‘e2l’?”

“Enemies to lovers.”

“Are you high? Stop spitting nonsense.” This time, you’re waving the stack of papers that finish printing in front of her face. “Meet me for lunch later. But if you keep talking about my archenemy and I falling in love, you can kiss a free meal goodbye.”

Hyeri gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Maybe. Just maybe, Hyeri might be a tiny smidge right when she says Johnny is handsome. Just a bit though, because she can’t get credit for something like that.

He’s dyed his hair this shade of brunette that sort of reminds you of roasted chestnuts on a cold, winter day, sitting inside of a cooker outside of your childhood home, baking along with some sweet potatoes your mom had gotten from a farmer’s market nearby. Johnny has this focused gaze attached to the screen of his monitor; there’s a dip in the fronts of his brows, lips tightened into a straight line, and constant switching back and forth from the computer while taking notes down in a book that’s laid open in front of him.

You wonder what’s running through his mind, or well, you’re more interested in what files he has sprawled out on top of his desk.

Truthfully, if it hadn’t been obvious enough, you weren’t quite a fan of Johnny Suh and it’s mostly due to his work ethic. He’d been notorious for his reputation of sleeping around—especially with the opposing side—so it’s hard to convince yourself that he didn’t win the case because of his actual capabilities, but it’s because he pulled some strings.

And Johnny doesn’t put much effort into denying it either.

Albeit deep down, you were a teeny bit envious of his confidence. He struts around the courtroom with ease, and when he presents his position, there’s no staggering in his voice—it’s always crisp and clean, weighted with nothing but credence, and never straying from his initial perspective. It’s never a lack of poise, it’s consistently the look he goes for; from the hand gestures and the furrowed brows, to the rhetorical questions in the end of certain statements that has the speculators and jury sitting at the edge of their seat, Johnny had a talent for performing in the courtroom, but that doesn’t mean anything when the way he gets to the success isn’t ethical.

Just at that moment, his eyes lift from the screen and meet yours.

There isn’t any hesitation when you scramble to grab the remote controller, and the shades drop over the windows instantaneously.

“Fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, tossing the remote onto your desk and shaking your hands after. What if he thought you were admiring him? Maybe he didn’t see. Yeah. It was for a brief second, and with how close your offices were to each other, it would be common to accidentally lock eyes… right?

Interrupting your thoughts, the office phone rings and it nearly startles the living soul out of you. But before you reach for it, your head tilts to the side curiously because the extension number is familiar—it’s Park Seohyun’s, your boss.

What could she be calling for?

You don’t remember fucking something up—but to be fair, half the times, you never really know if you’ve actually fucked up until someone with steaming ears and a crimson face comes storming in. So… did you do something good? Again, you don’t think that’s right either, because other people would’ve made comments about it.

Deciding to swallow your nerves, you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Seohyun never fails to be bubbly, and you could never mimic her energy. You definitely had to be born with that kind of enthusiasm. “I have a favor. Hop into my office.”

Leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she had her fingers laced with each other while resting over her stomach. Johnny stands beside you (and you do your best to not look directly at him, especially after that weird staring thing), and you both feel like kids being lectured by parents from how still you are. Her office is huge, probably the size of both yours and Johnny’s combined; with ceiling to floor windows, cases of books that line the perimeter, not to mention the humongous ass couch that practically covers the other half of the room, and her desk was so wide, you estimate about four monitors would fit on there with still additional space for work. That wasn’t even the best part—the view of the city looks almost like a generic lockscreen of a Windows computer, and you’re not even sure why she goes home at night when she basically has a penthouse here.

“As you know, I have a favor.”

“Right,” Johnny retorts, mostly as a filler in the awkward silence. “So… what’s the favor?”

She pulls a box from her purse; square, black and made from a leather material with a lock pad stitched into it, something you’ve never seen before, and she slides the passcode in, then it pops the lid open. A key (a… very small one) sits in the velvety cushion, with nothing else occupying the space with it, and it looks comical. She uses this to open the very top drawer of her desk, and as she pulls using the handle, there’s another box inside, but this time, metal instead of leather, but still black.

What the fuck?

It seems Johnny shares the same thoughts, because he sneaks a glance over at you.

“You see,” Seohyun begins, pressing on the digital keys of the box until there’s a beep at the end and the case hisses open. “There’s a lot of security for this. Which means you understand the importance of it.”

Then, she picks up four manila envelopes and lies on the surface of her wooden top desk. “I have a family emergency to attend to this upcoming week. I’m boarding a flight tonight. So I’m leaving the Hwang v. Yoon case to the two of you.”

