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glynnisi · 3 years

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ShieldShock Holiday Fic 2020 FOR @ava-rosier

At Ao3: Snowbound Christmas

Prompts:

-There's only one hotel room left and it's a blizzard outside and There Is Only One Bed.

-Either at a Mall or an Airport during the busy holiday season, a villain is trying to steal/ruin the holidays and Steve and Darcy, who are both there for Reasons, team up to foil the dastardly plot.

-When Darcy wore her new, risqué Captain America xmas/holiday sweater to work that day, she didn't expect that he would actually...y'know...SEE it.

---

So, it’s been a while since I wrote. Hi, friends!!! :) But I adore ShieldShock still and will always adore @mcgregorswench and the ShieldShock Holiday Fic Exchange. I tried to capture the feel of your prompts, @ava-rosier . I’ve done holiday in the airport before but can NEVAH get too much of THERE IS ONLY ONE BED. Hope you’re having a wonderful holiday, enjoying seeing 2020 finally end, and that you’ll enjoy your ShieldShock holiday fic gift!!! :)

---

Snowbound Christmas

Darcy startled as the car door scraped open over deep snow and a gust of wind blew in to steal her breath. It was even colder than the previous times. Steve could move fast, but not faster than the blizzard winds. He shook his head as he slammed the door closed behind him, sealing them in the relative calm. The only sound at first was the rustle of her shivering. He turned the car on again and they both savored relief as the air around them warmed.

She shifted position in her seat. “Steve, my friend! No room in the Inn?” Darcy tried to sound upbeat rather than weary. “I’d so hoped the eleventh try would be the charm. I mean, those two were raved over in Google as ‘simple’ and ‘budget’. You wouldn’t think that would draw a crowd.” She continued to watch the snow fall, eyes going out of focus.

Steve shook his head and pushed his snow-damp hair back. “I tried all five places in the village. Cut across town on foot rather than wasting gas.” He frowned. “I’m too stubborn. Should ‘a stopped twenty miles back where there were more possibilities. I’m sorry, Darcy.” He kept his eyes on the road as he started slowly moving. The snow was falling hard, gusting winds whipping it around them with abandon. Even with four-wheel drive, good snow tires, and perfect reflexes- Steve didn’t dare go more than fifteen miles per hour. Driving was hazardous, more by the minute.

Darcy shrugged her shoulders. “The forecast was off. I thought we had more time before it got bad, too. I swear! I only closed my eyes for like twenty seconds. When I opened them again it looked like I’d missed seeing three inches fall. You must be freezing. The other motels are two miles away, aren’t they?” She shivered, both sympathetically and because the car was still warming up.

“I’ll be fine.” Steve sighed again and glanced at Darcy’s phone before staring ahead of them again. “Any other ideas?”

Darcy squinched up her features, “well…” She was glad Steve focused his attention on the road. She worried that her idea wouldn’t be well received. “We could ask the others for suggestions? Surely Tony owns something between here and the City.” Darcy held her breath. She’d seen Steve and Tony clash at the Avengers Upstate Base enough to know that he didn’t want to ask Tony’s help.

Steve reached in his jacket pocket and handed his phone to Darcy, groaning in resignation. “Had the same thought. See if he’s replied?” He steeled himself.

Darcy laughed merrily as she read his incoming texts.

“That bad?” Steve’s frown lines deepened.

Darcy’s lips twitched. “Nah, buddy-o. Tony’s busting your chops about being a damsel in distress. He reminds you that he’s been away from Pepper for a week and has injuries to rest up from. Says to cool your heels at a summer lake cabin of hers. Coordinates and key code provided. And to resist the urge to crash dramatically into the lake as it wouldn’t be very festive of you. Cabin can be drafty, but was cleaned recently. Which, yay! They were going to come up last week for a dating anniversary celebration before the weather changed and he took that mission.”

Steve nodded and blew out an impatient breath. He glanced at Darcy again, “does anyone other than Jane know you’re with me?” His tone sounded wary.

Again, Darcy shrugged and avoided his gaze. “I dunno. If the local mechanic didn’t have sick kids at home, I’d be driving myself through this like I planned. Probably would’ve crashed in a snow drift by now or be caught in the sadly-parked madness on the interstate you were smart enough to skip. Why? I’m sorry that coming for me put you behind schedule. You’re too kind, putting yourself out for little ole me. You probably have plans with close friends, or something.” She trailed off, uncertain if that was a fair assumption regarding Steve. As much time as they’d spent together since they met over a year before, he seemed to always be working.

Darcy frowned, sad for Steve. And for herself. She’d tried in vain to shake the crush she had on the loneliest Avenger. He seemed determined to stay lonely and fill his time almost entirely with work. Whenever he came to Jane’s lab, she struggled not to let her extreme thirst for him show. She ended up babbling most times, griping about stuff and talking nonsense. He came by the lab a lot, so she had many embarrassing memories to cringe about.

“Not really. And don’t apologize, Darcy. I wanted to help you. I’m glad you’re with me rather than stuck, or worse.” Steve chose to ignore part of her question for the moment. “I was just going by Tony and Pepper’s party at the Tower to keep some peace between us. Then I figured I might go to Brooklyn to see the crazy lights they put up there these days, and then maybe head down to D.C. to see Sam. Nothing firm. No big deal.” He turned into a skid and eased up on the gas. Anyone else would have registered alarm at the need to maneuver like that. The majority of drivers would have wrecked. Sleet mixed in with the precipitation.

Darcy nodded, silent. She clicked on the coordinates Tony had sent and turned up the volume on the phone directions. When there was a pause, she spoke up, “still sorry to keep you from your party, lights, and Sam. I’m relieved that you weren’t just planning to ignore the holiday at the Upstate Base again this year, though. No offense, but hearing you did that last year made me mad at you.” She let out an indignant huff and blinked back tears.

He raised his brows, but didn’t reply at first. Finally, not wanting to seem rude, Steve asked, “mad? Why?” He fought against both flickers of hope and melancholy.

Steve tried not to wish for what he believed he couldn’t have. He’d found that Darcy won friends easily, but rarely let anyone get close enough to know her the way he’d like to know her. She kept things light and funny, using her humor as a shield against intimacy. He admired her ability to deflect when she used it with others, lamented it when she used it with him.

The first day they met, Steve fell hard for the brash, strong-willed, funny, gorgeous dame. And then he met her boyfriend, Ian. Even after that relationship ended, Darcy made it crystal clear that she saw Steve only as a friend. Her emotional shield pushed him back like the strongest of force fields. She bristled if he held a door or pulled out a chair for her. She acted like it was weird if he did anything for her- like bringing her coffee when he was getting some for himself in Jane’s lab.

Also, there was Darcy’s apparent dislike of soldiers. She cursed agents and soldiers as ‘jack-booted thugs’ every time a piece Jane’s equipment misbehaved. He’d overheard Darcy rant to Jane about her sister’s hard life with a military guy Darcy disdained as ‘Soldier Boy’. Steve was a soldier. He'd never regretted it until it came between him and the only 21st century woman he’d met who captivated him.

Her tone as she spoke next brought Steve out of his reverie. “I know that those you love from your time were more like family to you… that you still mourn all you lost.” Darcy avoided looking at Steve, “But, I consider you a friend and I don’t like for anyone to treat my friends bad… especially, themselves. Thinking of you doing busy work and walking echoing halls alone. Imagining you eating frozen dinners and training alone while the rest of the world celebrated? Too sad. Awful. I wish you would’ve let me, I mean, someone, anyone, know that you didn’t have plans.” Darcy swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. She’d held that in for the better part of a year and was terrified that she’d overstepped enough to anger Steve. If her voice sounded brittle, she couldn’t help it. Her feelings for Steve ran deep. She’d taken one look at Steve Rogers and lost her heart irrevocably.

Steve shook his head and joked to offer one correction, “I hardly ever eat frozen dinners.” He cleared his throat. “What did you do for Christmas last year?” Steve’s tone was mild, unreadable. He’d spent a lot of the previous year’s holiday week reliving the pain of seeing Darcy being kissed by Ian under mistletoe. It was a harsh blow since he’d heard rumors that they’d broken up and dared hope for a chance with her. Thinking of that terrible moment still filled Steve with potent jealousy.

Darcy cut a glance Steve’s way. “I went to the usual lame lab holiday party, complete with joke gifts and too much mistletoe. Then, un-fun family time. As soon as I could escape my dumb sister Beth and ‘Soldier Boy’, I got back to Jane’s. I made Thor watch Christmas cartoons while I struggled to explain the pop nuances of them to him. We drank eggnog. I exchanged joke gifts with him and Jane and Erik. Then we all helped serve Christmas dinner at homeless shelter. And I ate too much and fell asleep on the couch at Jane’s place that night. I ‘peopled’.” She glared at Steve and repeated in an accusing tone, “’Peo-ple-d!’”

Darcy frowned as she also remembered Ian cornering her under mistletoe before Christmas. He tried to get back together with her until she threatened to tase him. It had cast a pall over Darcy’s entire holiday. That was one interaction with people she did NOT look back on fondly.

Steve chuckled weakly, “and you’re mad at me for not ‘people-ing?’”

“You never want anyone to pity you in any way, but then you do stupid stuff like that! I mean, I was drunk when Thor told me, but it made me CRY.” Darcy shook her head and looked away, frowning, angry. “Sorry. Said too much. Not my business. I know. Sorry.” She hunched her shoulders as though concerned he might offer a rebuke.

Steve's face fell into a sad grin. “No need to… It’s nice that you worry about me, Darcy. Thanks for that.” He resisted the urge to cover her hand with his. “I’m sorry I made you cry.” Genuine distress filled him, that she’d cried and that he had no right to offer comfort. Something in her reaction brought out his deepest protective instincts.

Careful to avoid distracting Steve from driving, Darcy poked his rock-hard bicep. “Pfft. Silly. You’re not alone, even if you try. You have friends. I’m your friend. You know that. Right?”

“Friends.” Steve nodded, grim. “Yeah. Thank you for being my friend, Darcy.” He sighed, long and low.

Darcy nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

---

Soon, they arrived at the coordinates. A tiny cabin nestled in the deepening snow. It was dark, but for a dim light visible through its large windows.

Darcy moaned, “finally.”

“I could carry…” Steve’s voice trailed off as Darcy threw her door open and jumped out into the knee-deep snow. She almost fell, but righted herself. The winds swirled snow and sleet all around her.

“Shit! Cold!” Darcy trudged with purpose towards the cabin. “So cold! And, eww, wet. Oh!” She input the code Tony had sent for the front door lock and shoved inside. Darcy kicked off her snow-covered boots and dropped her coat inside the front door. She scurried to the bathroom. “Some of us don’t have super bladder capacity!” Her brief view of the cabin interior was minimal. Dark shapes stood out against the eerie snow light through the windows.

Steve slammed his car door and followed. He shook his head and yelled back, “nobody has that” as he picked up Darcy’s coat, shook snow off, and hung it on a hook. He toed off his boots and set them and Darcy’s boots near the fireplace. Then, he peeled off his snow pants and hung them on a hook near the door. They’d kept his jeans dry.

“Don’t get your tights in a twist. I’m hurrying!” Darcy called from the bathroom.

Brows raised; Steve surveyed the cabin. He flicked light switches and swore under his breath as low, golden light bathed the tight space. The room was dominated by a low bed and floor to ceiling windows. A Christmas tree decorated with lights stood by the bed. There were at least a dozen pillows and a sheer hanging canopy laced with warm string lights over the bed. There was no sofa, only two reading chairs and a small table in front of the fireplace. A kitchenette took space along one wall. It had a well-stocked wine rack.

Mostly, there was the ridiculously romantic-looking bed. Face prickling with heated anxiety, Steve found a thermostat and started the heater. Then, he began to build a fire in the brick fireplace. The cabin was cold and the windows were more suited to airiness than warmth. The back walls were brick, attractive but cold in winter weather.

“Uh, Steve?” Darcy sounded sheepish; voice muffled by the bathroom door. “Can you hand me a blanket or look for a robe or something? I’m sorry to trouble you. My pants are soaked up to the knees and I can’t put them back on. They’re freezing. Wet with snow.”

Steve closed his eyes, still for several seconds. He looked around for a closet and saw instead a wardrobe. He grabbed a black silk robe, frowning at the sheer and gauzy red alternative hanging beside it. The top shelves held baskets of swimsuits, shorts, and other summer clothes. He took the black robe off the hangar and walked to the bathroom. He knocked and held out the robe, eyes averted. Then, he went back to work on the fire.

“Thanks, I didn’t think. Just ran to the bathroom. I…” Darcy stopped as she got a good look at the cabin. “Oh, holy… uh, night.” She cut a careful glance Steve’s way.

Steve shook his head and chuckled. “Something like that. Don’t worry. I can sleep on the floor. I’ve done worse.” He arranged another log in the growing flames and warmed his hands.

“You can NOT! Don’t be stupid. I won’t attack you. Promise. We both need to sleep and there’s room for two if we remove a few hundred pillows.” Darcy’s tone sounded more certain and stubborn as she talked. She rolled her eyes at him. “Make a line of pillows down the middle of the bed as a dividing line if you want to keep me away. Or, I can do it.” She frowned at him, set her jeans near the fire to dry, and moved to the kitchenette. Darcy opened the refrigerator, freezer, and cabinets to see what they had to work with. “Sorry about my coat and boots. I was gonna get them, I swear.”

Steve frowned, disliking her urgent anxiety. “No problem.”

Darcy opened a bottle of water and drank it. “I didn’t dare drink much water while we were stuck in the car, but I still needed a bathroom for at least the past hour.” She offered him a bottle, which he accepted and downed before returning his attention to his work. Darcy moved food from the freezer to the refrigerator to thaw. She opened a couple of cans of soup and put them on to simmer, and sat in a reading chair. “I checked the weather forecast while I was in the bathroom. We’re not getting out of here on our own power before tomorrow night at the earliest.” She tightened the belt on the robe and leaned towards the fire, hands outstretched. “Nice. Getting a little warmth there. Thanks.”

Steve excused himself to the restroom. On his return, he sat in the other chair. He watched the fire’s progress, then turned his attention to the deepening snow visible through the windows all around them. “Quieter now. Slowing down, or a lull before more blizzard.”

“Lull, according to radar. Fresh snow absorbs sound. Something about air between the flakes dampening vibrations.” When Steve gave her an impressed look, Darcy grinned, “I saw it in a meme on the Internet. Must be true.” She winked at him.

Steve returned her grin. “Internet. So helpful.”

“Except when it’s REALLY not.” She made a face, both sad and angry. “Beth met ‘Soldier Boy’ online. And, of course his worst notions get amplified there. Bleurgh.”

Careful, Steve dared, “what branch of the Military is your brother-in-law with?”

Darcy choked on water. “Br... Whaa?” She shook her head, hard. “God, no! Don’t say that. It might come true if you say it. Eww! Grandma Esther'd roll right out of her grave to beat the ever-living sh… heck… pardon me, out of Beth if she marries that Nazi wannabe.” Darcy shuddered dramatically. “Crud. They’ve been dating more than a year. And, Christmas… You may be right. Ugh.” She spoke as she texted into her phone, “‘If you marry him, I’ll give you kitty litter as a wedding present, used kitty litter. Dumbass. BTW I hate him. He’s awful.’ Ugh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

Steve digested all this and stayed quiet. He noted with interest that Darcy’s cheeks reddened as though with embarrassment. In his experience she didn’t embarrass easily. Her plush lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Beth’s dating a racist faux-militia-type lunatic. She’s decided she’s Sub to his Dom and overlooks his politics and crazy behavior. It’s nauseating.” Darcy frowned, sad, “I don’t see the attraction. Mom says the sex must be great, cuz she doesn’t understand the attraction, either.” Darcy twirled a piece of her hair nervously on one finger. “Mom thought she had the worst taste in men in the family, but Beth’s making her wonder.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing to you. You don’t know them. Crazy family of a sorta friend.”

“I know you… some. I care more than you think.” Now Steve’s cheeks reddened. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Darcy gestured as though to bump shoulders with him. “Nice.” She arranged the robe over her legs, both from cold and modesty.

Hesitant, Steve ventured, “you never mention your father.”

Darcy’s gaze turned his way. “Nope. Long gone.” Her expression hardened. “Thank goodness.”

After an awkward silence fell between them, Steve went to the stove and spooned soup into two bowls. He returned to his place by the fire. He handed Darcy her soup, noting her mild surprise at being served. They ate without speaking. When they were done, they both took their bowls and rinsed them in the sink.

Darcy walked over to the bed and started moving pillows. “Do you want a dividing line?” She didn’t try to meet his gaze.

“Not necessary. Let’s put the pillows by the windows. They’ll block some of the cold that’s coming in and making it hard for this place to warm up.” Steve pressed pillows along the bottom edge of one window. He glanced back as Darcy slid beneath the covers, still wearing the black robe. The warm light brought out red and light brown highlights in her long hair. She looked even prettier than usual in the golden glow. And he thought she was always beautiful.

Darcy shivered hard. “Sheets are freezing!”

Swallowing hard, Steve sat on the far side of the bed from her. “Want the decorative lights off?”

“N…n..not unless you do. They’re p..pretty. Make me think warmer thoughts.” Her shivers shook the bed.

Steve shifted so that he could lift the covers and lay underneath them. They were icy cold against his pants. He imagined the chill was worse against Darcy’s bare legs. He lay back and closed his eyes, feeling the motion of the bed from Darcy’s shaking. The winds began to wail again, harder than before. He opened his eyes and turned to look out at the raging blizzard. “Wanna lay back-to-back? I run warm.” As she shifted so that she faced away from him, he rolled to his side and moved back against her. He cursed himself as a masochist.

“Ohhh. Fuck, yes!” Darcy swore under her breath and whispered, “sorry. So sorry!”

“I know what you mean and you don’t have to avoid cursing around me. We’re not on a mission communicator in an official capacity. That ‘language’ thing they joke me about is nonsense. I don’t give a damn about how people want to talk in regular life.” Steve closed his eyes again, trying to keep his tone even as Darcy wriggled against his back. He heard her mutter thanks a few times. Making her feel good pleased him.

Five minutes later, Darcy rolled over and pressed her cold nose against his shoulder. She spent several minutes trying to figure out where to put her hands. She ended up crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her hands under her chin. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Listening to the sound of Darcy’s breathing as it evened out and deepened lulled Steve to sleep soon after. His face settled into a small smile.

---

Steve supposed it was a slight change in the blizzard-muted light of day that woke him next. Languorous, sensual dreams dissipated through his hazy thoughts. Dream images of Darcy, kiss-swollen lips and bared creamy skin, heated his blood.

Then, awareness hit him hard. He and Darcy clenched in a lover’s embrace. Their legs entwined and her head was on his chest. Her sweet, feminine scent filled his senses. Her amazing breasts pressed against one side of his chest. One of her hands was against his arm and the other warmed the skin of his stomach, inside his shirt. It all felt so good and right that it stole his breath. His body’s natural response to his dreams, to her, and to waking was extreme. He was afraid to move lest any friction push him past sanity. A small, low moan sounded in her throat as she shifted against him. He tensed.

Her voice was raspy with sleep. “I know it’s awkward, but I’m way too comfy to regret it. You feel good, Steve.”

“Right back atcha’, Doll,” he whispered. Wishing himself back in his dreams, he kissed her forehead and squeezed her even closer. He wanted her so much he could hardly stand it.

Darcy made another small sound in her throat as she wriggled against him. The realization that he was aroused sparked her passions, but she didn’t dare to presume too much. Maybe it was only an impressive sign of morning. She followed his example and placed a chaste kiss below his jaw. She felt his heart pounding more quickly and closed her eyes again. She flexed her fingers against his ridiculously-cut abdomen and felt him jolt. She debated if any of his reactions had anything to do with her in particular. She wished they did.

Both of them were awake, but neither admitted it. Each of them savored the embrace and the feel of the other’s body. They each fantasized about the other. They fantasized about passionate first moves, expressing affection and desire. Want. They became lost in imagining more and more. Time passed. Their emotions swirled like the blizzard winds that trapped them together.

They lay cuddled and simmering with unspoken desires until Steve’s phone rang. It broke the spell. He moved away from Darcy and answered the phone.

She watched the play of muscles under the back of his shirt and struggled to stifle her lust. Darcy closed her eyes. It was futile. Her lust for Steve had been growing for over a year. In this circumstance, lust was inevitable.

While Steve talked with Sam, assuring him that he was fine though the storm prevented him reaching the City, Darcy left the bed and went to the bathroom. She snagged her dry jeans on her way there. She took a shower and did what she could with toothpaste she found in the medicine cabinet and her finger. When she came back out, she hung the robe in the wardrobe and put on her Christmas cardigan. She looked through the wardrobe and giggled at the sheer red robe. Then, Darcy took a step back. She buttoned and straightened her sweater by her reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

Steve paused in his conversation, a gob-smacked look on his face, “what…?!”

“Oh! Yeah. I know. Gaudy, isn’t it? Well, last year Tony gifted the ‘ugliest sweater at his party’ winner $10,000. I know what he can be like, so I thought I’d stand a better chance of catching his wallet’s attention if I went a little on the sexy side. And I sewed in lights.” Darcy twirled and turned on the LED lights that adorned the sweater. Her dark green Christmas cardigan had bauble Avenger emblem buttons. A Captain America Shield button strained to hold the sweater together over Darcy's breasts. Silver and gold trim around the hem resembled tinsel. Red and gold lighted and embroidered ornaments dotted the sweater at random. It was a bit gaudy rather than ugly, but sexy most of all since the fabric hugged Darcy’s ample curves. She wore it over a tight red top and skinny black jeans. The ensemble played up her natural assets.

Steve could only nod in reply. He tried to turn his full attention back to his conversation, but didn’t do well.

By the time Steve was off the phone and had made the bed, Darcy found waffles in the freezer and syrup in the pantry. She had coffee brewing and was downing another bottle of water when Steve began stoking the fire embers and adding wood. They shared a quiet breakfast. Steve tried not to look at Darcy’s figure and failed again and again. He tried not to fantasize as Darcy licked syrup from her lips. He failed.

As they finished breakfast, Darcy looked around the cabin. “Aw, man. No TV?”

“Actually, there’s one over the bed.” Steve swallowed the last of his coffee.

“Over?” Darcy gave him a disbelieving look and went over to look up inside the bed canopy. “You’re not kidding.”

He chuckled and shook his head, “at first I thought it was a mirror.”

Darcy lay on the bed, on her back. She looked around for a remote control, finally finding one in the nearby window sill. “Icy remote.” She pointed it up and sighed, “but it works!” Channel flipping and streaming services browsing occupied her for some time.

She hoped rather than believed that Steve was looking at her with lusty interest.

Steve was. The intimacy of their situation and Darcy’s sensual appearance were a potent combination. He could hardly speak. He excused himself to go get a quick shower. He came back out a few minutes later, dressed again but still toweling his hair dry.

Darcy didn’t meet Steve’s eye as she offered, “you’re welcome to join me. Just friends watching television, ya know. I’m watching a silly Christmas movie. ’Scrooged.’ Okay?”

Steve shrugged as he made his way back to the bed. He shuffled, awkward, as he drew nearer.

Darcy shifted towards one edge of the bed, not meeting his gaze. “Plenty of room. Don’t mind me.”

He smiled as he sat on the other edge of the bed and forced himself to speak up. “Sam said that they’re busy helping first responders deal with stranded motorists. Hundreds of them all across the state. A lot of people didn’t have our luck and find shelter. I had to agree with him that it’s more important that they help them than us. I’m sorry you won’t have the chance to win the sweater contest.” He eased onto his back beside her, folding a pillow behind his head.

“Of course, they need to help people who’re stuck!” Darcy shuddered. “It’s super cold out there and the storm got out of hand so fast. I can only imagine. We’re fine here.” She grinned and turned to him. “You really think I’d win?”

Steve was struck by how pretty her green eyes were. He blushed. Her look turned quizzical. He nodded and spoke a thick reply, “yeah. Definitely.” Steve forced his gaze up to the television mounted above them. “I assume that ‘Scrooged’ refers to the Dickens novella?”

“Yup.” Darcy shifted further to the edge and lifted the covers so that she could get under the blankets. Once under there, she groused, “darned lights and ornaments are poking me.” She frowned, and unbuttoned the sweater again and lay it aside. Buttons and lights made a clicking sound on the floor by the bed.

After debating for what felt like an endless time, Steve got under the covers and shifted closer to her. “Can’t let you freeze.”

Darcy rolled up on her side and looked him in the eye. “It would be rude to let me freeze. I’m glad you’ve seen the light.” She winked at him, trying to seem playful. She thought that he was looking at her lips, but dismissed it as wishful thinking.

Steve assured her, “I’ll do my best to keep you from freezing. Wouldn’t want to be rude.” He put one arm around her, hand spanning the middle of her back. “I’m a polite guy.”

“You’re the nicest soldier I’ve ever met. Have I ever mentioned that?” Darcy ducked her head as a blush filled her cheeks. The way his hand covered her whole back made her feel tiny. Did things to her. Made her want his hands on her in other places. The fire she tried to play with was backfiring spectacularly, leaving Darcy breathless with desire.

“No. But I’m glad to hear it.” Steve gave her a squeeze.

There was a loud noise onscreen. Darcy rolled onto her back so that she could see the television again. She hoped Steve wouldn’t notice that her breath was racing.

After a few minutes, Steve nudged her. “Tell me about other soldiers you’ve met? There are good and bad apples in any group, you know.” He felt Darcy tense.

Though she didn’t look at Steve, Darcy decided to answer. She told him about Puente Antiguo and the SHIELD agents and soldiers who took Jane’s research- and their computers and even Darcy’s personal iPod. SHIELD ran a strange, temporary military base near the town and Erik worried about their absolute power. She told him about the shifts in those soldiers’ attitudes after Thor returned to Asgard. First, they were obsequious, but gradually more restrictive. They coveted Jane’s research and tried to control them all. After a long pause, Darcy shared, “some of them reminded me of my dad. He was military, Marine. Not a nice guy, especially to our mom.”

Steve rubbed Darcy’s arm as she talked. He felt that it was a privilege that Darcy was telling him something so personal. He didn’t want to break the spell, rather hoped that she might open up to him more.

Darcy blinked back tears. “He found fault with everything she did. She couldn’t do enough fast enough to avoid setting off his temper. Then he… well, you know.” Darcy ducked her head.

Realization dawned on Steve. “So, he never served her a dish or coffee even if he was getting something? He never held doors for her or pulled out a chair? You never saw him treat her with respect?”

Steve stilled as Darcy sat up on one elbow and stared at him, eyes wide. “Respect? No. No respect.” She grabbed the remote again. “Let’s look for something else. I saw…” Darcy glanced at Steve. “’White Christmas’ is about to start on this channel. I remember liking the dancing and pretty outfits and thinking it’s sweet. The story starts in your time, though. Do you mind? Will that make you too sad?”

Steve shook his head. “I’ve heard good things about it. I’ll be okay.” He wanted to say that he was more than okay with Darcy next to him, but was too tongue tied.

As the classic channel announcer talked, Darcy shifted closer to Steve again. “I want you to be okay. The 21st century’s not all bad, ya know.”

Again, Steve kissed Darcy’s forehead. “Yeah. Thanks, Doll.” He stroked her hair as they began watching the movie. “This okay?”