“Fuck—”

“The what?”

You and Johnny are sputtering out of shock. The Hwang v. Yoon case is the biggest case that the firm is involved in currently, and the only people involved in it have been Seohyun and Gonghyun. It’s been on every social media platform you could think of; from Facebook to Twitter, TikTok to Instagram—there’s even this weird website for emo/grunge teens or strange kids that like writing fanfic called Tumblr, and whatever that is, it’s discussed on there too.

“What about Gonghyun?”

Seohyun scoffs, closing the drawer and dropping the key back into her special box. Where do you even get a box like that? “He can’t handle this alone. So I’m kicking him off until I come back. I thought about letting the two of you work with him, but his ego is so inflated, it’ll get in the way of our chances of winning. It’s easier if it was just me and him, but seeing that things at home aren’t well, I’m going to need you two to step up to the plate.”

The room goes quiet. The only sounds you hear are the muffled noises of a typical bustling office outside the thick walls of Seohyun’s office, and at first, excitement rushes through your blood because Seohyun thought of you taking over a special, high profile case.

Albeit, another realization gets soaked up, and it’s that Johnny also came to mind, and that because it’s such an important case, the two of you would be… working… many… hours… together.

Maybe you should back out of it—but then again, this is such a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Imagine winning this— it wouldn’t be good for just the law firm, it’d be good for you too. Your name, in articles on these big fancy news websites, perhaps even on new channels, talking about how you, this amazing lawyer, won the Hwang v. Yoon case.

But then you’re snapped back into reality when Johnny leans over to take the envelopes from Seohyun.

If your name is on those platforms, so is Johnny’s.

God, this guy just ruins everything, doesn’t he?

“We’ll take care of it, Seohyun. You can trust us,” he says assuringly, a smile tugging on each corner of his lips with that dazzling gaze. “We’ll be at our best.”

Kiss ass.

If you had the option, you wouldn’t be spending your Saturday night here at work, in one of those conference rooms with a long table in the middle, a big projector that displays on the wall, and a random black leather loveseat couch that lines the one corner in case there’s too many occupants.

Especially since the person who’s accompanying you is Johnny Suh.

There’s probably a lot of people who would kill to be in your position (Hyeri being one of them), but you dread it. Not to be that person, but what’s so special about him anyway? What? He’s tall, has some muscles, long luscious hair that he can slick back with that sultry stare—wait, what?

“Alright, moving on…” From what? You guys just started? It’d been clear with Seohyun that the mornings would be dedicated to other cases, but nights would be considered overtime and where you’d zoom in your focus on Ms. Hwang’s justice. “Let’s take a look at the facts here.”

Johnny slips off his blazer, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs as you’re seated in another, leaning back comfortably with an arm resting on the table. He loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt before folding up the sleeves, and that’s when you notice a little thing in the inner crook of his elbow—is that a fucking sunflower? Is that what he uses to reel girls in? That he’s soft enough to have a pretty little flower etched onto his gentle, silky and supple—

“Okay,” he says, interjecting into your thoughts with a laser pointer in his hand. He taps on the space bar of his laptop that mirrors what’s on his screen, but then, that’s when you realize what’s on the slides.

There’s a collage of pictures, mostly street, casually walking themed ones, but the common factor was that they were of Yoon Changmin, the man you guys were up against. They were all paparazzi-like photos, which begs the question, how did he get pics like this, and why did he get them?

“What’s the point of this?” you ask, voice laced with nothing but suspicion.

“We gotta get into the mind of the enemy.” You wanna get into the mind of your enemy, too.

You gesture to the one image of Changmin with an arm around his girlfriend and a finger up his nose. “Seems like he’s trying to reach inside of his head instead of us. These are just everyday pictures, Johnny. What’s that going to do for us?”

“Well,” he begins, turning to look at the wall of ‘evidence’. “You see—wait, holy shit.”

Freezing in the midst of reaching for your coffee, your head jolts in the direction of your partner. “What? What is it?”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, “Hoooooooooly shit. Why didn’t I see this before? This changes everything.”

Furrowing your brows, you’ve given up getting your drink and dropped your hands onto the table. “Tell me, what is it?”

“This is a game changer.”

“Johnny,” you call out sternly, and his eyes link with yours before he instantly points to a particular picture with his red laser pointer.

“Look at that.” There’s pride saturated in his words, but when you look at what he’s indicating, your body slouches in disappointment.

Why the hell was he directing your attention onto Changmin’s thighs? Surely, there’s no denying that they were attractive—you recall that his alibi was at the gym that very night of the crime.

“What? He’s guilty for showing off his toothpick legs?” They were lean, you never said they were muscular.

“No,” he retorts, slightly irritated by your response as he rolls his eyes. “Look at his pants.”

“Okay…”

“They’re jean shorts.”

There’s a pregnant pause, but the expression on your face is so loud it can’t be hidden.

Johnny continues, “That’s a fashion crime.” He says it as if it’s an obvious fact known by many. “Not to mention that it’s fucking raw hem. He should be arrested.”

Suddenly, your opinion of him thinking too much with his heart dissipates because it seems like he’s thinking out of his ass instead. Did he win those cases out of pity? How did this guy even pass the bar? How about law school? How the hell did he even get into law school?

“I don’t think—”

“Listen, alright, just hear me out,” he’s got the palms of his hands resting flat on the surface of the table, doing his best to gain your full undivided attention. “Only assholes wear jean shorts. They flaunt that shit around like they own the place, but they’re horrendous pieces of clothing that should not be on a male’s body. I don’t care what you say, what your opinion is, because that is a fact.”

Puffing your cheeks, you feel at a loss. If Johnny is who you had to get this done, it feels like you’re not going to be finding much evidence any time soon.

“Okay, if… if that’s how you want to play it, then show me the evidence—other than those 2012 cut off denim shorts.”

He reaches over to hit his space bar again, then with a wink and a slide change, he leans closer to you and says with that deep, honeyed voice, “Gladly.”

You hate admitting when you’re wrong.

Ironically, you concede and will confess when you actually are, but it doesn’t mean that you enjoy it. For example, when Hyeri claims that the intern Mark had a crush on you, you quickly waved her off, stating something along the lines of, “I’m too intimidating; there’s better chances of him being scared of me than ever finding me attractive.” And then a week later, you owed Hyeri free lunch at that hip ramen place downtown because Mark had approached your desk that very morning with a bouquet of red roses flowers for you, a cheeky grin glued to his face with pools of hearts in his eyes, and ready to ask you on a date because it was the day after his internship had ended. Naturally, it wasn’t fun rejecting that poor college boy.

But, you won’t say you find Johnny interesting or handsome. Or that there’s potential when it came to possibly (just barely the slightest smidge) that you’d ever consider asking Johnny out. He’s your enemy here, you’ve mentioned that a multitude of times, and you stand firm on that very declaration, despite the fact that sometimes when he gets too close, your breath gets caught in your throat and you feel like you can’t get whatever’s lodged in out.

Albeit it’s not the whole “you guys are gonna end up together” comment that Hyeri makes and resulting in you denying it afterwards, it’s that Johnny might… be a decent lawyer.

He’s not the best one you’ve seen; the stupid revelation he had on the first day working on the case about the jean shorts is evidence for it, but it’s the days following that were slowly changing your perspective on him.

When you said, “He thinks too much with his heart more than with his head,” it was 100% correct.

When meeting with potential witnesses, you recognized that Johnny empathizes with people often; when they cry and start panicking from being overwhelmed, he's quick on his feet to put an arm around them, share reassuring words, and have them back to normal in record’s time.

And, well… you? You’re the one making them cry in the first place.

You don’t want to fully take the blame for being the cause of their tears, but people need to hear what’s happening, and the very detail that they can’t even handle this information probably means they’re not worthwhile as a key witness.

Johnny, of course, thinks otherwise.

He believes that these people should have a voice (although you’ve alluded that they might be more useless than helpful), and putting them on the stand with Yoon Changmin there would change the view of the jury to supporting Hwang Naeri.

“Listen, if we get these people to sign the form, we’d get witnesses and it’ll help Naeri,” Johnny claims, frantically moving his arms annoyingly as he talks, trying his best to express the gravity of the situation, “and maybe, maybe, money wouldn’t be how Changmin wins, but how he loses. We can’t have another person with jean shorts walking on the streets of our city like this—they deserve to go to prison.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Why does this always revert back to the jean shorts?”

“It always has to do with jean shorts,” he snaps back matter-of-factly. “Any straight guy wearing jean shorts with that much goddamn confidence has done some wrong in their lives.”

“Right, but I’m pretty sure that the crimes he did are mainly the reason why he’s being prosecuted against.”

“Jean shorts are the windows to the soul.”

“I’m almost 100% sure that eyes are the windows to the soul, but whatever. If you genuinely believe that the women we met today would benefit our case, then… okay. Let’s bring them to the stand.”