Darcy nodded, wondering if he was only being nice because he felt sorry for her or if there was another reason. “Yes. Very okay. Feels nice.” As his fingers trailed down her back, she shivered with pleasure. She wondered if he had any idea what his touch did to her. She savored the feelings, the want and heat, for a long time. Other thoughts ran through the back of her mind while she tried to ignore them.

Most of the way through the movie, the 'pretend-engagement' conspirators confessed to Bing Crosby’s character. Steve commented, approving, “at least they fessed up and set him straight. Too many times in romantic comedies the people avoid saying what’s on their mind until it’s too late. It's silly.” He stilled as Darcy pushed back from him and stared at him again. “What? You okay?”

Darcy nodded. “I… yeah. Sorry.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, paused the movie, and grasped her phone. After a moment, she nodded. “I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna make this call before I chicken out. Wish me luck.” She grabbed the green sweater from the floor and slipped it on over her red top again.

“Luck.” Steve got up and walked around the bed so he could sit next to Darcy. She looked up at him with a grateful warmth that transfixed him. He nudged her shoulder to offer comfort as someone answered her call.

“Beth? Hi. It’s Darcy. Merry something or other.” Darcy’s knee bounced, betraying her restlessness. Steve could feel tension fill her frame. After a moment, she continued, “yeah. Fine. I found a place to stay. I’m with a friend. And, Beth?” She took a deep breath, “He treats me with respect. Caring and respect. Even if he were…” Darcy paused. She rushed the next words out all at once, “well, if he was my Dom? He wouldn’t embarrass me or push away you or Mom by making me say ‘Meow’ and only ‘Meow’ to you at his whim. He wouldn’t think that's funny. He wouldn’t call me a ‘dimwit’ or a ‘bimbo’. He… Beth? I’m sorry to criticize your choices. But you deserve better than that kind of stuff. I hate the way Chad treats you, the way he talks down to you and tries to change you. You don’t need changing. I don’t know if it’s just me that Chad can’t stand. But, if it’s not? If he treats you like that in front of other people? I mean, would he demean you in front of your kids like Dad did Mom? Would he hurt you? How much like Dad…? Scratch that. Sorry. He’s not Dad. I’m not trying to be an unfair bitch to Chad, whatever he says. I worry that…” Darcy gasped, “don’t cry! I’m sorry! No! You… what? He what? He didn’t… What?!?” She shook, both in her body and voice. There was a long silence on Darcy’s end as her sister talked and cried. Darcy only interrupted the flow of words to utter sounds of disgust and disbelief.

Steve went to the kitchenette and got more water. He opened a bottle of wine and made thawed meat into fried burgers and baked French fries in the oven. He took Darcy water and returned to work on their lunch. The smell of good food soon filled the tiny cabin. He stayed busy, but most of his attention was on Darcy and her conversation.

Finally, Darcy rasped, “Well, that’s… What?! You’re thanking me? No. What? I thought you’d tell me to go to Hell, not take my call as a divine sign that you should say no and leave him. Oh, thank Baby Jesus!” Darcy laughed through tears. “Yes! I know I’m a bitch and I’m causing you to throw yourself on Mom’s mercy at Christmas. Enjoy her cookies for me. If it makes you feel better, I don’t have baking ingredients. Oh, fine! Hm? My friend? Awesome like you wouldn’t believe. Uh, I don’t know. It’s… pffft. I need to talk straight to him, too. Wish me luck?” Darcy wiped tears from her eyes. “Yes! I love you, too. Now, go. Text me when you’re safe at Mom’s and tell her I’m safe and I’ll call later. Merry Christmas.” Darcy hung up from the call and stared at the phone, rocking in place until she received a text. Then, she collapsed backwards onto the bed and stared up, unseeing.

Steve stayed quiet, letting Darcy calm from her talk with her sister. When the food was ready, Steve returned to her side and offered her a hand up, leading her towards the fire.

Darcy stumbled to a chair. “Thanks. You’re the best.” She drank more water.

“So, did he propose?” Steve began eating again and gave Darcy time to answer.

Darcy ate a bite of hamburger with a few fries and shook her head, “nope. TOLD her she was gonna marry him. Told her!” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Jackass! Good riddance.”

Wry, Steve shook his head. “Not very romantic. Not that I’m an expert in that department, but…”

Darcy only nodded as she devoured the rest of her food and sipped wine. “I had no idea how hungry I was.” She looked at Steve, thinking how lucky she was to be trapped with a good person who exuded calm and kindness. She especially appreciated that after the intensity of her conversation with her sister. Darcy sipped the wine as she focused on Steve. Being with him settled her, made her feel safe. And looking at him was always a delight. Steve Rogers was handsome, to be sure. He’d rolled up the sleeves on his green and blue flannel shirt. Unfair of him to subject her to sexy forearms on top of all the rest. Like every shirt she’d ever seen him wear, this one struggled to cover his muscles. She’d given up trying to think of adjectives that could convey how attractive Steve was. And nice. He didn’t call her out for staring at him like a weirdo, mooning after him. He didn’t even press her to speak up now, when she was sure he must be curious about the ‘straight talk’ she’d mentioned. He gave her the space she needed to regain her equilibrium.

Respect. Steve treated her with respect. She had a wonderful friend who treated her with respect. She ought to be forever grateful rather than daring to wish for more.

Steve finished his glass of wine and poured himself another.

Darcy held her glass out for him to top off, then sipped it again. “This is good stuff. I never spend more than $10 on a bottle. I’d bet the cork on this stuff costs that much,” she giggled, “or even the label.”

“I’ll give Tony money to cover it when we get back to the Tower.” Steve shrugged.

Darcy glanced outside. Snow and sleet fell still. “That’ll be a bit yet.”

Steve nodded, not sure what to say. He felt happy trapped with Darcy, to have a chance to talk with her and hold her close. Even if she only saw him as a friend who kept her from getting too cold. Silence fell between them again.

“Wanna finish the movie? Sorry I shut it off without asking.” Darcy needed more time to gather courage.

Steve nodded, “no problem. Yeah. I’d like to see the ending.”

They took their dishes to the sink and then returned to the bed. There, Darcy took off her Christmas sweater. She threw back the covers and snuggled next to Steve under the blankets. He put his arms around her while she used the remote to restart the movie. Finally, the lovers in the movie sorted out their misunderstanding, kissed, and made plans for their future. Fierce longing overwhelmed both Steve and Darcy. Unconsciously, he stroked her back.

There was no one and nothing to distract them or come between them. Nothing except for their own emotional shields. But it was a day for dropping those.

Cheers and strains of the song ‘White Christmas’ sounded behind the words ‘The End’. Darcy ducked her head so that she didn’t have to look Steve in the eye. “I wish…”

Steve interrupted, “I wish that you didn’t dislike soldiers so much, Darcy. I’m a soldier and I can’t change that, never could.”

Darcy pushed back from him, “what? Change? You? No! I don’t… Oh! No. I only dislike the bad ones. I don’t like jack-booted thugs who steal Jane’s research and my personal stuff. I don't like Nazi wanna-be’s or, well, mean soldiers. I like… I like you, Steve.” She swallowed hard and jutted her chin out. “I wish that your work didn’t take pretty much all your time and that you didn’t miss your good old days so much. I wish…” She blinked back unshed tears. “I really wish you wanted to be here- in this time- with me, Steve. I’m sorry. I know you only want to be friends. And I won’t say anything more to make you uncomfortable, friend.” She smiled a small, watery smile. “Friend. I’ve done that for you all this time. I can keep doing it. I want any relationship we can have, even just friends.”

Confusion filled Steve’s expression. “Is that why you say ‘friend’ to me so much? Because you think that’s all I want?”

“Uh huh.” Darcy nodded miserably.

He inched closer. “And you like me even though I’m a soldier? And you want to be more than friends with me? Darce?” He whispered, “do you… want?”

Darcy looked up at him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to make things so awkward when you’re stuck here with me. Yes. I want! I wish that you wanted to be more than fr…Mmph!”

Steve kissed her.

He pulled back and stared at her as he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Sorry. I should ‘a- May I kiss you? I’m crazy about you, Darcy. I’ve wanted you for months and months. Want you so much I can hardly stand it. Not just friends, please. More, Doll.” His eyes gleamed with fervor.

Darcy nodded, stunned.

Steve chuckled, kissed her forehead and kissed her cheek again, with reverence. “Darcy, Doll… can I get a ‘yes’ to me kissing you?” He shifted so that his lips were a hair’s breadth away from her lips. Charged air shook the space yet between the two of them. He waited.

“Yes!” Darcy closed the distance between them and met his kiss with her own. They both trembled into it, a feather-light exploration. They each absorbed the idea that they’d misread what the other wanted. She murmured again, “oh, yes, Steve.”

He grinned as he kissed her again, deepening the kiss. He nibbled at her plush lower lip as he’d fantasized and dreamed so many times. Reality was a million times better. Darcy shuddered against him and groaned with pleasure. Steve stilled and closed his eyes. “Oh, Doll.” Darcy teased at his lower lip and he groaned, “gonna be hard as hell to be a gentleman with you doin’ that.”

Darcy chuckled, “who says you have to be a gentleman?” She shifted her leg to brush against his hardness. “Mmm. You were saying?” She nibbled at his lip again and played with the top button of his shirt.

Steve jolted and cursed under his breath. He kissed her quiet, again deepening the kiss and learning how they fit together. Steve savored Darcy's lips and tongue and throat while also exploring what she liked best. Sensitive spots. Sweetness. Eagerness. It was pure bliss. Darcy was becoming short of breath. Steve lay back and looked up at the next movie that had started while his Christmas dreams began to come true.

Darcy glanced at the Santa onscreen and panted. “I no longer have anything to ask Santa for.” She undid Steve’s top shirt button and kissed at the base of Steve’s throat. “I can think of a few things I’d like to ask you for, though.”

Steve grinned down at her, “same, Doll.”

“Oh?” Darcy undid another button on his shirt and kissed the exposed skin. She looked up at him and held his gaze as she undid the next few buttons.

Steve pulled her up for a long, slow kiss that set Darcy’s every nerve ending afire. She undid another few buttons on his shirt. When he shrugged it off, Darcy stilled, staring at his naked chest. “Holy…”

“Night?” he suggested. She snorted a giggle. He shifted her so that she sat astride him. He asked with his eyes if he could lift her shirt.

She nodded. “I may freeze, but yes. Please do.” She lifted her arms.

He shook his head. “Not gonna freeze. Haven’t you heard? I’m the man with a plan.” His voice tightened as he pulled her shirt up over her head. He shifted another pillow behind him and sat up some, pulling her towards him. He kissed her breasts as he reached around and undid her lacy red bra. “Damn, Doll. You’re a fantasy come true.” As he began to tease at her breasts with his lips and tongue, Darcy shivered and moved on him. He groaned, “here.” He pulled his shirt out from beneath him and helped her put it on, open at the front but warming her arms and back. "Looks much better on you than Tony's robe."

“Ahhh.” Darcy tried to talk, but Steve returned to tormenting her with his insistent lips. “G...good plan. Ohhh.” She squirmed in his lap, grinding against his erection with abandon. He let out a lusty groan that made her proud.

Steve pulled her chest against him for warmth as he moved up to kiss her lips and face again. “You’re shaking.” He looked concerned, but couldn’t resist kissing Darcy again. And again. He plucked and teased at her with his dexterous fingers. He loved the frantic sounds she made in the back of her throat.

“Not cold.” Darcy pulled back, then kissed him again and again. “Just want. Want you. Want so much.”

Steve shifted, rolling Darcy down onto her back. “Good thing, Doll.” He kissed her. Long, slow, passionate kisses that she met with a fervor that lit him up more every second. He palmed her breast and continued his exquisite torment. Darcy arched up against him, writhing. He lowered his lips to her breasts again. First one, then the other. Kissing and nibbling and sucking. She cried out and bucked as he swirled his tongue, hard. Darcy wasn’t sure if she would be embarrassed to come just from his attention to her breasts or impressed. Possibly both. Likely both.

He resumed teasing her nipples with his fingers. He placed open-mouthed kisses all along her belly. Steve took his time. “Beautiful.”

Darcy whimpered and began to shove her pants down. Steve stilled her hands. “I got you.” He undid the snap on her black jeans and kissed the exposed skin. Then he lowered her zipper and kissed her more. Darcy held the covers up with one hand and ran the other covetously along Steve’s shoulder. Steve pulled her pants and panties off and then moved back up her body to kiss her cheek and lips again.

“Pants!” Darcy begged him between kisses.

Steve huffed a laugh and unbuttoned his jeans. Darcy pressed against him, skin to skin. She wore only his shirt and warm red socks. Finally, he pushed down his pants so that he wore nothing.

Darcy’s eyes went even wider. “Oh, my. You go commando?”

He shrugged. “Habit. The uniform requires special briefs.”

She reached for him eagerly and wrapped her fingers around his shaft.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed.

Darcy's grin had a wicked glint. “Something like that.” She kissed down his chest and abdomen until she finally took him in her mouth. Then, Darcy delighted in taking Steve completely apart.

When he’d caught his breath again, Steve gave Darcy a smile unlike anything she’d ever seen from him before. It was both delighted and full of mischief that caused her pulse to race. He again pulled her astride his legs so he could taste and tease at her breasts. He left lingering kisses along the column of her throat and over her wrists. He disappeared under the covers and kissed her thighs and the backs of her knees. Darcy squirmed and unseeingly stared up at the movie. Steve didn’t tire, didn’t cramp- only focused on Darcy's pleasure with single-minded, super-strong drive. He had her writhing with pleasure long before he let her come. Another Christmas movie was playing onscreen and halfway over before Steve came up for air.

Finally, when Darcy begged, Steve slowly slid home. She realized that he’d been prepping her so long because of his size. She felt stretched wide as he twisted to hit her G-spot just right. She came quickly and felt as though she continued coming again and again as Steve pounded into her. He twisted her around so that he could plunge in from behind while rolling her swollen clit between his calloused fingers. After he came, he laid his fingers flat, soothing. He cradled her body tight back against his. Aftershocks left her spasming with pleasure. Steve kissed Darcy’s head again and again, murmuring, “sweet Darcy. Crazy about you.” She dozed in his arms, warm and loved and completely satisfied.

Dinner that night was steak and vegetables from the freezer, paired with an exquisite red wine. As they lay in bed afterwards, cuddling and teasing each other, Darcy felt Steve’s arms tighten around her. He buttoned a few buttons on his shirt to cover her and murmured, “company.” Soon, Darcy heard the sound of Iron Man landing outside the front door of the cabin.

Tony threw the door open and sauntered in, “I’m here to rescue you.” He stared, looked around and saw the open wine bottle and two pairs of pants on the floor by the bed, and shook his head. “Or, not. I guess Pep can stop crying about you being lonely on Christmas again this year, Cap. And I can stop wondering why you’re not answering texts. Nice shirt, Lewis.” Tony was blinking hard, slack-jawed with surprise.

Darcy laughed, “you should see the sweater I was gonna wear to your party. It’s around here someplace.”

“Lights up, sparkles, and hugs her curves to perfection. I’m sure she would ‘a won your contest,” Steve grinned, enjoying Tony’s shocked expression.

Tony smiled, “I bet. Well, Mazel Tov! Thanks for popping Cap’s cherry, Lewis. ‘bout time.” He pretended to wipe away a tear of pride.

Darcy snorted, “no way was that his first time. Orgasm hall of fame. All my Christmas dreams have come true.”

Steve ducked his head against her hair. “Good to hear, Doll. Right back atcha’.”

Tony shook his head. “Good reviews all around then. Well, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays kids. I’d guess you’re all set here ‘til it’s safe to drive again?”

Steve looked down at Darcy and she looked up at him. They both nodded emphatically and turned to Tony, “we’re good.” Tony laughed.

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” Steve beamed. “We’ll see you in a day or two.” He repressed a shiver as Darcy began teasing him under the covers again.

Darcy called out, “Merry Christmas! Thanks for dropping in.”

Tony shook his head and waved back at them as he went out the door of the cabin.

Steve pinned Darcy on her back and began ravishing her again, mock joking, “naughty girl!” He pushed into her again and set a slow pace as he rained kisses over her breasts.

Darcy looked up at him and batted her eyelashes. “Your naughty girl.”

Steve kissed her hard. “And my nice girl. Merry Christmas, Darcy.”

Gasping with pleasure, Darcy answered him, “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Fin

#glynnisi #shieldshock holiday fic exchange 2020 #avarosier #mcgregorswench #shieldshockficchallenges #shieldshockfanfic #darcy lewis x steve rogers #avengers au #thor #captain america #darcy lewis is a queen and don't you forget it #christmas shieldshock #starcy #ava-rosier

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pinejayy · 4 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet for Dr. Robotnik

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Robotnik may seem like he only cares about himself but when you guys finish having sex he will make sure you're alright and satisfied, because your satisfaction comes first. He will whisper sweet things to you, cuddle you and even run you a bath.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body is probably his lips because duh his mustache is literally right on top of them, and he loves kisses you okay. Kissing your neck and inner thighs and loves hearing you giggle and moan. Because boy he can sure put those beautiful lips of his to work.

His favorite body part of yours is probably your neck. Because he loves leaving hickeys or bite marks on there, it's a turn on for him to mark your neck. And when you do have marks you can show everyone who you belong to. And he loves wrapping his hand around your neck when he's fucking you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Depending on his mood, he prefers to cum inside of you because he loves how you feel around his shaft. Or if you're feeling in a slutty mood he will gladly cum on you. Cum on your face, stomach, back and inner thighs.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Okay let's be real here he probably works all the time and spends most of his time in the lab. So he wants you to get on your knees and give him a blow job while he works. He doesn't care if Agent Stone walks in he just wants it to happen but is shy to ask thinking you're going to say no to him.

And he has a other dirty secret, he loves to steal your panties that weirdo.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not much actually, he's had sex once or twice before meeting you but they didn't mean anything to him. And considering he's alone most of the time and hates people he really doesn't know what he's doing but please be patient with him he's a quick learner.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves missionary, he wants full eye contact with you because he feels really close to you and he can just lean in and kiss you, kiss you neck or whisper dirty/sweet things in your ear. But he loves doggy style or when you rude him.

But he's also a fan of the 69.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's a goofy man okay, he loves to crack up jokes as he's fucking you against the bed. Or when he's pleasuring you orally he will kiss your inner thighs and tell you jokes or a funny story. But sometimes he can be serious but that's only when you've been a bad girl and he wants to punish you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's well trimmed and groomed, he doesn't fully shave it off but some hair is there.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is very intimate the poor guy hasn't gotten any affection or love in his life and he wants to love and appreciate you. He's a big fan PDA because he wants to show everyone he has someone and isn't some lonley loser. Hand holding, small kisses or even make outs in public he don't care.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He really didn't masturbate since he was always so busy working and thinking of a plan to catch Sonic but now that you're with him he will fuck you but when you're not in the mood he will jack off.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He's a huge fan of choking, he even bought you a collar with a leash with it. This man has a lot of kinks, hair pulling, chocking of course!! He likes body worshipping either if it's at you or to him. And he's an open guy and trying out new kinks and your kinks he won't judge you.

Huge daddy kink!! Call him daddy and watch were that gets you.

He's into roleplaying, like doctor and nurse.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The guy wants you to ride him while he's in his eggpod but he doesn't want to give people a free show. But he loves fucking you in the bedroom, shower and he's favorite place is his lab. He loves throwing everything off his desk and putting you on the table and give you a good pounding.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Whenever he loses a battle against Sonic he gets all worked up and wants to do something to let off steam. So he will walk in and pin you to the wall and fuck you right there. But also you wearing chokers gets him going. He also loves buying you lingerie, the black or red ones are his favorite.

He loves it when you compliment him on his work or just him in general it just shows him you actually love him and that really turns him on and he just wants to show you how much he loves you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will never degrade you because it's always happened to him and he doesn't want that. Or he won't also bring you to his fights against Sonic he can't lose you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers giving since he loves seeing you moan as he eating you out like there's no tomorrow. When you're sleeping in the morning he will crawl under the covers and just spread your legs and move your underwear to the side and get a morning snack.

But does sure love a good blow job and you do the job right. It makes him hard seeing you on your knees as your lips are wrapped around his hard member as he pulls on your hair moaning.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He's quite rough and fast okay, but when you guys are having a serious romantical moment he will take his time with you. But slow sex is nice since he can tease you. When he's being rough with you he loves all the loud moans your doing.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He's down for them, he will pull you close and have a quickie with you. But most of his quickies are after a battle with Sonic. But he prefers to take his time with you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He's down to experiment your kinks and other new kinks but he will never put you or your body to risk he doesn't want to hurt you. But he's down to make sex drones only if you're down with it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last about two or three rounds, depending on what you're doing. But he won't cum quickly he wants you to cum first since he wants to pleasure you and you're his first priority during sex. But on a lazy morning he will be slow and gentle, I mean who doesn't like morning sex.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He isn't going to buy you some cheap plastic toys why he can make them for you. He once made you a vibrater, and he loves using that on you. He also made a sex drone, it's basically a drone that will pleasure you and he loves using that as he sits on a chair watching you as he strokes himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This mustache wearing wackjob is a huge tease, he wants to hear you beg and whimper for him. He wants you to beg for his dick. He even gets you turned on before a battle against Sonic and just leaves. Leaving you alone and waiting impatiently for him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He doesn't get to loud but sometimes he does let out a few loud moans. But he mostly moans or grunts softly he wants to hear your moans. But he loves whispering "You've been a naughty girl, now let daddy punish you."

Deep moans. Grunts. Panting.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He's a huge sugar daddy for you. He will buy you anything you want even though you tell him it's okay but he wants to spoil you rotten. You're his queen and he's gonna treat you one.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's a little above average and thick. And he knows how to use it right. 🍆

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, you guys are always fucking like rabbits. If you are in the mood he will be down even if it's in the middle of the night. If you want to suck his dick at 6 in the morning he will whip it out and enjoy the blow job.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He makes sure you're okay and sleep first. Once you've fallen asleep he will hold you close and listen to your soft breathing. He will greatful that you're with him and he has someone that actually loves him. He will be happy and fall asleep soon after.

Tagged Robotnik list: @misskirsti @flutterskies @hs-killjam @xxcherry-killerxx @doctor-rothotnik @iclown69 @arvadswife @along-the-lines-of-space @jimbotniks @read-me-to-pieces @agent-catarina-glenn @penelope-potter @ssdarlin @shiniapples @smokindoinksinthejungle @a-frozen-bag-of-corn @beeetleejuicee @enaelyork @baerura @namus-things @icrackunderanysocialpressure @brenda7x13 @jasminerobotnik

#jimbotnik x reader #dr robotnik x reader #dr. robotnik #dr robotnik #dr. robotnik x reader #Jimbotnik #robotnik #robotnik x reader #ivo robotnik x reader #ivo robotnik

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alias-b · 4 years

Text

The Shape.

Summary: It's Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare. Being blind, Marnie McClane considers herself scared of very little. Few things worse than the polite pity she gets from the neighborhood. A misunderstanding leads to a conversation she’ll never forget while she recalls an old friend.

A/N: I’m not back, I might return Monday but idk I guess when I’m down, I write things for slashers that interest very few in my circle. Posting anyways :( I made this in 2 hrs lol

Hope this is enjoyed either way, just trying to get my drive back. Thanks all!! ((TW: Shockingly none!!! Light threats of danger maybe?? No smut sorry)) Let me know what you think and I promise to reply when I return to tumblr for good. xoxo

Halloween, 1963

“Trick-or-treat!”

Always followed with shy giggles and little, outstretched hands.

“Take as many as you like.” A bowl was pushed forward with a colorful selection. Marnie McClane tilted her head to hear the rustling. Parents chided so ‘thank yous’ followed.

“You’re all very welcome.”

“Richie, don’t take that many!” A voice sparked.

“Ah, mom, she said to take a bunch. She can’t see me!”

“Richie!”

“It’s alright, we bought too much this year.” Marnie listened to footsteps across cobblestone.

“Richie, don’t run too far, young man!”

“I won’t!”

“Sorry about him. Just at that age. You know?” Mrs. Castle approached the porch Marnie had seated herself on.

“Kids.” A light shrug followed.

“Who did your decorating?”

“Dad and I before they left for my Aunt’s.” Eerie blue eyes shifted a few directions. No focused on any impossible blur in the black.

“And...you’re alright here by yourself?”

Marnie tried not to sour. The nosy neighbors meant well.

“Yes. Get around fine same as always.” She plucked up a cane next to her and tapped the ground.

“Oh, well, that’s good. Pretty costume.”

“Mom said Red Riding Hood was in this year so I let her dress me. Honestly, I think she just wanted me to stand out in the bright red cape if I decided to wander.” Marnie paused to greet another small round of kids. Smiling to offer the packed bowl.

“My, ah, nephew is visiting. He’s smart. So handsome. Studying to be a lawyer. You’ll like him. I’ll send him by. Just some good company.”

Marnie twitched a smile. Story of her life. Everyone trying to set her up with nice, young men. Pity dates for the blind girl.

“Great.” She replied flatter. “So nice.”

“You two will hit it off, I just know it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an impatient boy gesturing- I’m coming, Richie! ...Enjoy your Halloween dear.”

“You too, Mrs. Castle.” Marnie heard the wind rustling.

Chatter and footsteps. Distantly, birds flapped overhead. It was easier to greet trick-or-treaters from the porch steps. Cold didn’t bug her during long autumn days. Always nice to feel wind on her face.

Not like she could watch much on television.

The night lingered and candy ran low.

Marnie picked up her thin cane and tapped around. Heard some animal rustle violently in the bushes. Probably a raccoon, they loved to eat the pumpkins. She moved back up the steps so she could put the bowl inside and shut the porch light off after feeling for the switch. When her parents weren’t home, she kept the house pitch black.

She didn’t need the lights.

Shifting back to the porch stairs, Marnie crouched down and reached about for the pumpkin sitting there. Lifting it poised to blow out the candle. The flicker of warmth touched her expression

A ragged breath cut into the space. Near the open gate. Made her perk. Dark hair fell over her shoulders and she exhaled. Leaving the candle on to bathe her face.

“Hello?” Feet shifted over concrete, making a slow scrape. She pressed her lips together. “I suppose you’re here to tell me it’s against the rules to snuff the lights in a pumpkin before Halloween ends.”

No reply.

“Well, I suppose I can leave them on just this once. Can’t upset the Halloween spirits.”

Nothingness.

“Are you Mrs. Castle’s lawyer nephew? Forgive me, she didn’t tell me your name.” Marnie sat there on the porch. Heard the steps get closer. “Silent type.”

The Shape stood over her in darkness. Figured the nephew was the man he’d left in the bushes a few moments ago. The street around them hushed as more houses turned off their porch lights. Marnie stood with the pumpkin under one arm. Face glowing.

“Name’s Margaret. McClane. Marnie for short. How do you do?” She extended one hand out into the wind. Felt the cool breeze kiss it. A broad palm lifted, decided against it, and dropped.

All she heard was the tapered breathing. Even like a heartbeat.

“Shy sort.” She tucked hair away and sat down to put the carved face aside. “Well, you walked all this way. I didn’t hear a car. You can sit if you like.” Bright eyes stared ahead into nothingness. The Shape moved finally. Sat upon the creaking porch steps. “Studying to be a lawyer. I thought you’d talk my ear off. It’s okay, I can talk enough for both of us. Like a guessing game, I like those. Probably my condition. Most of my life is a guessing game.”

She tilted her head to laugh softer. A too sweet sound.

“It’s alright to laugh with me.” She clutched her cane in one hand and placed the other on her knee. “Good sense of humor makes the day a little easier.”

He might of grunted but she couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re already thinking I talk too much. I get it a lot.” Marnie swallowed. Sounded a little harder. “We can get one thing straight. I’m blind. I’m not shy. Not helpless. If I need help, I have a perfectly good voice and I use it. I know it annoys people, but they’re too polite. So, if you’re the polite, pitying type, I think it’s best you continue on elsewhere.”

He didn’t move. She inhaled the air. Metal. Grass. Dirt. Earthy-like.

“Very well.” Marnie’s lips lifted again. They sat there together. A dark fall night with a glow from the moon and stars twinkling.

Marnie could imagine them. Although she figured the stars were multi-colored like Christmas lights and the moon was a blob of a shape. Moving as a lava lamp would.

“I lost it when I was young. My eyesight. I have these memories like maybe I saw what a cat looked like or my mother’s face. But, it’s probably all wrong now.” She leaned back like she was admiring the moon. Basking in its light. Thoughtfully, she recalled something else. “You remind me of a friend I had. He was quiet too. We fit together. He spoke very little and I too much. He didn’t seem to mind. Like you.”

A head turned finally to study her behind a rubber mask.

“You know, that old stereotype, that all blind people wanna do is touch faces...it’s all wrong. Everyone thinks I want to, I hate it when they force my hand up without asking.”

He puffed.

“Exactly, it’s so rude. I don’t often touch faces. I don’t like to.” She placed her cane’s handle under her chin to hum. “But, this boy I knew...I asked to touch his face. Everyone used to call him angelic-like. Said he had the face of an angel. I wanted to know what an angel’s face felt like.”

Marnie laughed again like it was silly.

“Though, I suppose I had nothing to compare it to.” She paused and he felt for a moment that she was looking through him. Burning into the chill of stone and black. Slowly, Marnie scooted closer. Not enough to touch him, but enough to feel body heat vibrate. Her chest shuddered.

He didn’t move. Hard and rigid like marble.

“Can I touch your face?” She lifted one hand. “I just want to know if you’re smiling or frowning. Trying to figure out if I should shut my damn mouth.” Extending as steady as she could. A slash cut through the air.

Marnie gasped out.

Fingers curled firm around her wrist. Another shaky breath. One they shared.

“Sorry, if I offended you.” Softening, she stayed there. Heard his lungs vibrate.

A rustle followed. Knuckles twitched as he closed the distance. Let her draw lines up his jaw that was smooth and angled carefully. Face sculpture just so. Maybe by angels.

When he couldn’t handle more. He pushed up from Marnie. Pulled his mask down. Felt the warmth of her touch trapped under it.

“Leaving?” She jumped up, dropping her cane aside. A hand went out and missed it. The footsteps stopped at her gate. Returned before her cane was pushed aimlessly at her palms. She paused. “Thank you.”

A glint of a blade met the moonlight. He pointed it at her heart while she stood oblivious. One plunge, it would have eased into her like butter. A stray, dark lock shifted over her eye.

“Maybe you’ll tell me your name next time we meet. I hope.” Marnie hushed. Unaware. Unafraid. One finger awkwardly shifted the hair from her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone in the process. She leaned into it and remembered something else. “Michael.”

He froze. Blade still poised. Tremoring, he pulled back from her face.

“That was my friend’s name.” She sounded out the syllables mournfully. “He changed. Went away. That’s what they told me. I always wished he grew comfortable enough to speak his thoughts. That’s why I’m not shy. No use hiding behind masks. Except on Halloween, I suppose. I’ve never touched an angel before, but maybe you’re close. It can be another guessing game.”

Marnie smiled kindly down the blade, chest sinking.

“If not, that’s fine too.” She said, catching his hand when it came down. Both their palms were chilled. He thought to slash forward. To crush her. Whatever was left of the boy with a face of an angel turned him back to marble. Delicately, Marnie placed one careful kiss upon his knuckles. Burned it there for the rest of his life.

There was a pause while he slipped away.

Before she heard the steps retreating.

“Will I see you again?” She chuckled at herself. Touching her lips. “Sorry, the phrase always makes me laugh.” Marnie went up her porch, cane clicking as she felt for the doorknob. Michael Myers stopped at the gate. Saw her shifting in shadows to open the door. “Will you come back?

Lips opened to sound out a single word against the cool, night air. Neither of them heard what is was. Just the breath that cast with it. Marnie’s lips pressed simply.

She bid The Shape a lovely goodnight and went inside. Left him there. Taking what lingered of the past with her. Leaving him the burn of a kiss he would never forget.

#Michael Myers #Michael Myers x OC #Halloween #Halloween 1978 #Michael Myers Imagine #Tony Moran is a babe #that's the moral here #mine #writing #Marnie McClane #Michael x marnie

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

Text

guess who wrote snowbaz fanfic for the first time??? me, and just in time for the holidays! this is a lil one-shot I wrote for @snowybank as part of the carry on server’s secret snowflake : ) I hope you like this and have a happy holiday season! <3

(I was going to save this til tomorrow since I already posted a gift exchange fic today for destiel secret santa but I got IMPATIENT so here it is!)

pour l’amour du chocolat chaud (French for “for the love of hot chocolate”)

Un flambeau, Jeanette Isabelle -- Un flambeau! Courons au berceau! C'est Jésus, bonnes gens du hameau. Le Christ est né; Marie appelle! Ah! Ah! Que la Mère est belle, Ah! Ah! Que l'Enfant est beau!

“Baz, turn that off.”

I elected to ignore Simon--Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella was a classic Christmas carol. I told him so.

“Yeah, if you’re a bloody Frenchman.”

“Something wrong?” I arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been a little short recently.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” Simon went back to the book he was reading--although I noticed that his eyes weren’t actually moving.

“The coffeeshop again?”

“Yes!” Simon shut his book and slammed it down so hard on his and Penny’s coffee table that he might as well have thrown it. “People are so--so rude.”

“So, just like you?”

“Baz.”

“Sorry, sorry, keep going.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair (he needed a haircut--not that I minded the extra fwip of curls on top. It was fun to run my own hands through, and sometimes curly strands would fall over Simon’s face and Simon would let out a big breath to blow them away) and frowned. “They don’t say ‘please.’ If I ask them if they want whipped cream, it’s like I’m a major inconvenience. And don’t get me started on accidentally saying someone’s name wrong.”

“Those are normal problems.”

“It’s the holiday rush! We get ten times more people, so ten times as many bloody--” Simon started in on a string of unrepeatable words, and I stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Deep breath.”

“Right.” Simon leaned into my space, resting his head on my chest, “It’s just exhausting. But what do I have to complain about? You’ve got so much work to do at uni, and Penny is off doing great things…”

I swallowed uncomfortably. “Why don’t I make us some tea?”

“Right,” Simon said, his voice short, “That’d be nice.”

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

Things didn’t get much better. Simon told me that he “used up all his cheer” on the customers. I found that doubtful--I had vivid memories of our time at Watford and Snow stuffing his face any moment he could during the holidays. He never went home--well, except for that one time last year that he came to my house and dripped all over the carpet.

(And we snogged. But that was less related to Christmas and more related to, well...)

I half-expected him and Penny to be baking scones and gingerbread every time I came to their flat (so...every day, unless Simon came to see me, but he thought my flat was “too posh”), but usually she was out, or video chatting with Micah, and Simon was grumping around on the couch.

“Simon,” I said one afternoon after a couple of weeks of this, “My exams are over. You want to go out?”

Simon shrugged and slumped further into the couch.

“Simon, love,” I softened my tone and sank onto the couch next to him, “If you hate this job so much, why don’t you quit?”

“Because,” he exploded, “I need a job! I need the money! I’m not rich, I’ve got no family to support me, and it’s what I--”

“If you say letting people treat you like crap is what you deserve,” I said, “I will spell your mouth shut.”

Simon slumped back again, all of the fight drained out of him nearly as fast as it had come. “I just feel...useless.”

“You’ve always been useless.”

Simon glared at me.

“Sorry, let me try that again.” I tugged on his hand until he let me interlace my fingers with his. “You’re not useless. Mostly.”

“You can be a right git sometimes, you know that?”

“Yes,” I said shamelessly, “I’m aware.”

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

I didn’t tell Simon, because it might ruin my reputation as his number-one antagonist, but I had been thinking of ways that I could potentially cheer him up. It was Christmas, after all, and our first one as terrible boyfriends, so I wanted to do it right.

(Well, we had started dating last Christmas, so there was also our anniversary to contend with, but Simon was the sort of person who only got sappy if it was particularly late at night, and I was only sappy in life-or-death situations.)

Bunce was, of course, eager to help, which was irritating but great, because she was much more willing to “think big” than I was. By the time the day for our surprise rolled around, she was nearly vibrating with excitement.

“He’s going to know something’s up immediately if you keep bouncing around like that,” I admonished.

“What makes you think he doesn’t know something’s up already?”

“Because it’s Snow. You of all people should know how dense he is.”

“Right.” Penny rolled her eyes. We’d gotten to be better friends (something about defeating the Mage together and me saving her life via an incredibly sappy spell and now me dating her best friend), but Penny still thought I took the mickey out on Simon a bit too much.

As soon as Simon got home from work, in his usual spectacularly terrible mood, Penny grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen, where I was sitting at a bar stool, drinking tea.

“Baz has something to tell you,” she burst out, earning a glare from me.

“I guess I do now,” I said. “We’re going out tonight.”

“Like, all of us?” Simon asked.

“Like you-me us,” I said, gesturing, “Get your coat. I have a surprise for you.”

Simon frowned but did as I asked, following me out the door and down the stairs of his complex. As we walked towards the Tube station he stopped short.

“What, Snow?” I asked.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t you understand the meaning of the word surprise?” I grabbed his hand, interlacing our fingers so he couldn’t get away from me. “Trust me, love, this will be fun. Certainly more fun than whatever you did at work today.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on--”

“I won’t.”

Simon raised an eyebrow at me, but then allowed me to pull him towards the Tube station.

“Where are we getting off?” he asked, once we were seated. The train was surprisingly not that crowded for this time of the year, and I crossed my fingers that the ice skating rink wouldn’t be, either. Bunce had helped me buy tickets online, but I felt like it would be a less romantic date if it was crowded.

Not that Snow knew we were going on a date.

“Piccadilly Circus. Stop asking so many questions.” I squeezed his hand.

“Are you taking me to the Circus to kill me?” Simon asked. “I know we snog now and everything, but I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You wound me, Snow. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it months ago, after we were no longer roommates. In fact, I would have done it as soon as we were no longer roommates.”

“Comforting.”

“It should be.” I squeezed his hand again, to reassure him or myself, I wasn’t sure. “You’re going to like what we’re doing, though.”

“Hm.” But Simon didn’t ask anymore questions.

Piccadilly Circus was beautiful this time of year, in the way that only Christmas lights and fluorescent advertisements and the cacophony of the crowds could make it. Simon kept hold of my hand, and glancing over at his face was almost spiritual, if I believed in that sort of thing--he was glowing in the lights.

“We’re going ice skating,” I finally revealed, “Penny said you would like it.”

“I would.” Simon was grinning at me, and he squeezed my hand once, twice. “As long as we get hot chocolate afterwards.”

“You drive a hard bargain. But yes, we can.” And then, without hesitation, even though we were in public, I pressed a kiss to his temple, because I had managed to make Simon smile.

A merry Christmas, indeed.

#snowbaz #simon snow #carry on #baz pitch #christmas #offbeatwrites

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greenygreenland · 4 years

Text

Birds of a Feather Pt 1: (platonic) Scrooge McDuck & Reader

-i usually do star wars buuuuuut I'm becoming multi-fandom

-the original was deleted

-thanks a LOT technology. Three hours of hard work, down the drain

-comments will really help my mood, so please tell me if you like this

-happy father's day

Important note: You’re cursed with immortality, so you’re forever the age 15

Summary:

Scrooge has been hiding a secret from you for over two decades. You two argue and your relationship becomes rocky.

A week before

(Y/n) was seething in anger. Her chest heaved and her fingers curled into fists so tight that Scrooge worried she’d draw blood. “Twenty--no, thirty something years, Uncle Scrooge. I can’t believe you’ve hid this from me since the day you found me half-dead! How--how dare you?”

Scrooge couldn’t stand the way (Y/n) was looking at him. Her eyes were ablaze, filled with hatred and sorrow he could not place into words. Seeing (Y/n), the girl who wasn’t so little anymore, look at him like that made his battered heart burst into little pieces. “(Y/n), I didn’t mean to--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it! You told me my family was dead! You said that I was the only one who survived that assassination.” (Y/n) stuffed a pair of trousers into her suitcase and zipped it shut. “You lied to me for decades! Why?” Scrooge’s lips withered into a frown. “I was trying to protect you!”

“’Protect me’?” (Y/n) echoed. She heaved her suitcase onto its quad wheels with a scowl. “Oh yes, because the wee little duckling who knows martial arts needs help despite surviving countless near-death experiences, adventures as your side-kick, and defeating archenemies. Yes, yes, I’m powerless, aren’t I?” Scrooge’s brows knitted together. He knew full-well that (Y/n) could take care of herself. She survived being stuck on an island as well, being swallowed by a gold-hunting dragon, and so many other things that could have ended her life for good.

But this? It wasn’t that Scrooge thought she was weak. No, no. It was only that he knew she couldn’t handle the truth. The Eider family were an absolute nightmare. Besides the fact that they were abusive, they were greedier than the greediest ducks, and more power-hungry than the worst of kings. They believed themselves to be the best of the best (which in itself was not a lie), but because of their arrogance, their enemies spread father than the deepest oceans.

Funnily enough, that was what got (Y/n)’s parents killed.

She was a smart lass, Scrooge gave her that, but the one thing she could never seem to do was let them go. During the years Scrooge hid the true story from her, she never gave up in researching and looking into what happened to her parents. It was as if that were the only reason she existed.

And now that she knew the truth, Scrooge worried what she’d do when she actually got back in contact with her family. Although it looked like she forgave them for ruining her life, abusing her, and for being absolute blockheads, it was clear as daylight to him that she held a deep grudge against her family. “You’re not going back to them are you?” he quietly inquired.

(Y/n)’s glare made him feel as though he were the dust on an old book. “Guess again, Scroogey.” His expression hardened and the air thickened like jam. “Lass, you are not going back there.” (Y/n) made her way to the door, a tight frown on her face. “I don’t have to listen to you, liar.”

Scrooge’s jaw unhinged. “I’m your guardian!”

“Only because my parents died.”

His shoulders tensed and he slammed the door shut. “You listen here and you listen well!” He yanked (Y/n) away from the door. “Me lying will never compare to how terrible your family treated you. You want the truth so bad? Well, your rubbish aunt hired a hit man to assassinate your parents! There! That’s the truth! Are you happy now?” (Y/n) slapped Scrooge’s hand off her shoulder, but he didn’t pay any mind.

The two had a silent stare-off that may have lasted for an hour if it weren’t for the knock on the door. “(Y/n)?” Scrooge eyed the door as (Y/n) made her way towards it. She cracked it open just enough to peek out at the little girl before her. “Sorry Webby, I can’t play right now. I’m a bit...”

“Busy?”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) offered an apologetic smile, to which Webby frowned and twiddled her thumbs to. “Okay then. I’ll be in my room.” She made her way down the hall. “Alone.” (Y/n) frowned. “I’m sorry Webby, promise I’ll make it up to you in two weeks time. How about we get ice cream?” Webby froze, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Promise.” (Y/n) said. Webby smiled. “Okay.”

Once (Y/n) was sure Webby was gone, she closed the door behind her and turned on Scrooge with a dark glare. “I’m done arguing with you. I’m leaving.” she announced. Scrooge folded his arms across his chest and seized (Y/n) by the collar. “Oh no you don’t!” He reeled her away from the door and kicked her suitcase out of her hands. “You are staying right here.”

“I’m not a kid anymore Uncle Scrooge!”

“You’re fifteen. Still a kid.”

“If you add the years after I was cursed by you--”

“It was an accident!”

“--I’m about thirty-five years old.” (Y/n) finished. Scrooge ruffled her hair with a roll of his eyes and a light-hearted chuckle. “You’ll always be my kid in my eyes. I suggest you reschedule with Webby to tomorrow.” There was a good pause before he added, “You don’t need to see your sad excuse of a family anyway. They’re nothing but trouble.”

Present

“Lauchpad, please try to stay on the road!” exclaimed (Y/n). The large man-child sped through Duckburg as if he were in a NASCAR race. Speed-bumps and pot-holes caused (Y/n) to slam into the door and Scrooge at least fives times in a row, and since he had a long day of meetings, the old man’s patience ran thin. “Eyes on the road McQuack!”

“Sorry Mr. McDee, (N/n).”

(Y/n) wanted to be nice to Launchpad, but her stomach did flip-flops and her head ached. She should have expected this, because it was always like this, but her being her always held onto the sliver of hope that Launchpad would miraculously learn how to not crash a car. Scrooge took a good look at (Y/n), a short sigh escaping his lips. “Every dent in this car is coming out of your salary!”

“Absolutely. Hey, hear about that crazy snow storm on the Drake Barrier Reef? I’d hate to fly into that one. You see, I’m a bit of a pilot--”

Without looking up from his newspaper, Scrooge pressed a button on the door. The glass divider slowly rolled up and forced Launchpad to keep his eyes where they should be: on the road.

(Y/n) lied down on the seat with a sluggish frown. “I’m just gonna...close my eyes.” Either Launchpad forgot how brakes work, or he had zero brain cells left, because he continued charging through the city until he came to the manor’s gates despite Scrooge’s protests. The limo came to a screeching stop. If it weren’t for Scrooge, (Y/n) would have flown into the windscreen.

“Why aren’t we moving?” demanded Scrooge. (Y/n) harshly swallowed and sat up. The impatient beeping of the limo’s horn didn’t help her spinning head, and neither did Scrooge’s yelling as he hopped out of the car. “Hey!” he shouted. “Jettison that jalopy from my driveway, ya deadbeat!”

Who was he even talking to?

“Donald Duck.”

Oh.

“Uncle Scrooge.”

Oh.

(Y/n) didn’t care to listen to the arguing. All she wanted was a good cup of tea and a bed.

“Jettison that jalopy from my driveway this instant, ya deadbeat!”

“Oh, here we go again, giving orders like he’s the richest duck in the world!”

“I am the richest duck in the world, now move!”

(Y/n) couldn’t take the arguing anymore. Her head spun, she felt like she’d throw up, and she really craved that cuppa probably waiting for her in the dining room. “Can you both shut up?!” A pair of footsteps made their way towards the open car door. Through the disgustingly bright sunlight, and the splitting headache, (Y/n) made out the angry face of Donald Duck.

“What did you do to her Scrooge?!” he shouted. Scrooge let out a large gasp, a clear sign he was beyond offended. “What did I do to her?! It was Launchpad’s driving!”

There was some more chatter before three identical children piled in the limo. (Y/n) didn’t care who they were, and it seemed like the feeling with Scrooge was mutual. When the gates opened and they arrived at the front door, Mrs. Beakely scooped (Y/n) in her arms and brought her to her room. “My, my, was it Launchpad’s terrible excuse for driving again?”

(Y/n) wordlessly nodded as Beakley set her on her bed. She poured a nice warm cup of tea and handed it to the car-sick girl. “I suggest you rest for a little before you get caught up too much excitement again.” Mrs. B. said.

A little rest, Mrs. B. said. It would be good for you, she said. Only after waking up did (Y/n) realise she had been drugged by the one-and-only housekeeper. It was obvious she knew (Y/n) wouldn’t get a wink of sleep because she had a tendency to lay awake in bed until three in the morning, but in her eyes, that did not justify her actions, especially after all the action she missed out on.

That morning, she stood in the dining room, PJs on and mouth agape as three identical triplets bombarded her with an arsenal of crazy questions.

"Aren't you Uncle Scrooge's famous sidekick?"

"Isn't your family crazy rich and extremely prestige?"

"How do you still look the same after so many years?"

"Botox?"

"Water from the Fountain of Youth?"

"No, plastic surgery?"

(Y/n) sent Scrooge a silent look for help, to which he shook his head with a warm smile. "Boys, don't be rude." he merrily said. "She's just cursed is all." The blue one's eyes widened, and for a second, (Y/n) thought he had chocked on his scrambled eggs. "You're cursed? How?"

"Uh..."

"Actually, I have a better question, how did you meet Uncle Scrooge?"

(Y/n) swallowed a bite of toast. Her gaze nervously snapped towards the old duck, to which he folded his newspaper shut and said, "Alright, boys. That's enough. I think it's a bit early for all these questions, especially for her. She hates mornings." (Y/n) smiled a little. "Yeah, I do." She returned her focus on the faces of the three kids. Each had large, bright eyes, extremely large smiles, and loud personalities. Which also happened to remind her of...

(Y/n) leaned over to Scrooge's ear and subtly face-palmed. "They're Della's kids, aren't they?"

"You just figured that out now?"

"I was tired, what do you expect?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Besides that, we're going to Atlantis tomorrow." he nonchalantly announced. (Y/n) almost spit out her tea. "Wait, you're serious?"

He nodded, a sparkle (Y/n) hadn't seen in a while shining in his eyes. (Y/n) couldn't help but feel grateful for Scrooge. If he hadn't stopped her from seeking out her family, she'd probably be dead. (Y/n) Eider didn't belong with a bunch of prestigious, scholarly ducks. She was an adventurer, an explorer, who walked through every corner of the Earth.

But most importantly, she was Scrooge McDuck's one and only side-kick.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #x reader #reader insert #ducktales x reader

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peterpan-ouat-imagines · 4 years

Text

More than Human: Part four

“Look I get you hate this place which makes sense because your a girl, but it is almost midnight and I don’t want to deal with keeping track of you with it being this dark,” he orders in his course, low voice as I continue talking to him.

“Whatever, as long as I get out of this horrible place I will be fine,” I huff, “Is there a tent I can use to sleep in?” I ask somewhat politely.

“No, you get to sleep on the ground because that is what your kind deserves, especially for intruding this land,” he barks.

I scoff, “I get that the female sex offends you, but you can at least refer to me as the noun I am!” Inside my body starts baking in a way I have not felt in a long time.

He does not answer and walks off. I try to go to sleep but the cold hard bumpy ground makes it impossible. I start feeling a little sad knowing that I’ll be away from Pan for the rest of my life which makes no sense. I decide to use this sleepless night and have a conversation with myself to figure shit out.

Why do I feel so happy when I am with Pan and he isn’t bothering me? Even when he does bother me there is still a small part of me that helps me relax. Why can I not get his gorgeous green eyes and devious smile out of my head? I should not be attracted to him. In reality we would be bad for each other.

These kind of thoughts take over my brain until I fall asleep.

I feel my side being poked with something hard and blunt, “Eh give me a minute,” I groan, slowly opening my eyes and stretching out my back that hurts from last night and you can hear it crack which sounds disturbing.

“You get a second, everyone wants you to go away, is that right?” I hear Felix say.

I slowly get up, “Alright let’s get out of here,” I follow after him on to the canoe.

“Come on girl get in,” he spits.

“This entire time you haven’t asked for my name once, why?” I ask curious.

“Because you don’t matter, you are just something pathetic and irrelevant added to the island by mistake,” he snaps.

I start getting furious as my body starts feeling something I’ve felt before, “Look, I get it, you hate me. But the feeling is the same towards you. At least I am the one who is mature enough not to act like an asshole unlike everyone else!”

“Stop being so dramatic, Is it your time of the month? Well sucks to be you because we are not going to provide for that,” he chuckles and it gets on my last nerve.

I feel my body begin reverting to something familiar and dive into the water. My body becomes scaly as it elongates to eight feet. My scales thicken as I become extremely large and my scales turn the darkest shade of black there is and I finally feel myself revert to the creature I truly am. I slither under the dark water, my body swiveling, as you can see the silhouette of my gorgeous body that is noticeable from far away. I come up and make a loud croaking noise, going into what feels like attack mode, speeding towards Felix. I whip my tale around and water splatters all on him and skull rock and over on neverland, soaking everything around me and I see the terror on his face with my dark blue eyes staring deep into him.

Rather than choosing to devour him as a snack like every other serpent would I can’t bring myself to use that amount of aggression. I whip my body around and begin swimming away. I start feeling euphoric. Finally, I am who and what I should be. I’m not being stuck in a trap on an island by an idiotic boy. I start swimming and swimming just feeling over the moon.

I see a pirate ship and since I just transformed I naively decide maybe I can finally do what sea serpents are supposed to. Like I’ve tried many times before just like my family does.

I swim low in the water and look up until I am finally at the correct spot. I do not think for a second and speed out of the water and wrap my heavy strong body around it, feeling the wood and sail on my scales. I hold myself on the ship but can’t bring myself to squeeze the vessel and crush it and everyone in it. The only thing my kind is meant to do and when I finally wrap myself in the correct position, I just can’t do it, I can’t destroy them. Just like always.

I feel my body burn as cannons are being shot at me and I release the boat groaning loudly in pain. I start swimming away but I feel the blasts more. Their aim being better than my speed. This is impossible, my brother or father usually save me. I have never had to go through and experience fearing my life like this! How do I save myself?

I continue croaking my ugly cry and I get caught in nets as they start to capture me and trap me in place and I swivel and move but I just can’t get out and I panic and start to groan of pain from everything that is happening.

I hear a blurry *whish* sound and my body is no longer cramped and I’m able to stretch out and move. I don’t get why nothing is holding me down anymore or why no one is trying to hurt me. I swim up and look above waters and see Pan floating. He winks at me and flies off.

Now that I think I understand how to turn myself back human I swim ashore and rest. And rest. And rest. Apparently I was wrong with that theory.

I get very impatient and irritated that nothing is happening because I want to be human again so I can talk to Pan and thank him, and talk to Baelfire to make things right and apologize. I decide to go swim to find my family since this human land walking chapter of my life is clearly over, but pieces start to form and I remember what happened before I washed up here.

My father was telling me how wasteful I was because unlike my three brothers I can’t kill sailors and destroy their ships. How they are constantly saving me because I’m too afraid and too soft. He shouted at me to go away and flexed the end of his tail and made himself look bigger than he really is. I was distraught and furious by being spoken to that way which I normally feel around them but this time it was different. I remember how I went for a swim that I never came back from. Except this time during it I got to the point where I started thinking about what I wanted, which I’ve never done before and I was trying to understand my wants and needs which slowly started to calm me down and that is when it all went black.

Now that doesn’t matter. Family doesn’t matter. I find a dark spot deep in the water away from shore and sleep during night being left with my depressing thoughts but that just keeps playing over and over again, keeping me awake.

I start to think of Baelfire and Pan and how they make me feel which starts to soothe and calm me.

As I become calmer I start to get tiny and have body parts and skin instead of scales. I start choking on my breath and swim upward as fast as I can. Oh my god I know the secret to changing forms. I find a place to rest and the next morning the first thing I do is go to find Baelfire.

Being as discreet as possible I go and find him but he isn’t in his cave, around any of the beaches, or captured by Pan (thank god). Finally I find him in the forest with a coconut, “Bae!” I exclaim.

“Y/n? What are you doing here? I don’t care what you have to say. I saw you the other day in the water, How are you-” he questions before I cut him off.