On the contrary to you, Johnny doesn’t have a hard time convincing witnesses to testify. You see the way that he works; those kind eyes directed at the participants, the pools of chocolate were sweet, saturated in nothing but tenderness and warmth, then he does that weird thing where he reaches for their hands and cups them before the words that escapes from his lips are enough to swoon them to stand in front of a courtroom.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a method to his so-called madness.

Aggression and bluntness don’t work, it seems, because when you’re the one attempting to convince these people to go against the man that had done them wrong, they’re less willing to do it. Something about ‘moving on,’ and ‘not wanting to relive those memories again,’ but if it was you, you’d want justice. Then again, not everyone is like you, and not everyone thinks like you, and spending this abundance of time with Johnny is slowly getting you to ease into that perspective.

So… the initial impression you had of him may have been wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re developing some feelings for him, just as Hyeri predicted.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

His abrupt personal question is enough to have the coffee spill into your mouth to slide down the ‘wrong throat’ because you’re choking, hand on your chest as you’re tackling to regain your breath again and Johnny only stares in disbelief, blinking blankly. “Are… are you okay?”

You glare at him through a hooded gaze. “Well,” you clear your throat once more. “Now, I am.”

“Cool.” He nods, retracting his hand so he could rub your back soothingly, deciding it’s best to stay away. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Quirking a brow, your head tilts slightly in puzzlement. “Why are you asking this?”

Johnny shrugs. “Isn’t it weird that we’ve hung out with each other for a whole week—stayed here for nights and we both don’t know anything about each other?”

Tapping your fingers against the wooden top table, you sigh. Maybe he’s got a point; after all, “Keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer,” right?

“No, I’m single.”

Johnny’s face suddenly brightens, ears perked, and his body straightens its posture in his seat at this revelation. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know that. You seemed busy in your personal life, so I, uh… was just wondering.” He looked anxious, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “I, um, I’m single too, by the way, in case you’re wondering.” You weren’t.

The plethora of cardboard and plastic boxes scattered across the table was a representation of the night. It’s been long, exhausting, and messy, mostly because it’s a Friday night, the hearing was on Monday, and the two of you were nowhere near close to having enough to present to the court. In fear of disappointing Seohyun, the two of you agreed to stay over the office for the weekend to cram work for the case. There’s no denying that the atmosphere is weirder on the weekends, especially since, well, no one really comes here on the weekends. Johnny had to use the bathroom earlier and ran into the cleaning lady and she nearly shit her pants because she didn’t think anyone was here, so she had music blasting in her headphones.

Johnny is… interesting. He makes you laugh—or well, want to laugh, but you don’t give him that sense of satisfaction—and he’s smart but in his own weird way. He’s not like the other lawyers you’ve met, or any of the law students you attended University with because he’s more lighthearted and free-spirited than the rest, taking life in strides instead of just overwhelming himself in the abundance of stress that work brings.

He’s entirely the opposite of you.

And maybe you could learn something from the guy, but there’s something in you that brews hatred toward him. Possibility that you resent how easy he makes being a lawyer seem when you’re struggling in your day-to-day life to make things work.

But it’s way too fucking hard when he’s just… like that.

Despite all of that, he’s very generous and kind toward you. On rough days, he delivers your coffee order, the one you always get because he remembers what you asked the intern to get for you the last time, and he’s good at identifying when you’re just having that kind of day. You eventually learn he has a photographic memory (fucking show off), so when he saw that crumpled napkin with scribbles of what you want in that dumb intern’s hand, it wasn’t hard to remember. Which, by the way, is how he’s able to get into the most prestigious school for undergrad, manage to pass the bar so easily, and get into law school effortlessly.

And knowing this information sort of angers you more.

You know this isn’t his fault—he’s been blessed with a trait that people desire, one that you also yearn for, but the lucky ones get handed a lot of things in life. You wonder if he’s the type of guy who wins girls easily after matching with them on dating sites because of this stupid ass ‘photographic memory.’ Does he sleep with them right after? Does it ever get serious?

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. You shouldn’t even let these strange thoughts haunt you, especially when you don’t even like him.

He’s a spoiled brat who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter.

So you’re left counting the remaining days until the trial so you don’t ever have to work with Johnny Suh this closely again.

Okay, well, it’s evident that bad luck is glued to your side because after you win the Hwang v. Yoon case for your law firm with that asshole, Seohyun is so impressed. So goddamn impressed that she insists that all the high profile cases are to be given to both you and Johnny.

To work as a team.

Together.