“It’s a long story, I’ll share with you later. Bae I’m sorry for how I treated you. You were only trying to help me and I yelled and was rude and you didn’t deserve that,” I apologize sincerely.

He stares at me deadpan for 10 seconds, “Okay, I forgive you. Now you gotta tell me what happened!”

I explain everything to him and we sit around and laugh and talk for a while.

“This was fun, and I will be back, but I have someone else I need to see,” I start walking away and try to find Pan.

I go to the camp and peek around but only some boys are crowded around the fire as I hear Felix make everything that happened between us an understatement, sounding stupid as if he’s some cool guy.

I go to checkout his cave and sneak in there and I see he is busy with some person who I don’t bother getting a good look at. I go walk around and see this tall rocky mountain that I’ve found interesting. I put one foot on a big rock I can step on and put my other foot on one higher up and pull my body. It clicks in my mind that I could probably walk up it in that way to the top which I do. It is quite strenuous because I have never done that kind of exercise before.

I sit up there and admire the view as I catch my breath. I hear a trickling noise and see that there's a waterfall behind bushes with weird thorns that are oozing some dark liquid. I decide to brace the pain in order to drink and walk towards it. I move my body sideways and start to scoot through.

I feel something jerk me back, “Ah!” I yelp

“What the hell do you think you are doing? Those are dreamshade bushes!” Pan exclaims as I am in shock by how worried he is.

“Peter Pan, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re worried about me?!” I smirk.

He coughs and makes his voice lower and cooler, “I’m not worried about you it’s just dream shade is extremely dangerous,” I roll my eyes, “What are you doing back here anyway? I thought you were a... a” he looks almost afraid to say it.

I cross my arms and tense up, “A sea serpent? Yeah that’s what I wanted to say,” I begin quietly, “To begin with thank you for saving my life the other day. Secondly, I need you to know how I changed back,” he stares at me waiting to go on and I put my arms down and take a deep breath, “I learned that all my life I’ve been so angry, at my family and how they treat me, at how I suck at killing people, which is like the only thing we are meant to do, and so much else,” I take a second deep breath and relax my body, ‘but when I’m here, especially around you, I’m calm. I learned that my calamity is what drives my human form and my anger and sadness drives who I really am,” I take a step closer to him, “you keep my anger at bay and make me calm,” I look at him waiting for an answer.

He takes a step back and pushes me away, “I am what keeps you calm? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? What do you expect me to say? I care about you or something equally as foolish?” He laughs.

“Actually I do! Believe it or not you have seemed to taken quite a liking to me. The only thing that needs to happen is for you to realize that you feel for me too!” I state yelling.

He slowly stops laughing but he is still amused, “Y/n, I have heard a lot of foolish things in my life, but this is the most,” he starts to get more serious, “Now go away,”

“What?” I ask confused.

“I banish you from Neverland. I do not know how you really change forms, but magical creatures of your kind are not wanted on this island,” he gestures to the cliff for me to climb down on.

My heart drops as he tells me the last thing I want to hear and I slowly and fearfully make my way down. Yet my heart is not dropping because of my fear of heights. It drops because someone I really care about for a reason I don’t know sent me away. I slowly go over to the water and try to figure out how to change.

After thinking and thinking, trying to get myself over the top furious, the only thing I can think of is Pan. The sadness overwhelms me which turns into anger, but not enough. I can’t get myself to become who I am... and honestly, I’m not sure if that is who I want to be anymore.

I give up on using land methods and emotional methods and I straight up swim deep in the waters and let myself sink and see if that does anything. I let myself gag with my mouth barely able to hold air, thinking that is helping the transformation but I...

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wingardium-letmefuckyou · 5 years

Text

What I Cannot Say Out Loud: Partings and Reunions (Valerius x gender neutral!MC)

Summary: Part two of the ‘What I Cannot Say Out Loud’ series. The apprentice leaves on a trip and they both learn something about their relationship. (spoiler: they miss each other a lot)

Words: 2253

Warnings: none, just good old fluff

The salty sea breeze blows through your hair while you say your goodbyes.The grand ship that will take you, Nada en Portia to Prakra is waiting for you, ready to sail. The two women are soon to be married and Nadia wants to show Portia her homeland whilst at the same time strengthen the diplomatic bonds between both states. As court magician it is only logical for you to accompany them on this trip. The opportunity to meet the Prakran court and its many famed sorcerers is a dream come true and you’re grateful to Nadia for that. And yet, there’s a part of you that longs to stay behind, a part that is inadvertently drawn to the black haired courtier that will oversee daily politics during Nadia’s absence.

You and Valerius already said your goodbyes at his estate, not wanting to draw attention to your relationship in the open. The Consul was nothing but discreet and you sometimes wondered if anyone knew of the nature of your feelings for each other. He always assured you that he wasn’t ashamed but that it was easier for him that way, that it was best for the both of you. You suspected it made coming to terms with his feelings for you more simple, more comfortable. He’s there with the other courtiers and a small delegation of people that have come to see the countess off. But Valerius only has eyes for you, you look marvelous in your traveling clothes, a look of nervous excitement on your face. He frowns a little when the white haired magician steps forward to envelop you in a hug, wishing you a good journey. You smile back at Asra and say something that Valerius can’t hear from where he is standing. It shouldn’t annoy him so much, he knows you and the magician are just friends and romantic feelings are no longer involved. It’s just, he wishes to hold you close one more time before you leave. He wants to be the last to touch you before you set foot on that ship. You had spend the whole night in his arms and it still didn’t feel enough.

It’s when you start to move towards the ship that Valerius finally gives in and before he can start to overthink the consequences of his decision, his feet are already moving towards you of their own accord. You can’t hide the surprise on your face when the consul grabs your wrist, turning you around to face him. Everyone is watching but their presence is drowned away by those gold eyes boring into yours, by his soft fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You smile softly at him, lovingly and you could swear his cheeks look a little redder. It looks good on him, endearing. This is the most open he has ever been with his affections in public and you’re reveling in it, taking whatever you can get. Valerius leans forward, placing a coy but tender kiss on your cheek. “Be safe,” he whispers before he pulls away completely. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, instead he turns around quickly and moves to stand with the courtiers again, pointedly ignoring all the eyes directed at him.

The first part of your journey passes in a haze. You notice Portia playfully wiggling her eyebrows at you and Nadia has that typical knowing smile but it’s easy to ignore them since your mind is still on the docks, with Valerius. A pleasant tingly feeling lingers on your cheek for a long time and you can’t seem to wipe away the lovestruck grin from your face. Some kisses truly are sweeter than others.

* Two weeks have passed since you left Vesuvia and you’re attending another Prakran party thrown in honour of the soon to be wife of the youngest princess. You have to admit that these Prakrans do know how to throw a good party, they truly mastered the art of getting the balance right. Nothing too simple, nothing too extravagant. You’re dressed in a gorgeous outfit designed by Nadia’s father, it was made just for you and it makes you feel like you actually belong at the royal court. After all this time, you’re still not fully used to being court magician and the life that comes with that position. You’ve been talking to several of the princesses, diplomats and politicians over the evening and they all treated you as equals, listening with genuine interest to what you had to say. But now you have finally found some quiet on the balcony, overlooking the night sky and the illuminated city. It feels peaceful and it’s just what you needed right now. Grateful that you had the good sense to take a glass of wine in passing, you take a sip. Prakran wine really is exquisite. Valerius would be able to elaborate on all the details. He would tell you all about the production process and the right food to pair it with. The Consul could go on and on about the composition of the flavours, the complexity of the aroma’s,... You weren’t used to drinking wine, choosing for a simple cider most of the times but Valerius had been surprisingly patient in teaching you how to properly savour and appreciate it. You were always happy to share into a part of his life he was so passionate about. Maybe you should bring him a bottle or two for his cellar.

“I can arrange a few bottles for the Consul, I think he would appreciate that,” Nadia says with a twinkle in her eyes, stirring you from your thoughts. The Countess joins you on the balcony, clutching a glass of wine of her own. “He would like that,” you smile and you can’t and don’t want to hide the fondness on your face when you talk about him. “You miss him,” it’s more of a statement than a question, albeit a gentle one. “Yes.” It’s ridiculous really, when you think about it. Little more than a year ago Valerius had rudely dropped a whole glass of wine in your lap and now you we’re longing for his company. You want him by your side to discuss his favourite beverage, want him to be next to you in bed when you wake up for another exciting day of learning politics, want him around to just share all you were experiencing with him. There’s no use to hiding it anymore, Nadia was there too on the docks two weeks ago. She and Portia had graciously not mentioned it until now. It doesn't bother you to talk about it though, you love him and you’re proud of it. Besides, Nadia is first and foremost your friend and you could use a friend right now. Her answering smile is nothing but kind and understanding. “I’ve known for a while,” she confides, “It was hard not to, with the way the two of you look at each other. And the fact that you never sleep in your own room anymore kinda gave it away as well.” So far for secrecy. You amuse yourself for a moment by imagining Valerius all red and stuttering in front of the Countess, trying to explain why you spend the nights in his chambers. “The Consul favours discretion,” you reply, offering an explanation for not telling her sooner. “He’s always been a private man,” Nadia agrees and you know that there are no hard feelings,“but I must admit he seems happier lately, more at ease. He was never the most open person but it’s obviously clear that his feelings for you are genuine and that they run deep. Never doubt that.” The countess has this particular talent where she knows how to say just what you need to hear without you even realizing you needed it. “Thank you, Nadia,” you smile.

By the time the party's over, there has been a mysterious delivery of six supreme quality bottles of Prakran wine to your room.

* Four weeks have passed when the ship finally arrives in the Vesuvian harbor. Four weeks away from home, away from your friends, away from Valerius. You have to hold yourself back not to jump of the ship before the gangplank is laid out, brimming with impatience to see your Consul again. Nadia has to suppress a smile when you all but run down the docks. You had been nervous and jittery since your departure in Prakra and frankly, she was glad that the ship had finally arrived. It takes you a moment to realize Valerius isn’t there to welcome you home. You spot Asra, the familiar auburn curls of Julian, even little Volta but the Consul is nowhere to be seen. You really want to ignore the aching feeling in your chest, blinking rapidly against the tears that are threatening to give away your disappointment. You try to convince yourself to be reasonable, he’s probably busy. He most certainly could not have forgotten about you, right?

“Magician?” A lackey in neat uniform is approaching you and for a moment you are confused, until you recognize the black and gold ram embroidered on his chest. He bows before you and then takes your bags from your hands. “The carriage is waiting for you. I shall drive you to the estate,” he announces. You can’t help but roll your eyes, of course Valerius would send the carriage and a servant to pick you up. You wave goodbye at Nadia and Portia, smiling apologetically and pointing at the carriage waiting for you. You feel silly, for even considering that he would have ignored your return.

It’s halfway through the ride that inspiration hits you. You stick your head out of the window, calling to the servant manning the horses. “Say, do you think you could do a small detour and drop me off at the back of the estate, please?” “That would be possible, if you wished. But… that way the Consul won’t see you arrive,” the servant sounds confused and unsure, apparently Valerius had given quite specific instructions. “Exactly,” you grin wickedly.

The servant is easier to persuade than you thought and that’s how you find yourself at the other side of the estate, entering through the back doors of the kitchen. You are met with a warm welcome from the kitchen maid and the chef. They both smile conspiratorially when you ask them not to alert their master yet of your presence. You try to be as silent as a mouse when you make your way up through the estate, towards the library. It’s the most logical place for him to be, apart from it being his favourite room in the house it also has large windows that overlook the entire entrance lawn. The door is ajar when you arrive and your suspicions are confirmed when you peek inside. Valerius is pacing up and down in front of the grand window, only stopping every few seconds to peer outside. He appears to have neglected his wineglass in favour of removing non-existent motes of dust from his robes and constantly adjusting the position of his braid.

“You look fine, you know,” you say whilst you enter the room. Valerius startles at the sound of your voice, he will never ever admit that he can actually squeak that loud, and whirls around. He looks at you, then outside, only to bring his gaze back to you again. For a moment it looks like he is going to say something but then it’s his turn to surprise you. It’s with quick and confident strides that he closes the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands and crashing his lips against yours. Valerius’ mouth is hot and impatient against yours, barely stopping to let you gasp for breath. Almost desperately, he pulls you against his chest, closing any distance left between your bodies while your hand winds its way into his hair. He groans when you tug at the strands, not caring that you are disheveling his pristine braid. “Val…,” you sigh his name against his lips and it only spurs him on to kiss you more, his fingers softly gliding from your shoulder to you neck, caressing it tenderly. Feeling, exploring, finally touching what he has been craving for four weeks long. You.

Your body is soaring, your mind dizzy but also at ease. Everything in the world feels right, clicks back into place, this is where you belong. Time and place have no meaning when you’re in Valerius’ embrace. Yet at the same time your heart is beating so hard, you fear it might leave bruises on your chest. Only the need to catch your breath makes you pull away, nuzzling into his neck, trying to calm your giddiness at being together again. You are met with the loveliest sight when you look up. Valerius looks content, his cheeks adorned with a lovely red hue, his lips wet and swollen but softly smiling. “I missed you,” you whisper. “I wasn’t too fond of your absence either.” You can’t help but snort at his response, earning a questioning raise of his eyebrow. “My dear Consul, you are turning into a real romantic.” All you get from him is an eye roll and then he grabs your hand, pulling you along, away from the library. “I had the servants prepare the bath for us.”. “Well, I might have a wine that goes perfectly with that.”

#valerius x reader #valerius x mc #valerius x apprentice #consul valerius #valerius the arcana #the arcana valerius #the arcana fanfic #gender neutral mc #gender neutral apprentice #the arcana #the arcana game

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upinthestarsx3 · 5 years

Text

Off Limits (m) part 6

Professor!reader x College student!Jungkook au

Genre: short series|smut|mostly angst|fluff in future|au

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Explicit language, mature content, including some masturbation and voyeurism in this chapter.

Summary: You’re fresh out of college having just received your masters degree in Math. You begin working at a nearby college and meet your headstrong student, Jungkook. After a drunk hookup; things get complicated.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

a/n: It’s been so long. Ugh I just fixed so many typos so apologies to anyone who read before I edited lmao. This chapter was fun to write. Enjoy and sorry i’m so flaky with posting more often!

The drive to Jungkook’s house is a blur. You sped through the main road knowing that he would also be on his way home; it was a race that you had to win.

When you arrive, your fingers run over the smooth keypad; trying every combination that might possibly get you into his fancy high tech building.

“Baby.” You hear someone whisper from behind you, letting out heavy breaths as if he’d just ran a mile.

You don’t need to turn back to know that it’s Jungkook, “Leave me alone.” You demand through pursed lips; your fingers still running rapidly on the keypad.

“You’re going to set off the alarm, y/n.” He speaks up again, his tone stern as he held his keycard in his hand. This time you turn towards him, confused that he used your actual name instead of calling you baby; the nickname you grew to love hearing from him.

“Let me in; I need my things.” Your words spill from your mouth like venom, and your glare holds nothing but disgust in them.

“Not until we talk.” He tells you, instead of asking.

A look of disbelief washes over your face, you place your hands on your hips and shake your head from side to side,

“No! I don’t want to talk. I want my things.”

He lets out a loud exhale as he rolls his eyes,

“Y/N, please stop being dramatic. I’m sorry, okay? Where will you go if you leave tonight?” He grills you, walking towards you to take your hand in his; but you quickly snatch it away, catching him off guard. His hand drops to his side, his eyebrows creasing deeply as he takes his keycard and swipes it for you.

The two of you walk quietly side by side to his front door. He reaches for his keys and pauses for a minute; taking a long look at you with fluttering eyes, and you see that same admiration in them.

“What, Jungkook?” You whine, eyes rolling as you quickly break eye contact with him.

“I love you.” He whispers, “and I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I don’t even think you know what love is,” you reply bluntly. He doesn’t acknowledge your insult as he finally opens the door and allows you to walk inside.

He watches you sadly as you gather your things, sitting at the edge of the bed while rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans.

“Will you stay if I tell you what happened between me and Taehyung? Is that why you’re upset?”

“If you don’t know why I’m upset then we really have nothing to talk about.”

“You always try to make me seem like the problem, y/n. All I do is treat you well and you drag me along like a fucking rag doll because you know I love you.” He mumbles before he breaks into sobs. It takes all your might to stay put and not rush to his side and embrace him until his sadness passes, but you don’t- you refuse to feed into this any longer.

“I’m not going to let you manipulate me. Not this time, Jungkook.” Standing your ground as you hold several boxes in your hand.

“Everyone always fucking leaves me.” He sounds wounded, broken even. You wonder if he’s been this intense since the two of you first started dating.

You stand awkwardly by the door, silent for a few minutes, debating if you should even say anything at all,

“Hey.” You call out to him.

“Just go.” He croaks, turning his face away from you as his tears continue to flow freely.

“Kookie, look at me. This is not healthy. I’m so sorry that I let it go on; I should have never crossed that line. You are my student, and I am your professor. That is all it will ever be from this point forward.”

He rolls his eyes and gives you an incredulous look,

“Baby, you and I both know we can’t go back to that, not after I’ve been inside you-“

“Stop it.” You cut him off, twisting the door knob to leave before glancing back at him once more, telling him, “I don’t like who you’re becoming.”

Jungkook skipped 3 classes during the week, no emails, no texts, and no calls. The same paranoia that drove you crazy once before, crept its way back in once again. You hand back quizzes to your class, ignoring the awkward glances from both Jimin and Taehyung.

Are you on campus?

You can’t just keep missing classes.

Stop ignoring me! It’s immature.

He reads every message and leaves you read, which only fuels your anger. You continue class with a smile plastered on your face while you glance to your phone every once in a while.

Halfway through class the door swings open, and in walks Jungkook with another female student whom hasn’t been present from class; and they walk in hand in hand. None of them spare any glances your way and you clench your fists tightly by your sides,

“You two think it’s okay to just walk into class 35 minutes late and not even apologize?” You practically growl.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I was distracted, it won’t happen again!” Mina apologizes sincerely. Not that it made you feel any better. You look to Jungkook and raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to explain himself.

“What?” He snaps loudly, embarrassing you as the group of students look from him to you, waiting for your response.

“See me after class,” you reply, turning your back to everyone and facing the board to finish the problem on the board.

“Or what?” He sarcastically talks back, “You’ll punish me?”

You snap your head towards his direction a shocked expression as you watch him lick his lips with low sultry looking eyes- all while having his arm around Mina.

Glancing to your phone you see that it’s 20 minutes too early to end class, but end it anyway,

“Have a good weekend, guys. Remember, midterms next week; I’ll email you all an exact date this weekend.”

Students quickly dart from their seats and out of the classroom, excited for the weekend, presumably.

“Jungkook, I told you to stay after class.” You demand, staring daggers through him. He rolls his eyes dramatically and tells Mina he would text her later.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask in a small voice, looking away from him and towards the floor.

He stands there and stares down at you, a stoic expression on his face,

“Why am I acting like this? You mean getting together with someone that will actually appreciate me?”

“I meant why are you missing classes, showing up late, and being rude to me in front of everyone.” Of course you were upset about him dating Mina, but you’d never admit that to him. This seems to bother him, his face turning into one of confusion.

“Fuck you, y/n.”

“No fuck you, asshole! I’m so sick of you and your childish games.”

The two of you stand there, arguing in low voices to avoid being heard, like two children.

A knock on the door makes the both of you jump about two feet apart,

“Oh, I’m glad to see the two of you here.” Jin smiles, “y/n, the art competition is on Monday at 7pm, don’t forget. It’s right on campus, first floor in the art building. Jungkook, I’m expecting some great work for the art show from you.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he waves and walks off.

Jungkook begins walking towards the door without another word. This was something you were not used to at all, you had grown accustomed to him always being the one to apologize, admit he’s wrong, and ask for another chance- never did you think he would stop,

“Wait!” You yell out, “I left some things at your house, I’m gonna need to pick them up.” You continue, your voice much lower than before.

“I’ll be with Mina tonight, but you can get them tomorrow night.” He walks out without a goodbye, a smile, or an I love you, and it breaks your heart.

You arrive to the motel you’ve called home for the past week, lying in bed and allowing yourself to finally cry, weeks and weeks of emotions building up, only to be uncaged as you sit on a bed in an empty room, filled with nothing but an 80s style tv and a dresser that had cat claw marks engraved in it.

Grabbing your phone and looking through your contacts you scroll through names of people you haven’t spoken to since college, only stopping when you find Jungkook’s name, labeled as, Kookie.

The phone rings twice before it goes right to voicemail, signaling that he ignored it; which only made you cry more. You quickly begin sending texts to his phone back after back, unconcerned that he would be with his rebound.

“Please talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I am sorry!”

“Kookie..”

“Please don’t do this to me.”

A half hour passes, and you find yourself walking to nearest place that could get you blackout drunk. You were unbothered that you were now in a bar occupied by drunk young adults no older than 30. You’re too busy impatiently calling the bartender over and asking for three shots, all for yourself, and throwing them back before asking for another round.

“Geez, y/n. Slow down, wait, I can call you y/n, right? Since we’re not on campus?” Jimin’s voice sounds alarms in your head as you turn slowly towards him.

“Just fucking great.” Is your nice way of greeting him back and you place your head in your hands.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, we’re not on campus. Everything okay with Jungkook?” He asks, making your eyes widen and you cringe,

“Please don’t do that, don’t- don’t ask about him. It’s weird.”

“Okay, fine. How about a shot? My treat? I still feel really bad about the whole Taehyung situation.”

You contemplate asking about Jungkook and Taehyung, wondering why they hated each other so much when they apparently used to be like brothers.

“Fine, shots. Your treat.” You smile, still a little uncomfortable, but not enough to turn down free liquor.

“y/n! y/n! Are you okay?” You hear Jimin’s voice echoing as you try to gain your balance, you haven’t drank this much since you turned 21. If you were being honest, you were more of a wine drinker and hated clear liquor.

“I’m fine.” you slur. Smiling his way and ignoring his worried glances.

Towards the back you see a group of people playing beer pong, and you quickly run to join them; Jimin tries to grab your arm but you pull away and walk over to the man who needed a partner.

It wasn’t like you to meet strangers in the bar- hell, bars weren’t even your thing. But here you were, lying on the bar table with your shirt lifted preparing for body shots with your beer pong partner after winning two games in a row.

You soak in the feeling of this man sucking liquor from your stomach and licking his way down to your hips, humming as began leaving kisses there.

You turn your head to glance around the bar, suddenly worried that Jimin might be watching. Instead, you’re met with Jungkook’s wicked eyes. His arms crossed over his chest as he raises his eyebrows accusingly. You quickly jump up from your lying position and push the man away from you as you walk to the door,

“Koo-“

“Don’t talk me, y/n.” He hums defeatedly, helping you to his car and buckling you in,

“Jimin called me and told me you were out of control.”

“I was fine!” You lash out, who did Jimin think he was? Calling Jungkook on you?

He ignores you the rest of the way, and takes you straight to his apartment complex.

“Go brush your teeth. You stink like liquor.”

Pouting at his insult you run into the bathroom, opting to take a shower as well.

“Kookie, please bring me a towel.”

He walks into the bathroom and throws the towel on the counter from the doorway, not even darting his eyes your way. He goes to walk back out and you comment,

“Want to come in?” A hopeful tone in your voice,

“No.” And he slams the door behind him.

His bad attitude made you wish you were back at your lonely motel, he doesn’t want anything to do with you and it tears you apart. The both of you lie in the same bed but he lies down a foot away from you, lying on his back and staring up the ceiling.

“Kookie.” You whisper, turning on your side and reaching out for him. You reach his arm and prepare for him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Sure enough, you slowly scoot your way towards his warm body, and as if it’s instinct, he wraps his arms around you. You don’t dare say anything to ruin this moment, he loves you, and you were beginning to think you loved him back.

In the morning you wake up to an empty bed, your head feels as though it’s weighed down by bricks and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“There’s medicine and water on the night stand, I’m making breakfast. You need to eat.” He smiles softly, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s a good start.

“Thanks.” Is all you’re able to get out, afraid you might say the wrong thing and set him off.

It stays that way the entire morning, quiet but content. No words are ever needed between the two of you. It was like you spoke through touching, through facial expressions, and through helpful gestures.

You watch him sit in front of his drawing canvas, the stress on his face makes you upset for him. He had only two days to finish his art exhibit work- and he hasn’t even started.

“I don’t know what to do,” he explodes, making you jump from your position on the bed,

“Why don’t you draw a portrait of your dad, you’d automatically win, no one will turn down a school president portrait.

“Shut up.” He laughs; the soft wrinkles near his eyes make your heart melt.

“Maybe you just need some motivation,” you say, standing up from the bed, walking towards him before you stand in front of him, attempting to sit in his lap but he pushes you back down on the bed.

“Seriously? After last night you’re going to try that?”

“Jungkook, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry! I wasn’t myself last night.”

“You haven’t said sorry at all, y/n.” He’s clearly frustrated and you know you’ve screwed up whatever nice moment the two of you were having.

“If you were pleasing me than I wouldn’t have to find it somewhere else.” You snarl. His eyes shoots from his canvas and he purses his lips,

“Then you should learn to please yourself.” He grills you, waiting for another smart comment to come from your lips,

“I don’t- I’ve never done that. I mean, I’ve touched myself but I’ve never-“

“Really?” He questions, a surprised look on his face as he loses interest in the canvas.

“You can teach me.” You beg, pulling his hand and guiding it to the crotch of your shorts, he moves his chair and kneels in front you, rubbing you through the thin material, listening to you let you soft moans. Just as quickly as he started, he stops.

“What the hell.” You meant to yell, but it still comes out as light moan.

“I wanna see you touch yourself.” He bites his lip before sitting back down in front of you.

“Take of your shorts baby.” He guides you, watching your every move. You listen to him, taking it off quickly and throwing it across the room. You reach for your panties but you hear him speak,

“No. You listen to what I tell you to do.” Your eyes light up and you nod your head quickly.

“Pull your panties to the side, I wanna see your pussy.” He shifts in his seat and moves a little closer. Your run your fingers over your slit covered by a laced thong before moving the thin material to the right side.

“What next.” Squirming in your place begging for instruction to please your throbbing womanhood.

“Run a finger between your lips, baby.”

You quickly swipe a finger all the way up to your clit but he smirks,

“Slower.” Dragging out the word, and leaning in to get a better look,

“So pretty.” You look up at him with a smile and see that he’s already palming himself through his jeans,

“Touch your clit. Flick it a little bit, it’ll feel good.” He reassures.

Bringing your index finger to your clit you graze it lightly and arch your back in pleasure, feeling you pussy get wetter.

You look up at him expectantly and see that he’s drawing; looking between you and his canvas. You quickly squeeze your legs shut and sit up,

“What are you doing?”

“Drawing.” He answers as though it’s no big deal.

“Yes I know what you’re doing but- but-“

“No one will know it’s you. Has anyone ever seen you like I have? Naked? Legs spread open? You touch yourself for anyone else other than me?”

“No.”

“So nothing to worry about, open your legs.” He comforts you lovingly,

“Now show me how you finger yourself, baby. Show me how you please yourself.” His words alone make you moan and you find yourself begging for him to finish you off, he doesn’t of course. This was your lesson- your payback for last night.

“Oh gosh,” you squeal, your hips circling as you continued to finger yourself,

“Rub your clit with your other hand.” He murmurs. You quickly place your hand over your clit and rub it at a fast pace while fucking yourself with three fingers.

You hadn’t realized how long you’ve been at this until you see his finished canvas pushed to the side and his hand wrapped around his cock as he moves his tight grasp up and down.

“Fuck me, Kookie.” You whine, fingers still rubbing your clit, your body shaking.

“Apologize.” He commands, just like you demanded of him the night at the strip club, the first night you two got together.

“Apologize!” He demands a little louder this time, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” You agreed, leaning up to pull him closer. He pushes you back on the bed for a second time tonight and crawls over you. Placing an elbow next to your head and the other on his cock to guide himself inside of you.

Sex with Jungkook tonight was the opposite of what you were used to. He was slow, gentle even. Allowing his body to completely mold with yours and feeling every part of your body.

“I love you,” he declares,

“I know.”

He picks up the pace, smiling down at you and watching your eyes roll back with each thrust. His moans were driving you mad and clenched around his dick, something you did when you were about to cum. He throws your legs over his shoulders and takes a hold of your upper thighs, using them to grip you as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. You can feel him pulsating inside of you,

“Cumming.” He breathes heavily, eyes squeezed shut,

“Fuck.” He looks shocked to see you still writhing beneath him.

As soon as he releases you, you push his head lower until he’s facing your cunt. Without waiting for instruction he licks a strip up your pussy, enjoying your reaction. You run fingers through his hair and tug harshly at the strands.

His tongue pokes through and begins toying with your clit, pausing every once in a while to shove his tongue inside of you. “Oh god, Kookie.” You scream as you cum, trying to push his head away as he continues to suck your juices.

“I love you.” You finally admit as the two of you lie in bed together. He slowly looks your way with a large smile, looking just as drained as you were. He pulls you in and kisses you softly.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I’m with Mina now.” You slap his chest and the two of you break out in giggles.

“Shut up!” You complain with a smile. Your laughs die down eventually and he looks at you, a serious look in eyes as he proceeds,

“No more games, baby. I’m yours and you are mine.”

a/n: The story is on an indefinite hiatus.

masterlist is here

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amm-loover · 6 years

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SUPER LONG KO/TKO CHARACTER ANALYSIS POST THAT NOBODY ASKED FOR (part 1)

Hey guys so can we talk about KO/TKO for a bit?

So remember when TKO first showed up in the appropriately titled episode TKO.

So in this episode, TKO is revealed to have always been a part of KO. He was just little blob of negative energy and even then he was in a cage.

Weather KO realizes it or not, he has been forcing his negative emotions deep down inside him for what we can assume is his whole life.

The fact the when KO was finally pushed to his breaking point by Shadowy Figure to the point where it manifested his negativity into an entirely separate being able to take control of the body speaks volumes to me.

But if we take a closer look at things, That means KO has been angry all this time and hasn’t had a healthy outlet for his frustration, all this time. Meaning, TKO hasn’t had a healthy outlet all this time, not to mention he was trapped in a cage like an animal on top of it all.

When TKO challenges Rad and Enid to a power battle, he states “I told you, it’s T.K.O.. And I’m a whole different animal now.“

Honestly, i think that line says more than what it sounds like. TKO has been trapped in that cage, like an animal, for so long, that he considers himself to be an animal, even when he is free, he still identifies as an animal, just an animal that is no longer caged.

Now before we talk about all the violent things TKO has done, let’s talk about the non violent things he has done.

In his debut episode, TKO finally came to be and is told to go show his friends his new power.

When he gets to the scene Enid and Rad are obviously in deep trouble.

TKO swoops in and saves the day, absolutely obliterating the huge Darrell.

Even if it was for the selfish purpose of showing off, I don’t think that’s all it was.

One of the things that caused TKO to even come out of KO’s mind was Rad, Enid, and Mr.Gar’s words.

“Power isn’t everything, at least you’re cute”

“Good hustle kid”

“You’ll catch up to us someday...or not”

Now with as angry as TKO gets later in the episode from simply being called cute by Enid again, why wasn’t he angry enough to attack them right there?

No seriouly. TKO was very mad and was told to go show his friends how powerful he’s always been. Not show them your power by saving them from Darrell.

Honestly if TKO is really so hostile and careless as he is shown to be later within the same episode, why didn’t he just attack Rad and Enid right there?

After he defeats Darrell and ushers his new name, TKO goes home. With his mom. Yet another person who triggered him to even manifest in the first place.

In KO/TKO’s words “Mom said hard work will make me strong, but it hasn’t!”

Meaning he is also mad at her for “wasting his time” Just as he is mad at Shadowy Figure for sort of doing the same thing, saying “You said getting mad at my friends would work, but it hasn’t!”

Like, KO/TKO was willing to believe in his mother’s advice, after all he went along with it for a while, but he became so impatient with his mother’s way of training that he was willing to get mad at his friends, which he clearly didn’t want to do in the freaking first place.

Now back to Carol, If TKO was ready to beat up his own mother at the plaza in the episode’s nearing climax, what the frick was keeping him so chill?

Like FOR A FULL DAY!?

TKO, an actual manifestation of negativity and anger decided against fighting his friends and mother so he could go home with his mom, presumably eat dinner with her, record a video on KO’s video channel (as shown in the episode KO’s Video Channel) go to sleep, and wake up the next morning and then the meanest thing he does then is take her eyeliner without asking. (and then he yelled at her when she was in the background of his video so i guess that’s pretty mean too)

And when Carol asks about it, TKO just calmly says “I don’t feel like talking right now” and casually turns up his metal music. And the Carol turns it down. Now you’d think TKO would get mad at that little action. Like “Ugh! MOM! I want to listen to my music louder!” But no, he just lets her turn it down and continues to look out the window while she drives him to work.

AND THAT’S ANOTHER THING!!! WHY THE HECK IS TKO EVEN BOTHERING TO GO TO WORK AT ALL?!

Like based on the personality we have been shown so far, why wouldn’t TKO wanna stay at home and be his edgy self, maybe re-record his video diary in privacy or do his nails and make-up and dress in black and listen to his music loud and break a few things. Why is he going to work?

And why is he like, for real doing the work? Albeit, haphazardly but doing it nonetheless.

And honestly, it super clear that TKO not only doesn’t want to be bothered but also doesn't really wanna bother others anyway. He ultimately just wants some space. Like any edgy child/teen.

I mean, he’s not even really mean to Enid and Rad. Maybe a little rude, but not really mean. He manages to hold a conversation with Enid, correcting her on his name, answering her question, and yeah he insults her by calling her a “wage slave” but he probably felt insulted since she called his answer to a question she asked “dramatic”. TKO was probably thinking: “You insult my world view, fine, I insult who you are.”

And yeah he ignores Rad, who is obviously trying to impress him, but TKO wasn’t impressed. If you think about it, TKO could have made fun of him or something but he didn’t he chose to ignore.

And like I said, TKO clearly had no intentions of doing anything particularly bad that day. It looks like he just wants to get through the day. That’s probably why he came to work, he just wants an excuse to fight another robot. Might as well occupy himself while he waits i guess.

I mean look at him. He is 100% chill and clearly wants to be left alone.

And then Rad and Enid come in and ruin his whole little mojo.

Now I know Enid and Rad are just trying to be good friends, they think KO is in some sort of Funk™ and they wanna cheer him up. And they do a sort of good job at trying, but during this, TKO is clearly struggling to get out of Rad’s arms. (honestly in my opinion, they should've took that as a hint and really leave him alone)

But that’s yet another thing! TKO, you know how strong you are. You DESTROYED the giant bomb Darrell bot in a single slash! And he was made of metal! Surely you know you are perfectly capable of getting out of Rad’s fleshy grip.

He does know. He is 1000% aware that he can get out of that grip. But he also knows that if he does, it will probably hurt Rad.

Remember, when he was talking about his metaphorical pizza worldview thing? He said “so called friends”

Guys, TKO identifies Rad and Enid as his friends, even if they laugh at him.

KO really doesn’t wanna do anything, the upcoming outburst that he is about to have wasn’t his intention.

Eventually he even stops struggling when Enid begins to shove nachos in his face. Almost as if he’s just gonna let them be annoying. But then Enid had to go and call him....

“Cute stuff...”

Alright, so we all know what happens from this point. Enid’s final “cute” is the final straw for TKO’s temper. He finally breaks free from Rad’s grip (without a single frame of struggle.) and challenges his friends to a power battle.

As the power battle continues, TKO becomes more and more aggressive and almost like he’s a predator after his prey. And notice how Enid is his target. Both times when Rad steps in to help Enid fight, TKO gets rid of him really quickly and begins focusing on Enid again.

When Enid tells on him to Carol, notice he doesn’t attack right away, he just scoffs/growls like an angsty child/teen.

He doesn’t even really target Carol of anyone, he just starts being destructive on things.

Then Gar show’s up and says “I love your mom”, which manages to catch TKO off guard.

He is genuinely confused and he almost seemed ready to hear Mr.Gar out on the sudden topic but when Gar goes and changes the subject and starts spouting compliments at him.

Now while his compliments arent really lies? You can hear in Gar’s voice that he doesn’t fully mean what he is saying and he is clearly only saying to try an calm him down.

And we all know when people are really angry, that last thing you want to tell them is to calm down.

So then TKO just snaps, he’s had absolutely enough!

There’s a blind rush going through him right now, he’s never had the chance to let out all this pent up rage. It feels great! All his life he’s been caged and now he’s out. Who care’s if someone gets hurt! letting out these years of rage, proving once and for all that I am strong, stronger than everyone! It feels great!

Who’s next!

“any last words”

Then the episode ends with TKO getting put back in the cage after KO save his mom. Not the best idea..

Now, im not trying to say TKO is justified for trying to punch his his own mother, he obviously never wanted to. I’m just saying he had a lot of pent up rage and frustration and he was just a ticking time bomb of destructive emotion that was waiting to explode, waiting for someone to push that last button.

AKA: Enid’s “cute stuff” comment and Mr. Gar’s somewhat “empty praise”

This whole thing, in my opinion, was just the result of KO holing in his anger and frustration for all those years. If you do that, you are bound to become a toxic version of yourself sooner or later. And sooner or later that means you will hurt those you hold dear to you.

This also lets us know a little something about TKO.

He’s a person. Yes, he is a manifestation of rage, but he has interests outside of that. He enjoys his music and dark make up and he likes making video diaries just as much as the original KO. TKO is a person and deserves to be treated like one, after all he’s been through. Yeesh...

Now let’s move on to TKO’s second major appearance:

COMING SOON IN A PART 2 POST (honestly i can’t put all my thoughts in one post)

#ok ko let's be heroes #ko #ok ko tko #tko #ok ko enid #radicles #ok ko rad #ok ko carol #character analysis #ok ko character analysis

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autisticadventurer · 5 years

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Flu Musings

I’ve had the flu for nearly a week now. I’ve missed two days of work and have had to do two short days. It really sucks because aside from getting financially caught up after all the recent challenges, I’ve got a two week break, the car needs work again and we are bringing miss puppy home this week. It’ll be okay but we’re in for another month of tight budgeting. We’ve both gotten through worse.

I’ve been able to obtain a few new apps and services that should be able to help me streamline my habits, shopping, and finances. I’m happy that the Mint app is fixed because I absolutely love it. I created an account with Brandless and cancelled my Amora coffee (OMG THE PRICES) but I’m sticking with Graze for now. I got Habits (loop habit tracker?), redownloaded Insight Timer (great for meditation practitioners of all skill and experience levels), Cozi to help my SO manage schedules and lists with me, Mimo and Khan Academy to get me where I need to be so that I can get that Microsoft Certificate, and I’m doing my best to keep up with Lose It! in spite of the fact that I’ve eaten very little over the past week. Smart News came with my phone and I’ve made a point to look for unbiased news sources and read the articles every few days. So all that jazz is under control and I feel organized even if there are still a few things that we need to take care of to get caught up in the physical world.

While I’ve been down and out with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I’ve thought a lot about my past and the history of my family. There are some things that I know, some things I don’t, and some things that I have been given more than one account of. I know a great deal about my mother’s side of the family. Her mother comes from way back in American history - they were members of the Pennsylvania Dutch, that is, Germans seeking religious freedom as Catholics. I know that my great grandmother was a tap dancer and her husband was an actor, though I couldn’t say who because my mother and grandmother called him Bumpy. My mother’s dad is a first or second generation descendant of Ukrainian origin. They fled to escape the pogroms despite the fact that my Zeda had served as a soldier in the first world war on the Russian side. Because of the political climate in western Europe, they had to travel across Siberia and came to America on the west coast. They settled in Minnesota. Both families somehow migrated to Iowa and that is where my maternal grandparents met. While Bubby was the most loving lady on earth, my other great grandmother rejected both of her daughters; one for becoming pregnant (with my mother) out of wedlock, the other for being a lesbian (she went on a music adventure and was a house drummer, backing up such famous names as Jimi Hendrix and others but I love that. She’s a really cool lady). Their brother inherited all the money. On my dad’s side I know less. I know that they lived in Ohio and that nearly all of that side of the family now lives in Florida. My paternal grandmother came from an upper middle class family - her dad being an engineer. I have no idea when they immigrated or from where - I’ve heard they may have been Irish or Scottish and probably Welsh. My paternal grandfather had a Finish mother. She came here with her daughters and was pregnant to boot. After having my grandpa, she put all her kids up for adoption. He was adopted by a filthy rich family and considering that it was in Ohio where the rivers catch on fire, I can only guess that his parents were some kind of industry moguls. (He grew up to be homophobic and racist and turns out two of his biological sisters are also gay.) My dad has told me that as a child, his grandparents would take him to restaurants that didn’t even have prices on the menus and how his grandmother got away with drunk driving on a regular basis. I’ve heard that a great deal of their money was stolen, and also that my grandfather has problems with money management and so what was his is also gone. My dad’s sister got pregnant at an early age and left home young from what I know. I know that my grandma left my grandpa the day after my dad’s graduation, him being the youngest.

I have been assumed to be a rich girl more than once in my life, but while my family once had money, I’d never enjoyed the benefit of it and neither did my parents. I was a military brat and nothing more. I think the reason behind it is that I took my education seriously and my speech can be a little overly formal because of my desire to communicate clearly. Despite the fact that I did well in school, most of the schools I attended lacked scholarships for outstanding academic performance and economic hardship. The what ifs: If I had the parental support and encouragement to stay at the first school I went to and finish my bachelor’s degree in Biology, I would’ve finished with less than $10,000 worth of debt and I’d be set up to pursue something I loved. But as usual, Biology was unacceptable, I was unacceptable, etcetera. My parents were too caught up in who they believed they needed to be to listen to anyone or to ask questions or to accept reality as it is instead of as they believed it was, or as they believed it should be.

So it comes now to this: my final point. There is still this constant waging of war against differences, sometimes due to prejudice and sometimes due to the belief that rudeness is unacceptable. I was on my way to work last week and the car was doing its little chugalug deal as I’m trying to accelerate after the light turned green. They person behind me decided to honk. Yes, yes. How dare I be so rude as to have transmission problems while you are behind me? Your honking has fixed our car, thank you. I mean, there are countless examples of people treating each other like shit because of their impatience, some kind of internalized prejudice, how they believe the world “should” be, and all other forms of miscommunication. If nobody is being hurt, these things objectively do not matter. What’s difficult is that people often perceive injury where none was intended (in the case of most of my miscommunications) or they imagine injury where none has occurred (in the case of businesses claiming natural african hair on employees to be unacceptable). There are countless other examples in the day to day motion of the cultural machine. The issue that I have identified is that most unAutistic people don’t like to stand out or be the first to do something because humans have evolved to believe in their cultures. Brave and virtuous is the business owner who allows for differences among their staff. From a permaculture perspective, diversity leads to resilience, but your average rich lady consumer doesn’t give a shit about permaculture principles; she gives a shit about feeling “comfortable” in her shopping surroundings and misunderstandings or appearances can shake that precarious foundation that culture has laid for her. I think in many ways, consumer culture is one of the primary barriers to creating acceptance and inclusion in the workplace.

Lao Tzu said it is better to retreat a foot than to advance an inch. I think his reasoning behind all of that deals with the fact that he probably witnessed things just like this happening regularly. He was an imperial record keeper during a time when China took itself very seriously and struggled with xenophobia. If you personally perceive an injury where none was intended, then you might be apt to retaliate, making you the true initiator of conflict. If you perceive and injury where none was intended and you retreat, then you have simply enforced a boundary, perhaps even, “I know that she didn’t mean to be unkind, but I will disengage from this situation in order to preserve my own energy,” or even, “I may be late due to the driver in front of me, but I have no control over this situation and a difference of two minutes does not damage the productivity of my place of employment from an objective perspective,” or, “If that bitch of a customer has a problem with how you care for your hair or yourself, then we don’t need their business anyway.”

The only way to truly create change in our world is to change from the inside. Waging war on rudeness or appearances makes you an asshole. Having healthy boundaries protects you. Learning to be okay with the world as it is prevents escalation of problems and allows us to solve them while they are small.

#random #actually autistic #problem solving #flu #flu daze #change begins inside

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allonsysilvertongue · 6 years

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Summer Nights

Summary: At six year old, Effie Trinket was convinced that the eight year old boy with dirty blonde hair who often jostled her roughly when her mother was not looking and made her run after him in the summer heat was the best friend she needed. The same could not be said for Haymitch Abernathy.

Hello everyone, this is a hayffie au. I have done a gifset many many years ago of Haymitch and Effie knowing each other from a young age but I never did write it until this idea popped into my head about a week back. I know it sounds odd but I hope you'll give it a chance, and we can have a chill ride with the story.

Anyway, hy headcanon has always been that Effie's always six years younger than Haymitch but for this story, I have decided to shorten the age gap otherwise it'll be just creepy and I have also scaled down some timelines.

Chapter 1 – What’s the deal, Mr. and Mrs. Trinket?

Haymitch Abernathy stood by the porch, watching the car drive into the compound. As it made a turn to park, the young girl caught sight of him. Her face bloomed into a smile and she waved enthusiastically through the window.

He waved back with a grin, one hand still clutching on to his younger brother.

Next to him, his mother stood tall, dutifully waiting for the guests’ arrival.

“Hello,” Effie Trinket walked up to them.

At six year old, Effie Trinket was convinced that the eight year old boy with dirty blonde hair who often jostled her roughly when her mother was not looking and made her run after him in the summer heat was the best friend she needed. Everyone has a best friend so she was entitled to one too.

On her eighth birthday, he was still her best friend despite having already made other friends in school. It was just so unfortunate that he lived so far away and they only get to meet during the summer.

When Effie turned nine and her family made the trip down to the other end of the country where Haymitch stayed, he gave her a box. In it was a bracelet made from macaroni shells he had sneaked from the kitchen and painted over the winter.

“My birthday is over,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t get to see you until summer so there.”

She kept it safe in her nightstand drawer back home, too afraid to wear something so fragile lest she broke it.

At that age, Haymitch was her only male friend. It meant none of her other friends in school believed she had a friend of the opposite gender since they had never meet or seen him before. It made her mad when they started referring to Haymitch as her imaginary friend. He was as real as them, but so be it. Perhaps it was better that they had never and would never meet him. He was dear to her and the last thing she wanted was to have anyone coming to steal her best friend away like they had taken Valeria from her.

Haymitch on the other hand was quite well known in the district and had friends everywhere – girls and boys alike. He made the effort to introduce her to some of them if they happened to come around to the Village when she was there. Sometimes she was scared that he would rather spend his summer with them but he was always there to accompany her.

By the time Effie turned eleven, she thought that the now thirteen year old Haymitch Abernathy was the handsomest boy she ever met, a little rude lately but still very handsome.

“Hey, Effie,” he winked in her direction.

Rude, she thought, for him to take the liberty of using that moniker that only her grandmother called her by and only when they were alone together.

She had told him that fact one night under the startling brightness of the stars and he had declared it to be much better than Euphemia.

“Good morning, Haymitch,” she greeted him by his given name because she knew that he detest being called ‘Mitch’ and while she could have easily just call him by that to irritate him, she was fortunately raised with impeccable manners.

Haymitch flopped down on the seat next to her, immediately reaching out for the chocolate croissant he was so fond of.

“Now children,” Lysandra Trinket addressed them and from the corner of Effie’s eyes, she could see Haymitch wrinkled his nose at being called a child. “What are you both planning on doing today? Do tell so I may arrange my day accordingly…. Haymitch? I do hope you will have something interesting for my daughter today.”

That usually meant that her mother would rather have Effie’s day occupied so she would not be bothered for the rest of the day. Effie didn’t mind it that much. Haymitch was often very good at keeping her busy from morning till dinner.

Effie turned towards Haymitch expectantly. He paused in the middle of taking a bite from his half eaten croissant.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

“It is a hot day, isn’t it….? Swimming will be fun.”

There was a laugh threatening to burst from that annoying grin on his face that Effie was quick to get a word in before he could speak.

“I have had swimming lessons so I will not be drowning. Father made sure,” Effie huffed.

He smirked in her direction.

“Sure,” Haymitch said with a chuckle, clearly remembering the incident last summer when she had waded into the deeper end of the pool after he issued a challenge and nearly drowned. “We’ll swim.”

It was only half past ten in the morning and already, the sun was beating down on them. She already felt sticky under her armpits from the sweat. It was disturbing to know just how much she could perspire by just having breakfast outdoor.

Effie grew restless waiting for Haymitch who had disappeared right after breakfast claiming he had some homework to do. From her experience, he knew he was likely doing homework for his friends. She could never understand why he would allow his friends to pile their homework on him but when she had asked once, he said he had his reasons.

“What time are we going swimming?” she asked, opening the door to his room.

“Later,” he answered without even looking at her.

She huffed in annoyance. “When is later? It is so very rude of you to just keep me waiting…”

The only reason Effie indulged her parents in this annual summer trip all the way in this sleepy, quiet coal mining district was because of Haymitch Abernathy. Her father’s reason was solely for business while her mother, as advised by her therapist, needed the quiet reprieved every once in a while from the city and the media for all the fame attached to her name. Otherwise, Effie highly doubted that Lysandra Trinket would even agree to spend her summer here.

“Ten minutes,” he answered curtly.

Without an invitation and because she knew Haymitch wouldn’t mind, Effie sat perched on the edge of his bed. He was hunched over the small study table, scribbling on a note book.

With an impatient sighed, she flopped down on the bed unceremoniously. It earned her an amused glance from him.

“Don’t let your mother see you,” he commented, turning back to his work.

“Work faster then, before my mother catches me like this. Ladies do not behave this way and you will be sure that I will blame it on you.”

He frowned but otherwise did not respond. He hardly ever did when she pulled that card on him. At that age, she barely gave it much thought, simply assuming that like everyone else, he was afraid and wary of her mother.

“When I see you again next year, you will already be starting high school,” she remarked, staring up at the white painted ceiling. “Will you be working at the mines? Father said you will eventually.”

He stiffened, his pen poised in mid-air.

“Not yet.”

His answer was curt and his tone warned her not to pursue the topic any further.

It was odd, she thought. He didn’t seem proud of the mines like she figured he would be.

Why wouldn’t he be proud of the coal mines?

His great-grandfather who was amongst the first generations to settle in this district town years earlier had sold a large hectare of land to the Trinkets. The land was turned into a coal mine managed solely by her family.

The mine was what gave this town their livelihood and since it was his family’s contribution, Effie, without truly understanding the full history, thought that it was something he should be proud of.

Back in the city, in the Trinkets’ mansion, her father always talked about the Abernathys as if they worked for him but whenever summer came around and they took a vacation in the Abernathy’s house - a house that Haymitch’s great-grandfather received as part of the land deal - her parents often treated his family as though they were friends. Her parents’ dual behavior confused her greatly but adults, in general, were confusing. All she knew was that Haymitch is her friend and she is his, which was why she was willing to wait for him.

Effie Trinket hardly ever sat around idly waiting for people.

“Alright, come on,” he declared finally.

He grabbed the towel that was hanging around the bed post and waited until she left his room before he closed the door.

The pool was small by Effie’s standard – a grown man could only complete five broad strokes before reaching the end, which was admittedly deep as she discovered the year before. She had seen more impressive pools in the city, in other mansions and apartment buildings. When she had asked her father about the Abernathy’s pool, Stephen Trinket had scoffed derisively and claimed that they were lucky to have it in the first place. Her own grandfather, Matias Trinket, had commissioned the pool to be made for the Abernathys as a New Year gift one year when the coal mine brought in profit above the expected margin.

Of course, she had then asked Haymitch about it but he waved her question away. At times, his reaction to her questions made her form the impression that he didn’t quite like this house that his family got from hers, and she could never understand the reason for it.

“So you only learn to hold your breath and float around like a hippo?” he snorted after watching her for a few minutes.

“Do not be rude!” she snapped.

They tended to get into stupid arguments simply because he was overly frustrating and rude. She wondered if thirteen year old boys all behave like jerks.

“I’ll show you,” she turned her nose at him and proceeded to do a few breast strokes and back strokes.

He mockingly gave her a standing ovation complete with an overdramatic bow before he settled down at the spot on the grass where two overlapping tree branches provided him some shade.

“You said you’ll swim with me,” she pouted.

“I swam with you,” he replied without taking his eyes off his book. “Now I’m reading. Shush.”

“You are so boring. Really, what is so interesting about the book?”

“I’ll find out if you let me read but it’ll still be more interesting than watching you swim,” he quipped easily.

Effie ignored him after that. She practiced her moves and when she needed to catch a breath, she ended up watching him. Haymitch was on his stomach, half-naked except for the shorts he wore to swim. The sun had long dried his skin but his hair was still damp, making it looked darker than normal. Once in a while, his finger would turn a page from his book and depending on what he was reading, his brows would crease slightly as he concentrated.

“Why are you staring at me?”

She blinked.

“I wasn’t,” she denied and promptly disappeared under the water.

When she emerged, he was standing at the edge of the pool looking down at her. She didn’t realised he had grown this tall until now when she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“I have to go to town. Get some things for mama for dinner.”

“I will go as well,” she said without missing a beat. “I do not want to be left alone. What would I do?”

By the time that summer ended, Effie’s skin had a healthy tan to it, she had gotten so much better at holding her breath under water and the one thing she was most proud of was that Lief, Haymitch’s baby brother, no longer cried when she held him.

“See you next year, Effs,” Haymitch said.

She hugged him tightly.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I am already counting down for summer next year.”

He released her with a smile.

Effie got into the car that would bring her family to the train station back to the city, feeling a little forlorn that time seemed to have fly past. She gave a final wave to Haymitch, his brother and his parents. They were standing in front of the wrought iron gates at the entrance of the village and as the car continued to travel, Haymitch and his family became smaller and smaller before they eventually disappeared from her line of sight when the car rounded the bend.

“You had a word with them, did you not?” her mother spoke.

Effie raised her head, thinking it was her that her mother was addressing.

“Of course,” Stephen nodded.

With that, Effie went back to staring out of the window, her hands folded nicely on her lap. The train journey back was the least favourite part of her summer.

“I made it clear that we will not provide any further finances to the mine than what we already have,” her father continued. “They are to make it safe for the coming inspection.”

“What about production?”

“I have explained that it should be maintained and if targets are not met, there will be consequences.”

Her mother laughed a little that and Effie cringed at the pitch.

“That would explain why Lachlan did not look particularly happy the past two days,” Lysandra commented.

“Be that as it may,” her father replied nonchalantly. “He has two sons to feed and put through school, and an entire town depending on him for their livelihood. He will come through.”