Jesus, this is Hell for you.

Surely, the promotion and raise that came along with it was definitely a plus, but it has you wondering if it’s even worth it. He’s been your unspoken enemy since the first day, and although you think you’re pretty forthright about your hatred for this guy, he can’t seem to read social cues.

When you’re pushing the double doors into the conference room the two of you often spend working on cases in, you expect Johnny to be ready for another day. But strangely enough, Johnny doesn’t have his laptop out or any of the notebooks sprawled across the table.

“Um,” you slide the strap of your bag off your shoulder and onto the spare chair. “Did you come late or something?”

He takes in a deep breath like he’s been holding back something. “We need to talk.”

There’s worry inscribed into his features; from the crease in between his brows, to his pursed lips, and eyes soaked in concern, almost like he’s got bad news to share and it has your stomach in knots. Was it that the case was thrown out? It couldn’t be, right? You both worked hard, presented your stance to the point that the jury and the judge were in awe with your findings. Sure, you had to cover Johnny’s mouth right before he was about to go off in a tangent about jean shorts, but overall, it was a good win, a hard one to go back on and pull out the wrongs of it. So what was it?

“I’m quitting our partnership.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures to the room with his hands as if there’s anything out to reference. “This thing. Our work. The big profile cases. The famous stuff. I told Seohyun that I won’t be doing it anymore and she can revoke the promotion and the raise.”

You’re still not catching on. “… Why?” Was it something you did? Yeah, you weren’t a big fan of Johnny either, but were you so bad that he decided to not go through with the raise because of you?

“Because,” he pushes his blazer back, hands sliding into the front pockets of his navy blue trousers. “There’s a policy put into place. Those who are on the same cases cannot have any personal relations with each other that extend past friendships.”

“We’re not even friends?” With confusion written across your face, your head tilts to the side. “I’m not… I’m not catching on here.”

“I like you.”

Startled, the words you want to say are stolen out of your mouth. You’re left with a mixture of perturbation and bewilderment, uncertain where to go from there because Johnny asked for the removal of both a promotion and additional money that could be so good for his career… and it’s all because he has a crush on you?

“You quit the best thing that could’ve happened to you because you like me?”

“Yeah,” Johnny states calmly, sucking in his cheeks for a brief moment. “Ain’t that romantic?”

You scoff. “No. Absolutely not. You’re insane! Why would you do yourself dirty like that? Use your head, Johnny, you’re constantly thinking with that stupid heart of yours, and hate to break it to you, but it won’t get you anywhere.” Combing your hair with your fingers, you let out a sigh. “Go ask Seohyun for the position back. Say you made a mistake and—”

“I’m not asking her for the position back.”

Johnny doesn’t make any sense to you. “What? Why wouldn’t you do that?

“Because,” he laughs in disbelief, not because he thinks you’re funny. “I’m not going to force myself to work with a girl that I keep falling for. That’s self-inflicting, you realize that, right? You’re amazing, but you can seriously be so dense sometimes.”

“I’m dense? You just told one of the best law firms in the city that you don’t want to work on the important cases anymore because you have a stupid crush on your partner!”

“If we were on a team with more people, maybe it’d be different. But it’s just us two. You think I won’t fall any harder? That’s not easy. Every time I see you working, I swear I could be hopelessly in love with you one day.”

Your heart stops for a second.

This is Johnny Suh you were talking about here. One of the claimed best lawyers in your office, one of the most intelligent people that Hyeri has ever met, and Seohyun evidently backs this up because she’s given him so much recognition for his work. He’s the guy who worked with you to win the Hwang v. Yoon case, he’s the one who brought up the stupid jean shorts that seemed so far-fetched at the time, but they were a crucial detail everyone missed—it so happened that when Changmin bought those dumb shorts, there was evidence of at least one of his crimes in that store from the security cameras.

Any cis-gendered male who wears jean shorts can’t be trusted, according to Johnny.

And candidly speaking? You couldn’t even deny that. Your past two ex-boyfriends both wore jean shorts and the one cheated on you and the other one was caught money laundering.

“Listen,” he begins, interrupting your foggy thoughts. “I’m not asking you to tell me you like me back. I’m telling you because you should know, and that I can’t go on any further without letting you know. I’ll, uh, be in my office. Seohyun said she’d find a replacement for me.”

Hyeri is his replacement.

She’s great company and does a good job of helping you with whatever you need, but that was just it. Hyeri followed you, she never led with you, just as Johnny does. Agreeing with everything you say, mindlessly trailing behind everything you do—Hyeri was smart, but she couldn’t figure out how to think for herself when it came to these bigger cases because she’s never been given such a responsibility. But you couldn’t even blame her because it’s what she was told to do under Gonghyun.

“You said that you think Maeri snatched the bracelet?”

“No, I said if you watched the security video that the jewelry store submitted, it clearly shows that Maeri snatched the bracelet. Not that I ‘think.’ The proof is right there, Hyeri.”

She nods, resuming back to her work on the computer. Truthfully, Hyeri felt more like an assistant than a co-worker, someone to bounce ideas off of and to see from a different perspective. And as much as you hated Johnny, he had decent points. He had ways of making you put yourself into the shoes of people you never thought you were; although the guy was obnoxious, at least he actually was… good at his job.

Deciding you can’t take it anymore when Hyeri asks for the tenth time that hour about your beliefs rather than her own, you abruptly stand from your seat.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” you reply shortly. “I’ll be back.”

It was just a spontaneous thought. It’s after hours, and although there are some people who stay behind to get some work done, you had your doubts that Johnny would still be here. He seems to have a better grip on that work/life balance thing people talked about (unlike yourself), but it didn’t hurt to check his office, right?

It’s a good thing you went with it. Because right across from yours, there’s Johnny.

There’s one single lamp that shines over the tabletop of his desk, and the other sources of light in his office are from his computer screen and the ones from the city skyline from behind him. It has him seemingly angelic like this, so serene, calm, and collected, only focused on what’s laid out in front of him. The sun has gone down, people have gone home, but Johnny remains, hardworking as always, despite your previous observations that he’s a lazy, unprofessional guy who gets everything handed down to him.

With a knock on his glass door, he flinches, head raising up and eyes meeting yours.

Were his eyes always this sparkly?

Opening the door, Johnny drops the pen in his hand and crosses his arms before leaning back in his seat. “What’s up?”

“You’re here late,” you state the obvious, and Johnny only nods in return, without a rebuttal in sight. “You aren’t normally here late. At least, before the Hwang v. Yoon case.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But Seohyun dropped something on my desk this morning. Wanted to work on it. What brings you here?”

Inhaling in a deep breath of courage, your hands bundle up into a fist by your side. “Please come back.”

Johnny raises a brow. “What?”

“Come back,” you reiterate, this time, it’s less tense and releases with ease. Caving in isn’t usually this effortless to you, but something about Johnny makes you feel… comfortable enough.“Come back and work with me again. Yes, I’m not supportive of how you do things—”

“Then let’s go out on a date.”

You freeze. Legs rooted into the floors of Johnny’s office, you’re left immobile and diffident on how to react next. It wasn’t what you were expecting, although you weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to anticipate, but it most definitely was not this.

“I—”

“I said my terms,” he retorts, shutting the book in front of him before shuffling up from his seat. He’s leaving, you realize, and Johnny’s ready to head home for the night and you’re not sure if you could handle an entire weekend with Hyeri here. “And, I meant what I said. One date, and if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll stay on the case.”

Chewing on your bottom lip anxiously, the next words that come out are out of character for you. “And… what if it does?”

A soft smile tugs from each corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll figure it out from there. Promise.”

This is… awkward. It shouldn’t be, but yet somehow, it remains awkward.

You’ve spent weeks with Johnny before, and those moments were in a room, in the middle of the night, and alone. Hours and hours were dedicated to work, yes, but it was just the two of you and nobody else.

So why is it so weird being in a five Michelin star restaurant with him?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. The dim lights, the white clothed tables in lieu of the scratched up wooden one back at the law firm, and instead of leather seats, there’s a neutral beige chaise cushion for the dining chair, slightly less comfortable because it doesn’t recline like the one in your office. Instead of an array of photos and evidence disseminated in front of you, there’s a laminated menu with a multitude of options of what to have for dinner.

Johnny gets the steak with mashed potatoes and string beans, and you order something similar but seared salmon for the main protein. The waitress offers wine, babbling on about the age of the red, where the vineyard is located, and the dryness to sweetness—to be honest, you could care less; you’d rather have gin and sprite with a squirt of lime. A couple glasses of that and you can almost guarantee that the night would end with a deep slumber.

Oddly enough, Johnny seems nervous. Ever since he pulled up in his midnight black Audi in front of your apartment complex, he’s been acting strange. He keeps wiping his sweaty palms off the material of his trousers, occasionally swiping off the droplets that fall on the side of his face.