As curious as Effie was, her mother had always told her not to poke her nose into other people’s business, especially theirs. Whatever it was between her parents and Haymitch’s parents was their problem, not hers nor Haymitch.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #hayffie au #childhood au

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writer-of-worlds · 6 years

Text

Fish and Feelings

EEEEEYYYY I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING. This time for this indie Windows 10 game called Dragon’s Blade: Heroes of Larkwood! A couple of friends may know who these two OCs are, but hopefully everyone else enjoys my fic anyway! :D

And like always, any constructive criticism and whatnot is always welcomed!

Dragon’s Blade: Heroes of Larkwood belong to Nate Monster. Garrett, Zeph, Terra, and Saber belong to me.

ENJOY!

Summary: While Garrett was fishing, Zeph visited him with injuries from being assaulted by the village boys. Male Knight x Male Blackguard implied slash. Injuries, bullying, physical bullying.

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Fish and Feelings

Many people didn’t have the patience to sit down and cast a rod, waiting for a possible bite for hours. To the residents in the peaceful village Larkwood, it was a test of endurance—if one was too impatient to catch a fish, they, along with their families, would go hungry tonight. Because of this tradition that had been passed down for generations, the people in the small village had great patience, no matter how long they waited for whatever they wanted or needed.

Garrett was no exception—in fact, fishing was one of his favorite pastimes. The idea of sitting in front of a river, the rod he was given as a gift by Aunt Rose casting into the water, and listening to nature around him relaxed him.

And that was what he was currently doing, sitting in front of the river that flowed through the village, humming to himself. He had finished working at the inn Aunt Rose had owned, and she let him and his friends take an hour long break. While Saber, Terra, and Zeph were out to spend their own free time, Garrett used this opportunity to go fishing. Who knows, he might catch a big fish to bring home for dinner. The thought of cooked fish—fried salmon, baked bass—nearly made his mouth water, but he shook his head and concentrated on the red and white bobber that remained on the surface.

He was so tuned out of his fishing that he didn’t notice someone behind him. In fact, he didn’t notice them sitting beside him until the person cleared their throat.

He was snapped out of his focus, and he turned his head to the side upon hearing the noise that broke his concentration. He opened his mouth, about to scold them for startling him, but the moment he saw the black, short hair, he stopped.

Zeph was staring at the river, his hair hiding the side of his face. The Blackguard wasn’t looking back at the Knight—he was focused on the bobber floating on the water.

“Zeph?” Garrett questioned, an eyebrow raised. Wasn’t he with Saber and Terra for their break? Then again, he very rarely interacted with either of them, and he most likely went on his own.

“Hm?” Zeph hummed, looking up at the white haired teen.

“Are you—“

The moment he saw Zeph’s face fully, his eyes widened and anger boiled inside him.

Zeph had a black eye swelling shut, and he had multiple cuts that littered his face. His hair was also a mess, with grass and hay stuck on his dark strands.

While Zeph wasn’t too bothered by the injuries he had sustained, Garrett was the complete opposite. The more he studied his friend's injured face, the stronger his rage grew inside him.

“Zeph, who did this to you? What happened?” Garrett immediately demanded, trying to not show any signs of rage in his voice despite his boiling anger. He knew how Zeph felt whenever he confronted anyone who harmed him—it had landed him in trouble multiple times due to taking manners into his own hands.

Zeph only looked away, shaking his head, as if he was trying to hide what had actually happened from his close friend. Garrett, however, knew what happened. Zeph wasn’t a popular kid around the village thanks to his Blackguard status. In fact, he was bullied, beaten, and threatened by both children and adults because of it. Garrett knew that Blackguards were considered the “living embodiment of death and bad luck”, but the sheer thought of seeing his friend hurt just because he was born with dark powers still twisted his gut.

“Zeph,” Garrett spoke firmly, throwing the fishing rod to the side, completely forgotten as he gripped Zeph’s shoulders to force him to face the Knight.

The Blackguard flinched when Garrett’s hands touched him in those areas. Two dislocated shoulders, Garrett realized. Now his rage grew tenfold, though he attempted to hide the furiousness in both his voice and body by taking a quick deep breath.

“It was the village boys, correct?” Garrett guessed, his voice wavering and nearly giving away his true feelings.

“…As usual,” Zeph admitted, taking one strand of hay from his hair before tossing it to the side. “The beating was only mild unlike previous encounters. They only pushed me down, punched, and kicked me.”

“That is just as bad as previous times, Zeph,” Garrett pointed out, his voice rising from his intense emotions. “They should not even attempt to hurt you! If they keep this up, I will make sure tha—”

“Garrett,” Zeph interrupted, a subtle flicker of panic in his red irises. “please don’t.”

Garrett stopped, before he released his hold on Zeph. He turned to face the river—shadows of unidentifiable fish underwater swam around in an unpredictable pattern. Usually, watching this relaxed Garrett to the point of falling asleep, but with the thought of his best friend hurt, he couldn’t even loosen up his tensing muscles.

There was a long silence between them until Garrett spoke, “Forgive me… I just don’t want you to get hurt, Zeph. It was not right to see others harm you over something you could not control over.”

Zeph glanced towards the white-haired Knight, a slight blush on his cheeks. He had lived with Garrett, along with Aunt Rose, Terra, and Saber all his life, yet Garrett was the only one who treated him like an actual human. Aunt Rose was bossy, especially during their work days, Terra’s bubbly chatter annoyed him greatly, and Saber was all around rude and blunt to a fault.

Garrett, on the other hand, was special. He always lend a helping hand to anyone in need, to the point others took advantage of him—Zeph still remembered all the times Garrett came home with injuries after attempting to help someone with whatever they had trouble with. Despite that, Garrett was still willing to assist everyone, no matter how trivial the problem was.

When someone even looked at Zeph in disgust, Garrett gave them an earful. The whole village overall hated Zeph, yet Garrett was the only one who defended him from any backlash or bullies attempting to harm the young Blackguard in any way.

As much as he hated to admit it openly, Zeph admired Garrett for his good heart.

“Zeph,” Garrett continued, “you’re important to me. Not only are you my best friend, but you’re also like a brother to me. I made myself a promise to protect you, no matter the cost.”

“You… you did?” Zeph asked, his face turning more pink. He made a promise—and he knew that Garrett never break any promises—to protect Zeph. That explained why he fiercely defended Zeph when he was even slightly assaulted.

“Yes,” Garrett confirmed. “I know you hate it, but…”

Zeph could see a hint of pain and guilt on his face. The Blackguard raised a brow at this sudden change in expression—when he thought about it, he realized something odd.

He remembered in their childhood years, Garrett was timid as a mouse. He never spoke up for anything—not even asking Aunt Rose if he could get a sweet treat—and he hated fights. He recalled the times Garrett held Aunt Rose’s hand at all times, and he insisted to be accompanied by Aunt Rose, even when he was only going outside to play nearby.

Zeph didn’t remember how, but suddenly, one day, Garrett had a huge change of personality. Not only was he more brave and protective, but he was more than willing to stand up to anyone, even over slights towards Zeph. He even got involved in fights with some of the village boys over their attacks on Zeph. The Blackguard knew for sure that the old Garrett wouldn’t even stand up for anyone, not even himself, let alone fight with others.

What happened that made him change? Zeph didn’t remember any trauma or a significant event that made him what he was today. It was suddenly like the timid, younger Garrett was replaced—both physically and emotionally—by another person.

The memory overall made his head hurt. He had to know what happened that made Garrett change.

“Garrett?” Zeph asked.

Garrett snapped out of his pained expression, before he glanced at Zeph. His previous expression was then replaced by a raised eyebrow. “Yes, Zeph?”

“What… what happened?” Zeph began. “I remembered how you were so… so scared of everything. To this day, I still wonder how you changed from that to who you are now. Did something happened?”

There it was again—the pained and guilty expression on Garrett’s face appeared when Zeph asked this. This time, it was more intense and noticeable. The Knight fell silent, as he turned his head to stare at the river again. It seemed like he was trying to hide his face, but Zeph immediately saw tears welling up in his blue eyes.

Zeph could only wait for Garrett to answer, but after a few minutes, only silence reigned. Zeph picked a few more strands of grass and hay off his hair, as he moved his legs in front of him for a more comfortable position. The silence was beginning to drive him crazy, but he didn’t pry any further—he figured by Garrett’s reaction towards his question, whatever event made him change was traumatizing to the point he didn’t want to remember.

He wanted to comfort his only friend in some way… but he had no idea how. Blackguards had the wired mind and black heart that made them cold and hateful—they were never born with a loving bone in their body.

Yet, Zeph wanted to be caring and loving towards Garrett. He just didn’t know how to show it, as it was against his complicated kind’s body.

While he was pondering on what to do, he felt strong arms wrapped around him, before he was pulled into a tight, but protective hug. Zeph blinked at this sudden contact, and when he glanced up, his face turned red when he saw Garrett holding him close.

His first instinct was to pull away… but after a few seconds of hesitation, he awkwardly returned the hug. This was the first time he had this kind of affection, and it felt like he was cared for. Loved, in fact.

“Zeph,” Garrett wispered, his voice wavering from sorrow, “I will not let anyone harm you. I will always protect you.”

Zeph’s heart stuttered in his chest, his face redder by the minute. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t an illusion—he had someone who treated him like an equal, not like an animal that needed to be stabbed and killed.

As he buried his face in Garrett’s broad shoulder, he smiled slightly—an expression he had never had in his entire life.

“Thank you, Garrett… thank you for giving me a chance...”

His eyes spotted the shadows of fish swimming erratically in the river, like his current feelings. He may not know what his feelings were called exactly, but maybe when time went on, Garrett would fish them out.

#writer wrote something #FINALLY #fanfiction #dragon's blade #dragon's blade: heroes of larkwood #HOL #heroes of larkwood #ocs #oc #oc x oc #slash #male x male #garrett x zeph #knight x blackguard #fanfic #fic #hurt/comfort

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odderancyart · 6 years

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Third Time’s the Charm

Kedgeup AO3

This is set in the same universe as Lucky, only with Kedgeup instead of Spicyhoney, so it's kind of non-canon if you can call a one-time-fanfiction canon.

I also kind of forgot that Sans and Papyrus are brothers, so let's just pretend this makes sense anyway, shall we? Thanks.

The cab was late. Fell was pacing the hall, gripping the handle his black leather briefcase hard. Not only had he been late because his brother had gotten into a brawl again so he’d had to bail him out of custody, but now he got even later because the cab driver couldn’t be on time. Being late was awful. It was stressing and rude, and he had a very important meeting soon. The house was quiet except for the clicking of heels on the marble floor and Red’s grumbling from the kitchen. Every time he got taken by the police Fell would make him clean something in exchange for bailing him out, was their agreement. This time he was doing the dishes. Fell had sent the kitchen staff home early. With full pay, of course, since it was still working time and not their fault his brother was an irresponsible idiot sometimes.

Impatient, he looked out the great, ironbound window. This was the last time he’d take a cab. The only reason was that his own car was at the garage for the annual inspection. Growling loudly, he dragged his phone out of his pocket, checking for messages. Nothing. Where the hell-

A cab drove in on the driveway. With a relieved sigh and a glance at the clock Fell yelled that he was leaving and stepped outside. He had fifteen minutes until the meeting began. The driver was seemingly just about to step out to ring the bell as he hurried over. With a blink, they shrugged and closed the car door again.

Fell scowled deeply as he sat down in the backseat. The driver turned around, grinning apologetically.

“sorry i’m late, bud,” they said. “the traffic’s a nightmare at this time of the day.”

His scowl only deepened as he put the case in the seat next to him. The driver began to back out from the driveway, looking questioning.

“SAPPHIRE AVENUE 2,” Fell told the other, who nodded. “AND HURRY UP. I’M LATE.”

“so…” the driver eventually said. Fell was looking out the window, at the fancy streets passing by. They’d been travelling in tense silence for a minute or two. Sighing, Fell turned his head away from the window, toward the other. “that’s a nice house ya got. very fancy.”

“THANK YOU,” Fell replied shortly. “NOW WILL YOU STOP SPEAKING AND FOCUS ON GETTING ME TO MY DESTINATION? MY MEETING STARTS IN-“ he looked at his wristwatch. “-EIGHT MINUTES.”

Blinking, the driver frowned slightly before shrugging. Never losing that wide smile, though. Fell suspected a permanent smile. It happened sometimes to skeletons. For the rest of the drive, silence reigned. The only thing heard was the humming of the motor. As they pulled up outside of Serif Bakery Enterprise’s office building Fell scrabbled together a few dollar bills from his wallet and almost threw them on the driver.

“KEEP THE CHANGE,” he commanded. “EVEN IF YOU HAVEN’T EXACTLY EARNED IT. I DON’T HAVE TIME TO WAIT.”

As he snatched his case from the seat and ducked to step out of the car, the driver stared after him.

“thanks?” they said, their sockets narrowed and frowning. They looked incredulous. Not bothering to say anything else, Fell almost ran inside. He was four minutes late.

…

Sans stared after his passenger. Well. That one was rude. Not like he was a stranger to rude customers but c’mon. Ah well. He shrugged. At least he’d left a grand tip.

Also, he was kind of hot with that scar and obviously strong, healthy bones.

No matter. They’d most likely never see each other again.

…

As he made his way out of the confectionary in which he personally worked; the very first Serif Bakery Fell grinned widely. It had been a week since the meeting and during it they’d made a great deal. Serif Bakery Enterprise was now responsible for the confection at all the monster government’s events. Papyrus, who had been newly appointed Ambassador of Monsterkind, found their cakes the best he’d ever eaten. Not that Fell expected anything else from his childhood’s best friend.

With long steps, he walked toward the parking place twenty metres away. Red was supposed to pick him up, as he had wanted to borrow the car. Normally Fell wouldn’t let anyone do that, but he had been feeling generous.

It was a wonderful day. The sun was shining and autumn was turning into winter. Frost still lied on the grass next to the streets despite it being afternoon. A light, chilly breeze fanned his face but dressed in his thick jacket the cold wasn’t a problem. Fell made his way toward the sleek, red car standing a bit away. Frowning, he realized there was two people in it, yet it was undoubtedly his car. As his brother’s laughter rang loudly he got his confirmation.

He closed in on it, and blinked. Two skeletons sat there, laughing loudly.

“’lright, pal, these gian’ squid jokes are kraken me up,” Red exclaimed loudly, and two voices giggled in unison. The other skeleton began to speak, but Fell interrupted him by clearing his throat. Two sets of eye sockets turned to him; one white, one crimson. Red grinned and waved. “hiya, boss. i got tired o’ drivin’ ‘n’ hired a driver, ‘n’ sans ‘ere ‘s hilarious.”

“WITH WHOSE MONEY?” Fell replied dryly, already knowing the answer. Red may have a job, but a bouncer didn’t earn nearly as much as a CEO and his brother had already proven that he really didn’t care whose money he used. If he was being honest, Fell didn’t either, even if he practically had to scold the other for being so uneconomical. They were rich, a couple hundred gold here and there didn’t matter much.

Turning to look at the driver, he blinked. The driver blinked back, just as surprised as he was, before his apparently eternal grin widened.

“well, this is unexpected,” ‘Sans’ said, waving. He leaned backwards in the driver’s seat, not reacting as Fell’s socket twitched at having someone he hadn’t approved of behind the wheel of his beloved car. “nice to meetcha again, mr serif.”

Red raised an eyebrow, looking between them with a slight smirk on his face.

“ya know each other?”

Fell shook his head in reply, walking around the car to put his bag in the trunk. When he came back to the front, he finally bothered to reply. Sans was watching him in curiosity, no doubt waiting to see what he’d answer.

“THIS IS THE CAB DRIVER WHO TOOK ME TO THE MEETING I WAS LATE TO,” he said, not explicitly stating ‘the driver who made me late’ but not needing to either.

For a short second, Sans’ grin seemed strained. Then it relaxed again, and he shrugged.

“well, ya know how it is. can’t always do everything perfect.”

“try tellin’ my bro tha’.” Red rolled his eyelights, an exasperated look on his face. Yet his smile was fond, and Fell couldn’t help but smile back. Only a little. “he’s a fuckin’ perfectionist.”

“YES, YES,” was all he deigned to reply, walking toward the driver’s seat. “NOW GIVE ME THE WEEL. AND YES, I WILL DRIVE YOU WHEREVER YOU NEED TO GO. I’M NOT ASSHOLE ENOUGH TO LEAVE YOU HERE, DESPITE WHAT SOME PEOPLE MIGHT’VE TOLD YOU.” He threw Red a mock glare.

“notice how ‘e’s not denyin’ anythin’,” Red pointed out, sounding gleeful.

Sans gave him a slightly bemused gaze, but obediently hopped out of the driver’s seat. Fell slid down in it instead, enjoying the warm feeling he always got from sitting there tingling through his bones. This was his most cherished property, an old, classic, but fully functional car he made sure to treat with outmost care.

As soon as Sans had sat down and given him an address of the company he worked for – not the cab company, Fell noted in the back of his mind – they were off. The motor purred as he steered them out on the road. Despite the chilly air the roof was lowered and the wind hit their faces and made their sockets tear. He grinned. Red was turned around in the seat, continuing to tell puns to their passenger, and the laughter rang loud.

Physically unable not to, he groaned at every especially bad pun or joke, which only seemed to encourage the other two more. Rolling his scarlet eyelights, Fell felt the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly once in a while. Red knew he actually quite enjoyed puns; both of them just so happened to love their little game as well. Red told puns and Fell pretended to hate them. After a short while, Sans seemed to catch on as well. Surprisingly quickly, seeing how Undyne – his best friend – hadn’t yet after so many years.

“hey, mr serif,” he commented, leaning forward. “i’m a real lazybones ya know? or well, ya don’t ‘cause we don’t know each other, but no matter. apparently i snore so loudly it scares everyone in the car i'm driving. that's almost impressing, ain’t it?”

Red broke out in uncontrollable laughter, hitting his knee a couple times. His brother had such a bad, dramatic sense of humour. Still, Fell felt his mouth stretch into a small grin, and he sent the pun-teller an amused but unimpressed gaze. Laughter was all he received in return as the other chuckled at his own joke.

The punning continued until Fell pulled up at a parking place outside of a private chauffeur office. Sans thanked him for the drive, said goodbye to Red and left with a friendly wave. Fell looked after him for a few seconds before turning to his brother as they left to drive home to the house.

“HOW COME YOU DIDN’T HAVE THE ENERGY TO DRIVE HALF AN HOUR TO THE NEIGHBOURING TOWN?” he asked, unimpressed, and received only a lazy half-smile in return.

“eh, ya know me, boss. ever th’ lazybones.”

…

Fell hurried through the park, his assistant at his heels. The rain poured down, and they’d been drenched half a minute after leaving the safety of the Ambassador’s Manor. Unfortunately, he’d declined Papyrus’ offer to stay until it stopped. Stupid of him, but he hadn’t been able to know it’d start raining quite this fast and violently.

“over th-there, sir,” Stretch suddenly said, teeth chattering loudly, and pointed toward a small hot dog restaurant about a hundred metres away.

With a sharp nod, Fell set course over there. The wet grass squelched beneath their feet and the rain made the world seem grey. It was raining hard enough to make it almost impossible to see the park fence a hundred and fifty metres from them. They both sighed in relief as they reached the building, and Fell jerked the door open. They both almost ran in.

The warmth that hit them was almost overwhelming, and he felt his shoulders sink and the strained grimace on his face disappearing. Low music was playing from the speakers and the only people except them and the vendor were three teenagers sitting at a window table and talking quietly. A low laugh echoed through the room, coming from the small kitchen.

As Fell turned over there, he couldn’t help but stare as he found himself looking at Sans. The other was dressed in a blue t-shirt depicting a ketchup bottle and a hot dog talking. The bottle said It was nice to meat you and the hot dog replied Yeah, hope to see you soon again so we can ketchup. Fell heard Stretch snort loudly. Undoubtedly had the other seen it too. He had the same terrible sense of humour as Red. They got along well, to say the least. Sans was also wearing a small square hat, the stereotypical hot dog vendor hat.

“what?” never seen a guy with three jobs before?” Sans asked, smiling, as he saw Fell’s confused gaze. He studied them from top to toe. “nah, just kidding. who would’ve thought we’d stumble upon each other again, mr serif? a third time? it’s almost starting to get weird. ya want a ‘dog? you both look quite frozen.”

In the corner of his eye, Fell saw the longing look in his assistant’s eyelights. With a sigh, he nodded to Sans who immediately got to work.

Stretch had been his assistant for a couple months, but he knew the other was still nervous around him and worried about being thrown out. About ending up on the street again. Which was why he hardly ever asked for something. He was a good, hardworking employee though, and really had no reason to worry. Anyway, even if he hadn’t been Fell wouldn’t be so cruel as to not make sure he’d get employment somewhere else. Even if the risk of Stretch and his brother getting on the street again was minimal since Blue too had been employed – at his own bakery as a baker apprentice, as well as still having his street hot dog stand.

After being asked what kind of hot dog they wanted – grilled or boiled, paid and received their orders the two of them sat down at one of the tables. The teenagers threw them a glance, one looking amused at Fell’s wet business suit and the other two concerned – before ignoring them again.

After a minute Sans came over to them, leaning on their table and grinning curiously.

“so what’re you doing in the park in pouring rain in such fancy suits, pals?”

Fell sighed. He supposed it had been unavoidable. Taking a hesitant bite from the sausage – neither he nor Stretch appreciated grease but the hot dog was at least warm – he resigned himself to explain.

He didn’t have to, he supposed. No driver or hot dog vendor could actually demand to get to know what the CEO of a multimillion business had been doing when it came to subjects like this.

No one could demand that, to anyone, at least not without power abuse. Which Fell was very much against. He knew how awful that was from first-hand experience when he had his first own job. The owner of that bookshop had detested rich people and even though Fell hadn’t been more than sixteen and wanted to be a simple baker – he hadn’t expected his business to blow up so despite having his father’s money as backup – she had made his life a living hell until he’d had enough and quit.

“WE – I – WAS STUPID ENOUGH NOT TO ACCEPT AMBASSADOR PAPYRUS’ INVITATION TO STAY. I DIDN’T THINK IT’D START RAINING QUITE SO QUICKLY, AND IT HAD BEEN NICE WEATHER WHEN WE CAME SO WE HAD WALKED,” he explained anyway. Sans gave them a sympathising smile and chuckled.

“that’s too bad,” he said. “well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want even without continuing to buy stuff. i’m sure the boss won’t mind. not that he’d know anyway ‘cause he’s never here.”

“thank you,” Stretch breathed, seeming to bask in the warmth. He looked relieved as he glanced toward Fell. Fell nodded once.

“YES, THANK YOU.”

Sans sat with them for the rest of the evening. The teenagers soon left, since they’d been smart enough to take umbrellas with them, and no other customers came. It took hours for the rain to stop, and Fell was very grateful that their working day was over anyway. He’d have to pay Stretch overtime, though. Not that that mattered much to him; Stretch would get a raise soon and it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it without even noticing the money leaving his accounts.

It was very pleasant, surprisingly enough. Sans and Stretch got along great, to no one’s surprise, and Fell found himself enjoying the conversation. He and Sans was discussing the fact that NASA had named the satellite keeping track of Jupiter and its moons Juno of all things – they sent Hera to keep track of Zeus and his lovers, NASA was just amazing – when Stretch subtly cleared his throat.

As they turned their heads his way, he pointed a thumb outside. The sky was blue, and the sun shone brightly in through the window. Fell blinked in surprise. When had that happened?

“I SUPPOSE WE CAN GO HOME NOW,” he stated unnecessarily, almost feeling his soul sink. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to talk more to Sans. Why? The vendor nodded, smiling. Fell was sure he was just imagining things, but didn’t he too look slightly disappointed?

“yeah,” Sans agreed. He looked thoughtful before holding up a finger. “one moment please.”

Hurrying behind the counter, he scribbled something on a paper. Soon after he came back out, and, with hunched shoulders and an almost shy smile, gave it to Fell before throwing a glance at the clock and waving them out.

“i need to close. it’s already over closing time.”

As Fell and Stretch stumbled outside, he gripped hard on the note. When the door closed behind them and the sign turned from Open to Closed he turned it and read.

I had a nice time, the note read in Comic Sans. If you had too, and want to hang out again, feel free to call. /Sans. And then there was a number written down on the bottom of the paper.

His face glowed slightly scarlet, and Fell felt his soul flutter. A small smile made its way into his expression. Stretch giggled.

“looks like you’ve got an admirer, sir,” he said. “and by the looks of it, i’d say you like him too.”

Fell only sent him a glare before starting to make his way back to the bakery where his car stood parked. For once Stretch didn’t look regretful while receiving it, instead chuckling louder and quickly following him.

With a still fluttering soul, Fell smiled.

Perhaps he should call Sans up and see if he wanted to go take a coffee someday.

#Kedgeup #Underfell #Undertale #Underswap #uf papyrus #uf sans #ut sans #us papyrus #my writing #Fell's a bit of an asshole but he's a kind-hearted asshole #kind-souled perhaps #he's kind anyway #ut sans/uf papyrus

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wydobrien · 7 years

Text

attitude check

AUTHOR: @wydobrien

WORD COUNT: a whopping 6,278

WARNINGS: descriptive violence, blood, roughness, choking, rough spanking, daddy kink, oral (m & f) and generally just hot mitch rapp overall. nsfw smut.

⋆ listen to me ⋆

i’m still rusty on writing smut and writing in general, since i’ve been on a writing hiatus for quite a while. but after watching both trailers for american assassin and reading some awesomeness from @writing-obrien and @sincerelystiles it has brought me out of my hiatus-hole !! i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did writing it. ;-) big thanks for @thelittlestkitsune for being the usual angel she is and helping me power through writing this. i also felt like i rushed the ending but :)))))). if you want a part two or anything, please please let me know !!

also, obv (y/n) = your name and (y/l/n) = your last name.

It’s not like you had given up, everything you had worked for has been temporarily stolen from you. All because you had done the one thing that is most discouraged in your line of work. You had made things personal for you.

All of the hard work, the sweat, the energy. Constant time in the training room, constant gun training, constant sleepless nights. You are always so doused in anger, so energized with the desire of vengeance, it has made you into this cold, killer machine no one had the power to turn on and off. Your instructor, especially, has been at her wits end trying to make sure you keep your ass out of trouble, being busy with her own conflicts. Recently you had broken one of her recruit’s wrists during a wrestling match in the training room, and your instructor had snapped. And that is what led you to your environment right now, being driven towards some random home in the middle of absolute nowhere.

The deep green and brown colors surrounding you did little to ease you, and with your instructor being the one driving, it annoyingly erased the chance of turning around. You’re a soldier, an agent, an assassin; top of your classes, ruthless with a gun and merciless with its trigger. Not a child having to be driven to her babysitter because your agency can’t handle the insatiable fire roaring inside you.

“You did this to yourself, (y/n).” Your instructor’s voice is stern, just how it always is, and you turn your head to look towards her, her own attention focused on the dirt-clad road ahead. “The only reason you’re not kicked out is because of me convincing them to do this.” You squint your eyes with a small scowl across your face, crossing one leg over the other as your eyes bore into your own window to your right. You feel like you’re being treated like a child. But, you still said nothing. All that was brewing in your mind was how long you had to stay wherever your instructor is taking you.

The rest of the drive, fortunately, is short and quiet.