“Are you… okay?” you suddenly ask, adjusting your dress in your seat. Deciding to go with a black silk dress with a slit up the leg and your hair let down, it’s not a look you often sport but since you’re going on a date (one you haven’t been on in quite some time), you figured it would be nice to at least play the part.

“I’m, uh, honestly, I’ve never really asked a girl out before.”

You quirk a brow curiously. “What? You’re telling me you never asked a girl out before?”

He lets out a bashful laugh with a faint nod, making an attempt to swallow his nerves after. “Honestly, I’ve always been asked out and not the other way around. Not to sound like that guy, but I never really had to put effort into trying for girls. They kind of just…”

“—Throw themselves at you?”

He beams. “Yeah! Like that. I don’t really know how to react half the time, but it makes the whole dating scene a little bit easier.” Geez, he called you dense, but he’s over here acting clueless.

Either way, it feels like whatever opinion you had about Johnny remained true. He never had to try when it came to the dating scene, and you could only imagine what that means for work and the relationships he has with the women in your career field.

“Mm, does that usually happen with work too?”

Befuddled, Johnny leans back in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you’re poking the meat of your salmon that falls off easily. After the first initial bite, the fish practically melts on impact when it touches the tip of your tongue, smooth like butter and bursting with flavor that couldn’t be described by any common person because it wouldn’t do the salmon justice. Johnny seemed to put a lot into this date, and you’re left pondering what the point of this was. Did he actually like you, or was he trying to get into your head? “Just seems like you get a lot of special treatment.”

“Are you jealous?”

“In what way?” you snap back.

“Are you jealous of me because I’m getting this so-called special treatment that you think I’ve always had, or were you jealous of the girls that seemingly got my attention?”

You’re left without anything to say.

It was a good observation he made because truthfully, you never saw it like that.

In actuality, you often saw Johnny as your rival. He climbed the ladder in the field with ease, and it wasn’t hard to quickly blame his success on the fact that he was a guy in a male dominated industry, but the fact that there’s a possible interpretation for your hatred may be from these feelings you might’ve been harboring for him this entire time… that can’t be it… right?

“I mean, look at where you are now,” you begin, trying to defend yourself. It can’t be true that the reason you’ve been bitter about Johnny was because of the girls that got his attention, and one of them not being you. “You got a high position from—”

“—From hard work,” Johnny interjects with his brows furrowed. “I didn’t get to where I was because I slept around, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I knew you sort of always hated me, but I’ve always admired you. I like your work ethic, I like your style, even though we’re both on opposite spectrums, I like the way you think and I wanted to know what it was like being partners with you. Getting to be on that case with you showed me more than just who you were as a lawyer, but who you were as a person. I like you, but I’m trying to put my finger on why you hate me so much.”

“So you noticed.” Sucking in your cheeks, your eyes trail elsewhere—from the fork that lays beside your plate, to the glass filled halfway with wine, to the little candle that sits in between the two of you that flickers the way he has your heart when he expresses once more how he feels about you.

“Yeah, of course I noticed. If you like someone, it’s kind to miss details like that about them. So… you really hated me because you thought I slept my way to the top, huh?”

“I mean…” shoulders dropping in exasperation, you run your fingers through your disheveled hair. “All those rumors—”

“Again, they’re just rumors. I worked hard to get here, you know. And I’m kind of offended that you thought of me that way.”

You scoff. “They’re rumors, Johnny, it’s kind of hard to ignore all the office gossip when that’s all you hear. Plus, it wasn’t hard to believe either, with the whole flirtatious act whenever you encounter anyone who’s breathing and has a vagina.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“You need a book for dummies that elaborates on what’s flirting or not, because Johnny Suh, whatever it is you do with your body language in front of that chick who sits by the front door.”

“You mean Siwoo? The pregnant one who’s married to her highschool sweetheart? Also, how do you not know our receptionist’s name?”

You throw your arms into the air. “How am I supposed to know her name?”

He tilts his head to the side, genuinely baffled. “Do you… not talk to anyone outside of Hyeri?”

Your silence answers his question.

“I… honestly, I don’t know if I should be offended or if I should be honored. You think I didn’t earn anything that I have now, you think that everything I have was handed to me. On one hand, it’s flattering that you think my looks and my bedroom skills could do that but at the same time… I’m offended because you think I’m incapable.”

“I never said you were incapable—”

“But you implied it.”

Hands falling onto your lap, it’s your turn to gulp. His words come shooting at you, but you’re without a shield to protect yourself, and with the new experience of working with Johnny, there comes the realization at times that Johnny is a hard worker. There are some things that he says and does that aren’t like the people you’ve encountered, and being put on new cases with Hyeri only proved it. He’s thoughtful in the sense that whenever you’d bring up your stance on something, he challenges you with what the defense might counter.

Johnny makes you want to be better. Not just against him, but to brush off the dust on your skills and enter into the battlefield of a courtroom to showcase them.

“Well, if you’re staying silent, I just want to say that I tried,” the crinkle in between your brows makes another appearance because Johnny is great at leaving you stunned and confused. “I really like you. I love how your head works, and I wanna be with someone like that but I also can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

Why is it that when you’re in that conference room with him, you’re not afraid and never running out of things to say, but now you’re empty handed?

“I’ll pay for dinner. Grab you an Uber. I honestly thought I could overlook those things, and maybe your perspective for me has changed, but I could see it on your face. It’s the same.”

After that date with Johnny, his life turns back to normal.

Yours? Not so much.

Candidly speaking, part of you missed working with Johnny. You were wrong about him, so wrong, and even when you wanted to apologize at the dinner for what you thought of him, the pride in you was like a vicious plague that blackened your insides, preventing you from ever saying those words.

Oftentimes, you’d still be able to sneak a glimpse of him in his office with that same look on his face—full of concentration and nothing else in his mind other than the task at hand.

The cases you have with Hyeri entail a head like Johnny’s. Someone who could question you, to protest against your stance when there could be flaws in it. It feels like deja vu each time you think about it, each time you open a new case file and Hyeri sits there, perched in that seat beside yours, eyes sparkling with what you have in mind next, instead of what she has going on in hers.

Although you’ve tried convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, what you feel for Johnny is purely professional but when you see him standing by the water cooler with a couple of your coworkers, eyes mimicking the moon crescents in the skies, replicating the ways his lips curl in elation—it was beginning hard to believe that it was all platonic feelings.

So maybe you should be bold for once. Pull off that exterior that displays you as someone who isn’t just independent and assiduous, but someone who’s stubborn and aggressive in getting what they want—and not in a good way.

This time, you’ll show it in a good way.

Or at least, you’ll try.

Johnny is a routine kind-of-guy—he grabs an iced americano every morning at the coffee shop downstairs at the edge of the street, he does his daily 11:00AM drop-by at the water cooler to refill his Hydroflask (which was his prized possession, by the way), and parked in the same exact spot in the parking garage of your building, despite there being an abundance of places he could choose.

That’s why you decide to stand by his car after work that day. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands shaking because it’s your turn to feel anxious. That blazer that once fit so comfortably in the morning suddenly feels tight and hot in the afternoon, and the weather hasn’t even changed. Your bag slung over your shoulder weighs ten times heavier than an hour ago, and you can’t stop your jaw from tightening.

Before your thoughts could spiral off all the possibilities of what the outcome may be when you tell Johnny how you feel, he’s already standing there, feet away from you with that dip in the fronts of his brows that you want to smoothen out the crinkles of with the pad of your thumb.

“Hi,” you greet, faint and peculiarly different from your other approaches. “Um, I just… was waiting for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny says back, the first few buttons of his shirt already unraveled, his blazer hung over his forearm and the sleeves are rolled up. “I see that. What’s up with you?”

“Um,” your leg was jittery, hard to control so you spat everything you had to say out as fast as you could before he could see right through you. “I just wanted to apologize. For everything. You’re admirable, kind, and I wish I inhabited those same characteristics you have. I think professionally, you’ve got great ideas, one that could be implemented into mine and what we did together for that case was just… yeah. We could do something big if we put our heads together.”

Johnny nods in agreement. The relationship between you two work-wise was obvious, he knew that much. “And what about… outside of that?”

“I like you,” you choked, barely getting the words out. “More than just coworkers, um, I guess, more than friends but I’m not really sure since you walked out on our first date,” inhaling in a deep breath of courage, you continue on, “and I don’t know how you feel now after I’m standing before you like this, asking for another chance and that I’m sorry.”

He stares at you blankly, and it leaves you unsure whether or not he accepts your apology. “You know why we ended that date early.”

“Well,” you start again, “can we… start over and try again? I promise I won’t tempt you to end the date early this time.”

And with that, there’s the signature smile that Johnny sports that swoons girls, makes their knees weak, and heart clench but this time… it’s just for you.

“I’d really like that.”

#ficscafe #nct fanfic #johnny x reader #johnny fanfic #johnny suh #johnny nct #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfic #suh johnny #gyukultfics #idk what else to tag #hopefully this does well :|

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