Once she turns the last corner, the home is revealed. It appears to be like any other house, despite being surrounding by thick trees and dirt. You feel like you’ve been here before, but, you can’t seem to place when. Maybe it was just your head playing deja-vu on you.

Your instructor exits the car first, with you following suit patiently, lugging your bag from where your feet had been onto your back. You shut the door with your calf before meeting your instructor at the steps of the home, the heavy smell of earth entering your nose quickly. “Who lives here?” You mumble, and your instructor turns towards you as soon as the sound of a doorknob wiggling to unlock itself. Immediately, your attention is pointed towards the door, watching the face that reveals itself when the door finally opens. It’s an older man, possibly in his mid-to-late 40s, but has a strong build and a seriously firm resting bitch face, looking towards your instructor. He looks like someone of big authority, however, so you made sure being polite was at high remembrance each time you saw this man.

“This is the one, Irene?” He asks, and you tilt your head at his rude tone of surprise. Your instructor, Irene, visibly nods and he looks at you up and down, as if analyzing you in disbelief. “I’m Hurley. From what I heard, and what I’ve read from your records, you need an attitude check.” Attitude check. Seriously. You bottle up any irritation from the belittling phrase and simply lift your chin.

“Yes, sir.” You speak monotonically, and Hurley scoffs. You grip onto your bag’s shoulder straps tighter and he moves to the side for you to step in, which you do. Once again, this looks just like any other, normal home. Framed pictures of family, the home is neat and organized, and there is even a clean smell of a candle somewhere in it.

Irene and Hurley meet you on each of your sides before they step in front of you, wrapped up in their own small, private conversation clearly involving you at the hushed tone of voice they were using. “I know exactly what I need to do with you, (y/n).” Hurley speaks, and you gulp, but quickly brush off the sheepish gesture by rolling your shoulders and peering up at your, apparently, new instructor. “There’s rooms upstairs. Pick one, get dressed and get ready in ten. You’ll have time to unpack later.” You lick over your lips and brush past Hurley, walking towards the set of stairs. And, this time, you can hear their conversation from a few feet.

“You know I’m not going to have proper time for this, Irene. They’re already sending that other one you were talking to me about, with a case just like this one, and I have the rest of the Orion group I’m training. I’m not a babysitter.” Hurley’s voice sounds evidently impatient, and as much as you want to listen more, you keep walking up the steps at a normal pace. Unfortunately, you are unable to listen to what your previous instructor has to say, something you wish had heard before your future.

“But you’re what she needs, Stan. Trust me, when those two meet, they’ll be something you’ve never seen before. Put them with guns and they’ll definitely be something this agency hasn’t ever experienced before. Trust me when I say this, Stan, Rapp and (y/l/n) will be unstoppable.”

——

With white, hot anger coursing through your body, you, once again, take another leap at your competitor, your mind flashing with images of much more violent, but similar, events that have happened to you.

“(y/l/n), what did I just say?” The frustrated voice speaks through your ear-piece as you slip into the room with ease. The sleek, form-fitting gown that is draped over your body brings moderate attention towards you, with your target being only three feet away. Scum is what your target is, being no different than all the rest of the bastards you’re trained on killing. “Get your ass back out to your team outside. You’ll cause too much commotion. Listen to me, dammit. (y/ln)-” You brush some fallen strands of hair behind your ear, slyly turning off your cleverly hidden ear-piece in the process as you make your way to your target with a sickly sweet smile.

Grabbing onto your competitor’s arm, your legs have his way of escape blocked as you yank it behind his back, slithering one of your legs from your lock-hold to his back, where you knock his knees in, with you pushing down on his back till the side of his face hits the sweaty mat.

Once the door is locked, your target immediately goes for the thin shoulder straps of your dress. All that is buzzing through your mind is that one day, that one day, where your normal life was snatched away from you. Hand snaking to your back to reach for the tucked-in holster behind your bra strap, you manage to get good grip on the handle of the knife before swinging it out and immediately going for the throat. And with the close proximity, you were able to brush the blade clean across the midsection of his throat, unable to drive it right through like you had wanted. The target curses, holding the sliced skin with one hand while the other reaches behind him, ready to pull out his gun. You kick him square in the chest with your heel instead, slamming him up the wall and handling your knife once more, lifting it ever-so accordingly to your differentiating heights as your target’s blood splatters down your cheeks, neck and chest.

“Release!” The sudden order goes over your head as you hold your competitor down with your foot, watching as his tightly shut eyes and tense body try to move against your hold. “Release (y/l/n)!” Once more, you numbly tilt your head to the side, bringing two hands to your competitor’s arm, the one pinned behind his back, getting a good opposing hold and gently lifting it from his back, grip tightening.

The knife wedged in his throat, you reach for the gun he had recently tried to grab for, pulling it easily and cocking the pistol to ready the bullets in the small barrel. You point the barrel right between his eyes and pull the trigger, standing firm against the blast as his blood spews behind his head onto the silky white wallpaper. You pull the knife out of his throat with your free hand and dig the tip of it into the bullet-hole of his head, pulling the bullet out and smiling to see it drenched in hot, deep scarlet. Setting the gun in the same hand you have your knife in, you grab the bullet with numb fingers and stick it right between your target’s lips and into his mouth, before letting him fall to the floor. Loading the gun once more with the knife’s handle in-between your free fingers, you scowl down at the target and finally find it in yourself to turn your ear-piece back on with your free hand.

“The job’s already done. Backup in ten, I can already hear more of them coming up the stairs.”

You feel hands grab at you away from your competitor, hearing him gasp out in breath of relief as you blink rapidly. Hurley is the one holding you, but you quickly escape from his grasp and breathe heavily, looking at him with squinted eyes. “I told you to release. You’ve been here for a month and still can’t follow a simple order.” You huff, turning around to face him and being slightly surprised to see a new scruffy face standing next to him, the honey-golden eyes staring intently into your own. “Fucking unbelievable, (y/l/n). You need a leash? Or do I need to watch you train like the child you are?” Your mouth opens in frustration, ready to lash out at your instructor but finding last-minute control as you fall from your high.

“No, sir.” Hurley rolls his eyes and gestures his head towards what you guessed to be the newest recruit. You can see the defined muscles easily of the new recruit in his jacket and shirt, his dark brown, almost black, messy hair complimenting his sharp features. You lick over your lips and wait for the introduction of this new person, suddenly really finding interest in hearing his name. Or- last name- considering first name’s are discouraged.

Hurley folds his arms neatly across his chest. “Good. Because this is your new partner. Introduce yourselves, get acquainted, get friendly, because I’m tired of you almost breaking bones in my training room.” And he turns away, ready to leave us alone. Partner? Oh hell fucking no.

“Sir, I don’t need a partner. I don’t need to be training with some newbie who probably references off of action movies for his own training.” Hurley snaps his head back with cold eyes, appearing stressed as all hell. “This is not necessary.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t ask you.” And that is all it takes for you to shut your mouth after that, not looking forward to another month being added to your sentence for your back-talk. You sigh frustratedly and snap your head to your new ‘partner’, his looks now completely thrown out your head. He looks annoyed with you already, probably from the small diss you’ve already laid on him without even saying hello to him, but he drags his tongue along the skin inside his mouth below his bottom lips, the protruding bulge of it causing your eyes to follow its short path from right to left.

Stretching your back some to pop some of the creaks you had, you peer up at him with a single eyebrow rose high-enough to show your sour attitude towards him. “Rapp.” Is all he says for his own introduction. He doesn’t hold out a hand or anything, which you didn’t expect him to, and you place your hands on your hips, lifting your chin almost arrogantly.

“(y/l/n).” You retort back. “I suggest you get your gear. . . or else you’d like to train with your head pinned against the floor as well.” And with that settled, you turn around and sway your hips in a confident, but heated, stride. What you didn’t see is that his eyes raked your figure as you did so, but, that would be the least of the subtle things that would happen between you two. “Ridiculous.” You whisper inaudibly underneath your breath.

Partner, you spat in your head, partner my ass.

——

There is nothing but heavy, gruff breaths between the two of you, the drive back to the place you have become more accustomed to less than pleasant. “You just never listen to anyone but yourself, don’t you?” His harsh words are meant to be harsh, but you find no offense in them because they are right. Still, you’re pissed off, and Mitch knows better than to edge you in when you’re pissed off. “You had to jump on him. You had to ruin the game-plan because you can’t control yourself.”

You turn your body towards him in your seat, crossing your arms. “That’s because I’m not a pussy, Rapp. Something you and I don’t have in common. You know I’m famous for going my own way. They fucking deserve to rot and I don’t wait for the right time to kill them when any given amount of free time is the right time.” Mitch tsks, one of the hands he had gripped on the steering wheel smacking against it.

“Being ignorant is not ‘not being a pussy’, (y/n). You’re so desperate to get killed, why don’t you just go running straight into their fire like your some Goddamn Wonder Woman? Out of everything you have taught me, I’m just glad being a foolhardy idiot wasn’t on the list because that is just something you’ve learnt all on your own.” This time, something pangs into my chest at his rant, and I grip onto my seat, glaring directly onto the profile of his face, a sharp look of anger hitting my features. “We don’t have a lot of things in common, (y/n), but not being a pussy is not one of them. Just fucking- fucking- fuck!” The car suddenly goes to a stop, both of our bodies being yanked forwards. Mitch hits the wheel once more angrily, the veins popping out from the tops of his large hands and along his forearm easily.

“What the fuck Mitch?” You sneer, and he turns his head towards you quickly, unbuckling himself.

“It’s the damn car, bitch. Not my fault.” You chuckle with no humor in your voice, readjusting yourself in your seat. He yanks his door open and stands for a second, looking at the steam flowing out from the hood of the truck you two had borrowed from your agency for your guy’s mission - the same one you had apparently ‘almost ruined’.

Running a hand through your hair, your glare still remains firm on Mitch. “It is your fault when your dumbass was so focused on arguing with me rather than your own driving-” Slam. He shuts his door on you before you can even finish, leaving you to slump back in your own seat and growl beneath your breath. “Such a cunt.” It seems like he can hear you through the thin glass as well because next thing you know he’s throwing a middle finger towards your way, and you roll your eyes. Fortunately, with the sky quickly darkening and the urgent task at hand he was busying himself with, Mitch couldn’t see the fact that you’re flipping him off back with both hands. And for a while, when your middle fingers curl back into your fists, you’re left to sit there while your grumpy partner tries to fix your only way of transportation back to the house.

However, the short time period of silence left you to sit in your head for a while, which is something you usually either avoid doing or never had the time to. Your thoughts often open too many wounds for you to handle, but, your phone is dead and the one person you actually enjoyed talking to, believe it or not, is being an asshole by himself outside and doesn’t want to hear another word you say. Normally what clogs up your head is what if the attack hadn’t happened. You’d still be together with your boyfriend, you’d be more focused on your writing instead of guns, you’d be. . . whole. Not what you are now. Incomplete, still picking up the pieces of yourself, forever cracked. You’re sure your mentality will never be the same. Beforehand, you found yourself to be discomforted by the idea of guns. Now, you feel most safe and content with one loaded in your hand. If the incident hadn’t happened, you would’ve been a good person. Sweet, kind, like you used to be. You used to be sympathetic, a gentle breeze that people always welcomed.

But that’s not what you are anymore.

You gulp and wipe at your face, before shaking your head and gripping the door handle to open it, the sounds and smells of the night filling your senses. You slam your door shut and maneuver to where Mitch is, ignoring the short cold glare he spikes towards you. “Having fun?” He doesn’t answer. “What, cat got your tongue? Normally Mitchie is one for comebacks. Something only I have been able to bring fully out of you.” Though that last part is slightly bleak in truth, it seemed completely true and honest to you. Originally, you had thought Mitch to be a kiss-ass. An arrogant kiss-ass that the agency still favors over you because he knows how to listen and you don’t. Most people call that jealousy, you call it bullshit. “You’re so handy with guns, but you can’t handle a few nuts and bolts.” At this point, he’s still not amusing you with a retort back, so you turn your back to leave him, finding more enjoyment playing with the dirt if playing with his anger wasn’t getting you anywhere.

“Oh my God, can you just shut the fuck up.” Instantly, your head snaps his direction, stopping mid-step to face the red-faced man yourself. Your eyebrows crinkle together, with your lips slightly tilted downwards and eyes squinted to exhibit your anger at his spat towards you. He stands in front of you, staring directly at you with his darkened eyes, fists tightly balled on each of his sides, skin glistening with sweat from all the steam from the hood hitting him and the humidity of the night from the woods surrounding you two. You act fast in your irritation, placing both hands flat on his hard chest and pushing threateningly.

“Make me.” Your words are sharp and clear, but you are still unable to catch the smirk on his face. You move to push him again at his delayed response, but, he catches both of the small of your wrists, yanking you towards him till your chest hits his own. His nose bumps yours in the sudden movement, and he speaks before you can retaliate.

His breath his hot against your face, the air between you and him thickening rather quicker than you would’ve ever expected. “Oh, trust me, babygirl.” He leans towards your ear, a shiver being coaxed out of your body from his breaths tickling the quickly sensitizing skin. “I will.” This is not a side you have seen Mitch show at all, and it leaves you, for once in your life, in shock. This new attitude he’s showing you and is about to show you knocks you clean off the pedestal you had spent months building. And judging from the smirk still on his lips, he likes it.

His movements are fast, still gripping onto your wrists and using his torso to help push you backwards. For a split second, he releases one of them and diverts his line of sight off of you, but only to slam your waist against the side of the hood of the car. You had expected a sneer, a glare, a cold insult. Not this. Not any of this. You still aren’t sure how to react, you had never felt intimidated before. And as soon as that thought hits you, you feel another scowl hitting your lips. You’re a counter-terrorist operative, you aren’t some damn damsel who obeys when someone like Mitch, someone who you have never been scared of, suddenly decides to go into this random ass alpha-mode. You suddenly jolt forward, attempting to push out of his grip, but you are yet again surprised with the amount of strength his pushes back with, keeping you firm in place. Slowly, his head turns back towards you. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of your Goddamn attitude.”

Before you know it, you’re spun around, front facing the side of the hood of the truck. But Mitch doesn’t stop there, he uses his free hand to harshly push your front flat onto the metal, the side of your face hitting the hood. A tiny moan slips from your lips, the roughness making things in you squirm that you never knew had been there. He notices the sound as soon as it leaves your lips. “You’ve never listened to anyone in your fucking life, but that’s not how things are going to work tonight. You listen to me, understand?” You can’t find it in yourself to answer right away, too caught up in the heat of the moment. You hear a low growl rumble behind you, and you feel him push against you even harder. “Say you do.”

“I understand.”

“Show some fucking respect.” You had never called anyone m’am or sir unless it was someone you considered of high authority. For Mitch, it had always been dumbass, cunt, Mitchie, because he never questioned what you called him, just for the fact that you pretty much treat everyone you didn’t like, which was a lot, like shit. Mitch must’ve just felt lucky you even acknowledged him enough to call him out. But, not tonight; tonight is full of surprises. The heat starting to pool between your legs being one of them.

“I understand, sir.” He hums what you assume to be a dark laugh, and you seem to find relief in him being pleased with you. But, instead, he drags his free hand up your back and into your hair, wounding it around his fist.

Pulling your head back, he leans his face forward, this time planting small kisses and bites below your ear. “That’s not good enough.” He pushes his hips forward into your ass, giving you the opportunity to feel the slowly growing erection pressed against you.

“I understand. . .” He pauses his actions, seemingly anticipating for the next word that is about to leave your mouth. “Daddy.” Shivers, once more, attack your spine, now truly comprehending the situation you’re about to go head-on into. Part of you suspected he’d be into that kind of thing, but you, of course, would’ve never believed you would be able to experience the answer of your inquiries first-hand. He slips his hand out from your hair, and you sigh in slight sadness, enjoying the slight burn in your scalp it brought. Despite of how much dominance he’s already exhibited to you, there’s still that fire inside you. The one telling you to take charge back. Hell, if you two are going to get into this, you feel as if you might as well make it worth it. You didn’t want Mitch to think you’re easily submissive. You move against him once more, and this time you succeed to slither out of his hold. You grab his face to yank his lips down to yours, crashing into it with teeth and tongue. He growls into your mouth, firmly grasping the back of your thighs and lifting you off your feet, wrapping your thighs around his hips.

You huff a breath of frustration through your nose, before all the air is knocked out from your lungs as he roughly brings your back down onto the side of the hood of the truck. “Disobey me like that again and expect much more. Now, scoot up some and open your legs more for me. Don’t grab onto anything; the only thing you’ll be grabbing onto is my hair when I get hands on you properly.” A shaky moan leaves your lips. Despite all the things in your head to do otherwise, you finally oblige to his orders entirely, which makes him hum another chuckle. “That’s what I thought.” You sit up on the car-hood, the slightly curved surface causing you to fear that you might slip. But Mitch’s firm hands tell you otherwise as he skillfully unbuttons your jeans and yanks them off in record time. With his eyes on your black thong you had chosen to wear, dropping your jeans on the dirt road next to his feet.

And, just as he had told you, your hands found a home buried in his hair as soon as he crouched down, his hot breath fanning across your covered core. Leaning in even more, he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue massaging into the wet spot that had formed on your thong at the top. Your back lifts instinctively up on the hood, the spike of pleasure it brings you from just that singular movement blowing your mind in all directions. He hums in appreciation, sending vibrations to your core. “Lay back, babygirl.” He tells you, and you stay still, feeling frozen. He then moves you for you, placing the palm of his hand flat on your stomach and pressing down. Your thighs tense against the sides of his head, his wild and long hairs tickling the insides of your thighs. The new position causes your hands to pull from his hair, leaving them to brace themselves atop the hood of the car. He looks up to you, making sure you’re watching him, before leaning up slightly so his teeth can snag the top of the material of your thong. A single eyebrow is risen on his face as he pulls the thong downward, one hand still on your stomach while the other is gripping one of your hips.

Once he successfully brings your thong down to your ankles, he lets that, too, fall to the ground, baring you entirely. He is too engulfed with his own desires that he leaves your top and bra on, and dives right in, pressing multiple open kisses against your clit. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this these past few weeks.” He mumbles, and you barely comprehend what he’s saying. “To bury my head in-between your legs, to be the one that makes you squirm and shake. Because I am the only one that can ever make you feel this way.” He kisses against you the way he would kiss your mouth, occasionally dipping his tongue and his lips brushing against your bundle of nerves. You inhale a sharp breath through your nose as he brings one of his hands down to you, the tips of his fingers gently tracing the edges of your entrance.

“Oh, Daddy. . .” You breathe, fingers curling into the metal of the car.

“That’s it, babygirl.” Mitch sighs against your clit, slipping a finger inside you and starting to pump. His pumps are in-sync with your sighs and moans, never once stopping, and he works his mouth against you, transferring from one technique to the next. From sucking against you to drawing shapes and impossible to decipher phrases onto your clit, letter by letter. His pumps start to become more rapid, which makes you feel utterly boneless, the hand that is not working inside you still holding you down. He adds another finger into the mix, twisting and turning his wrist to try out new angles, all while keeping his erratic pace. Your moans become more volumized and heavier as you reach your edge, leaning closer and closer over it as his movements only quicken. He curls his fingers as he buries them to the hilt inside you, his mouth moving back to pressing small kisses against your heat. “Come.” He demands, pushing a third finger in you, stretching you deliciously, and bringing them out only to slam them back in.

It’s like your body is under his command because as soon as he curls his fingers once more, your orgasm rolls over you in waves. He doesn’t stop his fingers, but instead moves his face up to yours, slamming his lips atop of yours as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth, his teeth nibbling down on your bottom lip every now and then. You moan breathlessly into his mouth, which makes him only chuckle hoarsely in response, scissoring his fingers to reach newer places inside you. Your body is still shaking from the orgasm as he only built you up for a second one, milking every bit of you out onto his fingers. “I-I can’t, Daddy.” You whimper, breaking your kiss with him.

“Yes you can.” He speaks firmly, his fingers reaching an unbelievable pace as he continuously slams his fingers inside you, all the while until his thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion vigorously. “Come on babygirl, let go.” It takes a few seconds longer, but, you find yourself reaching another high and crashing down from it, coming all over his fingers once more. Slowly, he slips his fingers from you and wraps his lips around two of them, sucking graciously. He lifts the third finger up to your lips, the smirk returning to his features. “Taste yourself for me.” Mitch says, and you obey, allowing him to push his finger past your lips. He only growls in response to the feeling, pulling his finger from your mouth and pulling you to your feet.

His hands are feisty and needy, clawing at any clothing you still had on. He lifts your shirt over your head and unclips your bra, while also stripping himself of his shirt, jeans and shoes. Fortunately, the ground is dry, so both Mitch’s and your clothes won’t be ruined.

“Get on your knees.” He orders, already pushing down on your shoulders as he stares darkly down onto you, a slight tilt in his head - a motion only you had become famous for. You can only oblige, blinking numerously as your shaking hands move to the elastic of his boxers. Now, this is your chance. Your own smirk finds your face as you look up to meet his eyes as one of your hands move over to palm over his completely hardened erection, wrapping your fingers around the covered cock you had, secretly, wondered about. But, from the bulge straining against his boxers, you can tell he was bigger than you had thought. He sneers at you and tangles his hands in your hair, creating two fists. “You better get that mouth to work babygirl, before I do it for you. You aren’t allowed to tease me.” You don’t listen to his warning and continue your actions, planting gentle kisses against his hard-on.

Mitch doesn’t tolerate it for another second, gripping onto your hair even tighter and bringing his hips closer to you, giving you a clear message that he meant business. You obey, tugging down his boxers enough to where his erection springs free. Mitch moans at the feeling of being unconfined, and your eyes widen at the size of him. You remember his words, but you toss them away for a handful of seconds, slowly sliding your tongue along the underside of his cock, right till the tip, where you kiss it once. You feel him shiver as you take just the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and sucking in your cheeks, all while holding eye-contact with him. His own are shut for a split second, until he snaps them open, and you can see the darkened color of them.

“What did I tell you?” He seethes, pushing your head further down on his length till his tip is brushing against the back of your throat. He even cants his hips forward, and his mouth hangs open as a empty moan flows right out through it. “Your mouth is only for my cock, got it?” You don’t say anything in response, but rather suck him hard as you bring your lips slowly up his cock. He licks his lips, already pushing you back down, right until it’s his hips doing most of the work. You still remember to use your tongue and even lightly brush your teeth against his cock each time he slips it out from your mouth, starting a punishing rhythm with his hips until it becomes increasingly erratic. “Oh, babygirl,” He moans, “that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock feels so good.” You simply continue on with your own actions, wanting to bring him to his own orgasm just as well as he brought you to yours.

When he does, he pushes you down on his cock further than before, your nose buried in the hairs of his happy-trail, with his warm seed hitting the back of your throat. “C’mon babygirl, take it all like a good girl.” Mitch speaks, and you do as said, your own wishes of dominance diminishing by the second. For the first time since the incident, someone has put you in your place. You had no desires to disobey.

You pull from his cock, a string of saliva following afterwards. He heaves for a split second, trying to recollect himself, and does it efficiently, already yanking you back up to your feet and turning you around. “There’s no time for me to be teasing you, no time at all. All I want to do is just fuck you.” He sighs, pushing your front flat back onto the side of the hood on the truck, kicking your legs apart till he thought it was good enough space for him. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, so good, you won’t be walking straight for weeks.” He promises, and you believe him. One thing he hasn’t made you do yet is beg, but, he knows that even with the state you are at right now, begging is what you will never do. With a gun to your head, or on the highest peak of pleasure, you don’t beg. “Now, scream my name.”

He rams inside you, not allowing you to adjust. He starts a quick, punishing pace, hands gripping on your hips roughly. You’re assured there will be bruises in replacement of his fingertips, but, you’re loving every second of this. “Next time you decide to not listen to me,” He starts, leaning in to suck hickeys onto your neck, one after the other, “you remember me fucking you like this.” Mitch sinks his teeth into the hot skin of the crook of your neck, and you let out the loudest moan you have this entire time. His pace never quivers, and it remains hard and fast, his hips snapping against your ass mercilessly. His name leaves your lips like a prayer. A sudden slap causes you to jolt forward, followed by two more, blood rushing to your ass cheeks as his hands continue to take turns slapping your ass till the skin is as red as a cherry, maybe even till purple spots started to show. “Come babygirl. Come for me.” He huffs, a hand reaching around to cup your neck, squeezing firmly but not inflicting too much pain. His hips start to lose formation, now ramming into you sloppily, his tongue still working over your neck. And with a final thrust and slap against your ass, you come undone, and he does too soon after, pulling out and tugging rapidly over his cock till white spurts of his release paints your lower back.

You’re both out of breath and out of energy, and he presses a hand on the car next to you, pulling himself together. “Holy fucking shit.” He says, beneath his breath, and you nod slightly, body trembling from the intensities it just endured. Mitch laughs tiredly, picking up his clothes and redressing himself, and soon helping you as well. His hands massage over the covered sore flesh of your ass, humming against your neck as he brings his lips back up to yours once more, this time more gently than before.

“You still gonna fix the car?”

“You know, after everything we just did, you still always go back to the same you.” Mitch retorts, removing himself from you and moving back to the hood of the truck, popping it open and sighing at the little progress he has made.

“Ridiculous.” You mumble beneath your breath, a smile making its way onto your lips as you re-enter the car, waiting for Mitch to fix the truck and for the new changes about to come your way into your life. Maybe it was time to be a little nicer, a little more obedient. You shake your head as you peer back up at Mitch, still smiling. Never.

#american assassin #mitch rapp #mitch rapp smut #smut #dylan o'brien

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we-live-in-a--society · 4 years

Text

Cola de Golondrina

Funerals are weird.

And more or less, grandpa has been acting weird the whole afternoon.

In one hand it is totally understandable, since his wife is dead and her burial was just a few hours ago, but there is something else about his behavior, something odd, something that truly concerns her. During the ceremony itself, she got the impression as if he was not accompanying them, as if he was somewhere far, far away, lost in his own thoughts – his body ever present but soul – right the opposite.

When it comes to her grandpa, he is an incredibly stern, ambitious person, living according to the set of rules made up by whoever was fucked up enough to create anything of that sort, according to the needs of whoever was fucked up enough to actually follow them. His smile is one of the rarest sights ever encountered, not because of the dental aspect, but because he rarely feels like it is necessary, to flash anything more than a bitter smirk, since ‘it may ruin his image’.

Aside from that, he always wears a suit, but not the basic kind, only the expensive, fancy one. She literally never got a chance to see him in a different kind of clothing, which only adds something more professional to his exterior as if he was not professional enough, as if the neatly slicked-back hair, surprisingly thick considering his seventy years, was not enough.

But when is it ever enough for such an overachiever her grandpa is?

In all honesty, she has never viewed him as a typical kind of grandpa – the one who would read stories to his grandkids, who would build them a treehouse, who would go fishing with his neighbors. No, he was far from it. But instead of that, he is renown from his work skills, the way he always cracks any case – at least according to what he tells others, but it does not seem to lay too far from the truth. Otherwise people would not be hiring him for such ridiculously high amounts of money.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” She asks softly, enlacing their arms together, as they mindlessly stare at the marble gravestone. “I mean, I guess I can’t imagine how it feels, to lose someone you spent so many years with. Maybe you should at least consider taking a break from work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. The defendants won’t guilt themselves,” he huffs, already getting impatient. How can she be so short-sighted? Ah yes, youth defines itself by the very unique set of principles, not that he understands them anymore. It seems like he is well-aware of their existence, but not really to the point where he knows what they truly mean, beyond that.

“But-”

“And grieve is a waste of time,” he states with a careless brow raise.

“So you are just planning to move on, forgetting that it ever happened at all?” She questions again. “If you really loved her, I feel like you should sort of, I don’t know, think of it as a tribute.”

“If I really loved her,” he snorts mockingly. “Think of it as a tribute.”

“Jeez, give me a break,” she sighs, clearly getting fed up with his bitter attitude. “Why do you always have to be such a jerk about everything?”

“Because being a jerk gets you further than being a non-jerk.”

“So what?” She dwells on further. “You’re trying to say you never loved her?”

“In fact, this is true. I don’t think I ever loved her,” he avows bitterly, catching her out of guard for more than a brief moment. “Don’t look so surprised. She was a good woman, my best friend actually, but I never loved her. Why should I?”

“Because you were married to her?” She implies sarcastically.

“Darling,” he flashes her a pitiful, patronizing smile that she hates more than anything. “It’s not that simple.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, starting to regret even bringing up the subject in the first place. “Were you ever in love with anyone then?”

Her question is followed by a few minutes of perfect silence with only a few birds chanting in the distance, and when it occurs to her how unlikely it is to gain such an answer from him, he speaks again.

“I think that maybe, just maybe, I was in love once.”

She gasps as soon as she hears his unforeseen confession, her eyes igniting with that kind of childish excitement that infuriates him more than anything.

“What happened?”

He chuckles bitterly at the foolish question. How come a girl her age cannot figure it out on her own truly lays beyond his understanding.

“I wasted my chance, that’s what happened.”

* * *

The scent of freshly made coffee stirred within his nostrils, enveloping him pleasantly, at least as pleasantly as it could, considering the fact that it is six in the morning.

Although he would be lying, if he said he never liked to get up early for work, he indeed has never been able to find the process itself appealing, but has always considered it as the essential part of the play – some sort of a compromise he is forced to lean into, if he wants to drive to his love of beloved law firm.

Since he was a kid, he has had the need to possess, to earn money and buy the things that create his flawless image, that make him appear as a certain kind of man in the eyes of others. He will never admit it, but he spends enormous amounts of money on all these tailor-made suits, at least according to Jane, but it is not like he cannot afford them. He has too much money anyway, and nothing fancy to spend it on, nothing fancy except for the suits – nothing too quirky, just an attempt to look more like a well-dressed lawyer than a badly-dressed lawyer.

“Chester invited me to dinner tonight,” he announces between the two cautious sips of coffee. “Would you like to come with me?”

“You know we’re not very fond of each other,” she smiles apologetically. “I don’t like him, I really don’t. I’m sorry, darling.”

“It’s an important meeting,” he adds, although he knows that in this case even reasoning will get him nowhere.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes once more – a slightly annoying habit of hers, but he is well aware of the fact that it comes from the need to make others feel better, even if she refuses, and to suppress any discomfort the act causes.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, although he knows it will not stifle her guilt.

Because the guilt has to stifle itself.

“I’ll just go alone then,” he reassures with a forced smile plastered to his lips. Maybe her absence will only turn out for the better, since she will not have to listen to Chester’s remarks all evening. “Don’t expect me till late.”

Before she gets a chance to apologize once more, he gets up, desperate to avoid any more excuses. He kisses her cheek as he goes and leaves the empty cup in the sink – his last attempts to remain a decent husband.

“Have a nice day, darling,” he greets from the hall, not really paying attention to her response, already deep in his thoughts about the job.

And has he ever loved his job…

As far as he can remember, he has treated the law firm as a prove that he falls into the category created for successful men, successful enough to maintain their prestige titles throughout the years. He takes pride in that, in the fact that he is still the best, renown due to his experience and professionalism, renown due to his hard work.

Little he knows, today’s car ride is meant to lead him towards an inevitable end.

His inevitable end.

But he is yet to realize that.

* * *

Candice moans softly as the late morning sunlight tickles her closed eyelids as if trying to force them open, to force her to greet the brand new day.

As if she even wanted to do that.

There is no such thing that she hates more than getting up in the mornings. Or maybe she hates her father more, even though she is hesitant whether he is supposed to be classified as a thing, or is it supposed to be any of her concern where he fits in the end?

It probably shouldn’t, she thinks as she carefully untangles the man’s arm from around her waist, getting up as quietly and as quickly as she can, setting the former one as her top priority for now. She collects her clothes, deciding to ditch the panties, since he will probably keep them for whatever reasons, and she does not have time to dwell upon where to find her lingerie. Also, it will not be considered as the worst thing that has ever happened to her – a twenty minute long car ride without underwear – she managed much worse before.

The tsk sound coming from behind makes her flinch, immediately reshuffling the Order of Greater Importance – quick above quiet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Fuck.

“Wherever that isn’t here,” she back talks smoothly, topping it with a bitter smile. “And I’d much appreciate if you let me out. I’m running late.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of rude to leave like this?” He questions, raising a single judging eyebrow at her.

Well, seems like he is one of those guys.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of illegal to keep people in the place of your choice against their own will?” She mocks, silently hoping it would be enough to break him.

“Unless they’re together as a couple,” he shrugs, feeling beyond ludicrous to be forced to explain such an obvious thing to her. If her level of stupidity is really that high, then maybe he should break up with her?

“I don’t think so, honey,” she brushes off his reasoning, too poor to be even considered as such. “Now let me out.”

“Is it your way to break up with me?” He frowns, truly puzzled with her changing attitudes. His father used to warn him about women – they are sly and sinful creatures that lead good and decent men on the wrong path.

“Take it however you want,” she rolls her eyes dismissively, somehow amazed with how closeminded a man can be, and somehow amazed with how she could even find him attractive last night. Maybe the reason was tequila, or whatever she decided to drink, since it probably was not just the tequila. “But let me out.”

* * *

The bitter taste of a cold coffee settles upon his tongue, the clearest evidence of her unhuman incompetence. How had she even managed to cool down his coffee before it was served on the desk? Had she been waiting until the beverage’s temperature fell to serve it? Is it how she spends her working hours every day – cooling down his coffee? To be honest, the positive answer would not be much of a surprise.

His secretary is the most useless person he has ever met. Sometimes he wonders whether she is aware of her existence that reaches beyond the critical point of her polished nails, or whether the critical point of her polished nails is equal with the critical point of her existence.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” He exclaims in disbelief, after almost spitting the contents of his mouth back into the cup. “It’s fucking salty! The coffee is fucking salty! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You added fucking salt to my fucking coffee!”

“I’m sorry sir,” she adverts her gaze, bashfully eyeing her bubblegum nails.

“I bet you are,” he nods with a mocking smile enlightening his handsome but cold features. “Now tell me, what do they teach you wherever the fuck they make secretaries like you? To salt my fucking coffee? That has to be the second most disrespectful thing that has ever happened to me, since the first was recruiting you as an employee.”

“Sir I-” she tries interrupting him, but her effort remains unnoticed by him, lost in his own rage, rage caused by a single cup of salted coffee.

“To be honest I pity your parents, I pity them to have such a failure of a child. I mean, I would’ve fucking slit my throat open, if I were them-”

“There’s no need to get personal,” she interrupts once more, this time successfully as if to remain the world’s ever present rule of balance.

“There is, because you salted my fucking coffee,” he rubs his aching temples – a gesture she has seen him perform more than once during any heated argument with a client. “You know what, I fire you! I fucking fire you, and I want you to be gone in fifteen minutes, I don’t care how, I don’t care where you go, just get out of my fucking sight.”

“You’re the worst boss I’ve ever had!” She fusses childishly, much to his amusement.

“Probably the only one who made the mistake of hiring you,” he tops his speech with another bitter remark, silently hoping she will leave without throwing a tantrum, since his head is truly killing him.

My God, he really is getting too old for this.

* * *

“You need to get your shit together,” she sighs, her gaze fixated on the brownie crumbs for a few seconds. “I mean it, Madelaine. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

“As long as necessary,” she sighs, combing the tickling strands out of her face in a nervous manner. “I was working so hard to get this job, and I won’t be able to pay the bills if I drop out.”

“You have any leftover respect for yourself?” Candice shakes her head in disbelief. “Why you let him treat you like this?”

“Why are you so rude when it comes to him? He’s your father. You should be grateful for what he does, and all you do is talking behind his back.”

“So I’m not allowed to tell the truth about my family members just because we’re fucking related?” she raises her voice, just enough to make the woman in front of her tense but not enough to attract anyone else’s attention yet. Despite the morning situation and all of the past ones, she still remains somehow amazed with how closeminded a person can be.

“Sometimes I wonder if you do this just to make me drop out and take my place,” she sighs carelessly on the surface, but aiming for another drama deep down. If she was honest, she would admit Madelaine is willing to do anything to cause a good drama as if it made a proper substitute for food in her case.

“What-the-fuck-ever, Madelaine,” she shrugs, not wanting to give her even the slightest taste of satisfaction. “Seems like you’re qualified enough to make your own stupid decisions.”

“Excuse me?” She exclaims with a slight raise of her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. Of course, Chester’s secretary has to keep a flawless appearance.

“You heard me, so I don’t think there’s a need to repeat myself,” she huffs, another bitter smirk already threatening to mark her reddish lips. “By the way, I also happen to wonder sometimes. I wonder if you’re trying to befriend me in order to keep your job.”

“Of course not,” she chuckles nervously as if her previous words have not given the game anyway. “I’m sorry, Candy.

(don’t fucking call me Candy)

I know I might seem rude sometimes, but I’m just trying to be honest with you. You know, like friends are, and… I’m just so, so sorry, I really am.”

As she speaks, Candice can only sigh helplessly, grazing at her with pity, before asking one last question – the one that is supposed to make her wonder.

“Are you familiar with the term of a golden cage?”

* * *

Slowly, maybe even hesitantly, the man untangles a simple red tie from around his neck, lying it on the pearly bathroom stall. For a moment he is mesmerized by the way it reflects the fluorescent light, its cool tone illuminating his cheekbones, giving him the sinister look he often obtains in this particular gleam.

Douglas can be classified as the lucky bearer of this particular kind of cold charm, the one that allowed him to attract some of the college girls since the broadcast of An Evening with Fred Astaire. What a stupid fucking show, he used to think, but since he learned how much Jane loves it he somehow found the will to tolerate it as the essential part of his married life. Although it used to be the last thing occupying his mind back then – if the show was stupid or bearable – throughout his college years he also learned that a lot of things change when you form any kind of relationship with someone.

There are days when he really misses college, and today seems to fall into the catalog created especially for all of these days. He was the Man back then, not the Lawyer Man, but just the Man and sometimes he feels like he went back in the terms of self-improvement, instead of forward like he is supposed to, by adding the L-title. Now he is the Lawyer Man but also the Lawyer Man amongst other Lawyer Men, and back then he was the Man of His Campus, although at some levels he had to share this title. It seemed like he reached the end of eternity, the point where our reality curves so much that it feels like you stand in the final point of your life, the point where you are immune to any charms expect for the Suspension and the Expulsion.

But what is the threat of a flimsy suspension and a pathetic expulsion for the young, ambitious, and soon-to-be-a-lawyer man?

As much as the concept of Roman Law for any secretary he has ever employed.

One day he realized that it was not the final point of his life, that there was a curve he had not noticed before, the curve that has led him to another part of his confined reality, the part where he owns a law firm and is married to Jane – a woman who absolutely adores An Evening with Fred Astaire. As a matter of fact, he will never admit that throughout all these years he has grown to undoubtedly enjoy any re-watch of An Evening with Fred Astaire.

In the course of our lives we come across these moments that can be addressed as the Turn – a critical point of our lives, a gate to an entirely new place. In his case that moment was when he watched An Evening with Fred Astaire for the first time, accompanied by his yet-to-be wife, when he realized he wanted to marry her, not that he would but that he was willing to. Maybe not propose to her in that specific moment when the host said: “We’re gonna get together on the show before the evening’s over”, but somewhere in the future, when they would both graduate, find stable jobs, or whatsoever.

But back then the only thing occupying his mind was the soft piano tune of ‘Man with the Blues’.

* * *

Slowly, maybe even hesitantly, the woman applies a thin line of jet black eyeliner, double checking if it looks even, comparing to her first attempt. For a moment she is mesmerized by the perfection of a black curve, the way it makes her sapphire irises stand out on the pale canvas of her face.

Candice can be classified as the lucky bearer of this amazing ability to make anything she decides to pull on herself look decent. It does not matter whether she shaves the sides of her head, applies some weird cheap lipstick, or changes into these old sweatpants she has had since the release of Sudden Impact – a movie Chester loves more than his own daughter. She has no idea why he has chosen this particular one to endow with the title of ‘his favorite movie’, and yet she needs to accept the way things are – Chester prefers Sudden Impact above her.

Actually Chester prefers a lot of thing above her, Sudden Impact making just one of them.

Sometimes, when she is unable to sleep at night, her thoughts drift back to the movie’s implications. There surely is something misogynistic about Harry Callahan, which is probably why Chester esteems him so much. By any means, she is not implying that the policeman is a chauvinist in general – shout out to The Enforcer – but he has that small dose of sexist attitude, or maybe this is just misanthropy, but he still reminds her of Chester under specific circumstances.

There are other times when she seems to associate herself with Harry Callahan, but the truth is that if you are resolved enough, you can find a connection between any character and yourself. It is simply because all of them are created to visualize some of the social attitudes, tendencies, or motives (not a good choice of words considering she is thinking about a mostly homicide cop but whatsoever), but it does not change the fact that she is aware of the correlation between her and the inspector.

First connection that comes to mind is the assumption about ketchup and hot dogs, or at least what lays beyond garnishing your sausage with ketchup – the act that is considered to be sickening in its sinful form. During one of the sleepless nights she came to the conclusion that it might refer to the process of maturing, but everyone laughs at her when she states it, forcing her to turn it into a joke attempt. The question that causes them to silence and then erupt in one of those silly giggles goes something like this: aren’t adults supposed to search for more sophisticated sensations than the sweetish taste of ketchup on their tongue?

Or maybe Harry Callahan just hates ketchup.

Another aspect, not the last one but the only one that is worth mentioning while she is unremittingly trying to iron her dress with a hair straightener

(is it even supposed to be ironed?),

is surprisingly a quote, not as iconic as the punk one but still important enough to bother her in its rough form. First of all because the chances of it being the last sentence she bestowed Chester with are quite high, and second of all because it seems to define her life attitude – “Go ahead, make my day”.

She has always enjoyed to challenge people, to see if they are confident enough to repeat any mean remark that slips past their lips – a prove most of them treat it as a way to vent of any negative emotions. If they restate it, they become special for her, at least some sort of special, not enough to like them yet, but enough to memorize them as people who had the balls to admit what was on their minds and not be afraid of it, afraid of who they are underneath all of those professional façades.

It is a rare trait – a white raven amongst its black kinsmen.

* * *

Knock.

She opens the door as if a confident knock was a command, which it is in some sort of a way, revealing tonight’s guest – Chester’s love of beloved associate who probably, at least according to her speculations, is not very fond of him, although he stays in touch. It is most likely a money thing anyway, but she is still somehow surprised to see him. It has been quite a while since they saw each other for the last time, and it feels kind of odd to have him glaring at you from the doorway.

It feels out of place, or Out Of Time as someone once said.

“Candice,” he flashes her a small smirk, just barely lifting the lip corners as if he treats it more like a suggestion than an actual act of smiling.

Last time they met, a good ten years back, Candice was a teenager – a sassy yet somehow charming girl, who was nice to talk to from time to time. By the way she used to carry her looks, he could easily tell she was just about to blossom into a beautiful woman, but never shared his remarks with her, since compliments, especially connected with her physical appearance, seemed to infuriate her for whatever reasons.

Although he was positive about any of his conclusions, the sight of her standing in the doorway, as if to prove he was not mistaken about a single detail, somehow interrupts his train of thoughts.

She looks divine.

And on contrary he looks married.

“Mister McConnell,” she mimics his expression, and steps out of the way, inviting him in. “Long time, no see. Isn’t it what they say?”

“It can be if you put it this way,” he shrugs, somehow glad that she is the one who greeted him tonight, not Chester. He is pretty sure he would implode, if Chester’s voice was the first he was meant to hear.

Candice could say a lot of things about Douglas, but since they have not seen each other for quite a while, she is diffident about their topicality, so she lets them slide by, focusing just on the appearance.

First thing she notices about the aforementioned aspect of the proud man in front of her are his eyes. If eyes are the windows of the soul – is it not what they say? – than he has the coldest set of eyes she has ever came across, the icy irises staring at her as if they were poking her spirit in a way that can only be described as an odd cause of her fascination and fear.

The second thing she notices is the fact that he is wearing a tailor-made suit – perfectly fitted piece of some expensive fabric – but has decided to skip the tie.

Who the fuck spends his money on tailor-made suits?

No one, at least no one in her circle of friends.

Then maybe it is just the lawyer thing.

“Tell me, Mister McConnell, if I get the wrong impression, but I feel like the suit is only meant to make you appear as someone more sophisticated, not that you actually need it.”

“Excuse me?” He looks at her with astonishment, blinking a few times.

“You’ve heard me,” she cocks a single eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer.

“No,” he smirks bitterly. “I don’t think I got it right. Say it again.”

“I said that in my opinion you wear those tailor-made suits to appear as someone more professional, elegant, or richer maybe, not that you couldn’t get away with a regular one,” she repeats, much to his annoyance. He expected her to back off, to apologize, or to brush it off, pretending as if it never happened, but she did not.

She surprised him.

“I hate to disappoint you, but come to think of it, I have this constant burning need to have them in my life,” he demurs, giving her his best patronizing look as if attempting to show her how silly it was to even consider going against him like this.

“Do you now?” She inquires in a rather rhetorical manner, before finally gesturing him to follow her down the corridor all the way to the elegant dining area.

The place itself has not change much since his last visit as if it was meant to become some sort of a contrasting factor for Candice. The mahogany table is still where it used to be back in the days, sprawling across the floor, giving him the impression as if one day it will push away any other expensive pieces of furniture just to take their place. Whereas, the upholstered chairs still surround it as if their only life goal was to be decent servants to the table.

“And who’s that man?” His jovial tone cuts through the previous comparative silence, almost making him roll his eyes at the silly welcoming. “Doug, it’s so great to see you!”

“And vice versa,” he replies – a mere, futile attempt to sound polite.

“C’mon, take a sit. We were just about to serve.”

He can give one thing to Chester – he has the most comfortable set of chairs he has ever had a chance to sit on, but little does he know, the dinner will not be served tonight. Although it starts off as usual – with Chester’s misogynistic crap – so that none of the participants will suspect anything, it is meant to resolve into something neither of them expect.

“Women: can't live with them, can't live without them,” he chortles coarsely, making Candice visibly cringe at the sound. “Isn’t it right, my dear friend?”

“You expect me to say something about words of wisdom?” His eyebrows raise as if anticipating his answer, but even Chester knows better to keep his mouth shut. “Am I right?”

“As usual,” he agrees, which gives Candice an impression that Douglas has to possess some kind of a divine

(or devilish)

ability – Chester never agrees with others just for a simple sake of denying.

“So Clinton’s wifey,” he resumes, not waiting for anyone’s response. He has been dying to discuss this with Douglas, or maybe not discuss since he treats such conversations as one of major ways to express his insights, not to actually listen to the other side’s outlook, which kind of disagrees with the whole idea of debating.

“She has a name,” Candice interrupts him, her words flooded with some kind of venomous indication that he is not yet to catch. “Don’t be afraid of saying it. She’s just a woman, so it doesn’t hold any special powers.”

“Men are talking, my dear,” he sighs, a well-known saying that infuriates her more than anything. “Men are talking, so stop interrupting.”

“I think you should let her speak,” the lawyer implies, a slight, barely noticeable shift in his tone indicating the irritation, which still is not enough for a man like his associate, man who needs a clear and direct statement instead of a blurry implication.

“With all due respect, my dearest friend, I know what’s best for my daughter,” he smirks bitterly. He has never been able to understand Douglas’ attitude towards women – those flimsy creatures inhabiting the men’s world.

“If you say so,” he replies carelessly, still hoping Chester is not planning to bring back Kennedy tonight. Who is he fooling at this point is even beyond his own reasoning – of course he is aiming to disinter the former president from his grave.

“Actually I can’t believe he let her speak in that hotel,” he shakes his head in utter disbelief as if he simply let Douglas’ words slide by. “What a way to ruin your image, such a shame, really. Sometimes I get the impression that our world is overpopulated by fools, isn’t it?”

“Sure it is,” he snorts, obviously referring to one and only – the Chosen Fool.

“Hope we won’t get another Kennedy,” he chortles again, this time causing the lawyer to frown at the disgusting sound. “I mean, establishing PCSW was a clown act in its purest form. It was like a ticket for women to empower men.”

“If women are so weak, then it shouldn’t concern you this much,” Douglas snorts bitterly, letting him simmer on the sarcastic tingle in his voice for a couple more seconds, before continuing. “Giving them a ‘ticket’ won’t do any harm.”

“C’mon, mate,” Douglas cannot help but roll his eyes at the foolish term. “I bet you don’t even believe in the word you’re saying. You shower me with all those stupid statements simply because of the pressure that society-”

“You want honesty, Chester?” he raises his eyebrows, glaring at him with his signature bitter smirk. “Then let’s play open cards for once, like friends do. First thing you should know is why I haven’t fired your fucking misogynistic ass yet, despite the amount of cases I almost screwed up, thanks to you. Maybe it’s my langsyne, maybe it is what makes me weak, the fact that I couldn’t break the entailments. But you know what? I feel like today is the day to break the fucking entailments, because why not?”

“I-”

“Do not fucking interrupt me right now,” he almost snarls. “You always bitch about Kennedy, anytime we meet. I know that it still torments you very much, but it was years ago, and you’re unable to change anything now. Our society is progressing, and if you don’t get it, then you’re just like an overripe apple amongst those freshly out of an orchard – not rotten yet but already on your way there.”

“Et tu, Brute, contra me?” Chester shakes his head in disbelief, pushing another prim Latin quote between parts of Douglas’ monolog. “After all these years you just brush me off like this, you just-”

“Give me a fucking break with all your Latin quotes,” this time Candice is the one who interrupts, her eyes practically shooting daggers as she gazes into his. “You think that knowing them makes you a smarter person? Whatever, right? It’s not like I care anymore, since arguing with you on this one would be a fucking waste of time, you wouldn’t get it anyway.”

“You fucking ungrateful, bitch,” he snarls, ready to yank her by the collar of her dress and slam her down on the table, which does not get past her attention. “I raised you, I gave you my money, my time, and what you give me in return?”

“Go ahead, hit me, make my fucking day,” she taunts, her gaze piercing and a little wild as if some twisted part of her expected, maybe even anticipated, him to do that, as if it was searching for an excuse to accomplish what was on her mind for quite a while now.

“If you hit her,” he stops, letting him soak over the words, letting them ring in the air for a couple more sinisterly quiet seconds. “I’m gonna fire you, I can assure you that.”

The heavy weight of his words settles upon Chester’s shoulders. He cannot be serious, considering he is referring to a woman, which in turn makes him wonder whether this whole display is connected with something sexual – maybe, just maybe, he pretends to be some kind of a prince charming just because he wants to fuck her. Well, that would make a lot of sense, at least more than any scenario where he actually means what he said, which leads him to another crucial conclusion.

Which opens a door to the reality where he slaps his daughter across the face.

And where she just stares at him with her cheek hot and flushed, and her lip quivering slightly – one of the saddest images Douglas has ever seen. Then she smiles at him – one of the most sinister smiles he has ever seen – and speaks – one of the most purely honest words he has ever heard.

“Good luck for the rest of your life, but I’m fucking outta here, once and for all.”

And then she leaves, just like that, as if nothing ever happened, and he lets him watch her until she disappears in the doorway, before finally fulfilling his promise.

“And I fire you, just like that, because I can,” Douglas flashes him a genuine smirk this time, one of the smuggest he has ever seen settled upon his lips. “And because I’m fed up with you bringing back Kennedy during every fucking meeting.”

“What? I-”

“Just stop talking for at least one goddamn second,” he rubs his aching temples – a gesture Chester has seen him perform more than once at work. “What a fucking relief I won’t be obliged to see your fucking face ever again.”

And then he leaves, just like that, as if nothing ever happened.

* * *

“Bad life, or just bad day?” She chuckles bitterly, very much aware of the fact that there is only one man here who is be willing to talk to her, and who will not cause any more unnecessary dramas.

“Just bad evening, I guess.”

“Ouch,” her mouth falls open in a mockingly shocked expression. “That was the insult that truly insulted me.”

“Then I’m terribly sorry, darling,” he teases, plopping down on the porch stairs next to her.

“Are you now?”

“And aren’t you cold?” He asks, glancing at her slightly trembling figure.

“My God,” she laughs, throwing her head back. “That’s so cheesy. I mean it’s nice, but still cheesy. It reminds me of those romcoms, where the female gets cold, so the male offers her his jacket and so on, and so on… as if she couldn’t take care of herself.”

He only huffs in response, always annoyed with any kind of rejection.

“Tell me, Dougie,” she silently takes pleasure in the way his jaw tenses at the given nickname. “Are you always this grumpy?”

“I’m just a realist, darling.”

“Being a realist doesn’t necessary mean being grumpy,” she states, raising a challenging eyebrow at him as if waiting for him to fight back.

“Seems like in does, at least since you’ve given me that horrible nickname,” he almost smiles, thinking about how silly it sounds inside his head. “Now tell me, darling. What’s on your mind? What’s bothering you?”

“Everything and nothing at the same time, I guess,” she laughs softly, feeling somehow stupid for exposing this more vulnerable side of her. “Just my father and all of his misogynistic crap, no more no less.”

“That wasn’t very hard to come up with, but anyway, thanks for setting the record straight,” he replies with a sarcastic tingle marking his voice, something he will never be able to fully get rid of, and decides to go against her for once, actually draping the expensive blazer around her shoulders. She shivers at the sudden temperature shift, but takes advantage of the situation in the meantime, secretly inhaling the spicy scent of his aftershave. When she starts to suspect that by any chances he might be a nice person, he adds a new request, unpleasant as always, but not entirely. “Just don’t get any dirt on it, it’s probably more expensive than you can afford.”

“Thank you for informing me, before I got to welter in that mud over there,” she replies with the same, as if perfectly mirrored, sarcastic tingle that annoys him

(gets him going)

more than anything else.

“I mean, let lying dogs sleep, or sleeping dogs lie, or whatever,” she shrugs, laughing softly at the stupid metaphor. “But he doesn’t get it, he never did actually.”

“Sounds more like Chester than anything I’ve ever heard,” he snorts. “I know he can be a little… how to put it correctly… authoritarian?”

“So do you,” she snorts. “But you know what differs him from you?”

“I most certainly do not,” he rolls his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

“I feel like you actually care about what I’m saying,” she stares into the darkness, letting the words flow freely through her lips. “And that you don’t underestimate me because I’m female. I mean, he’s genuinely the only person I know who treats women like this. And I’m forced to cope with him, listen to him telling me college was a waste of time. Where does it even come from? That way of thinking, of processing reality?”

“Most likely he’s been raised this way, and now he’s too old, too close-minded to change,” he ponders, blunt nails scratching over his chin. “I think you should focus on something else, since there’s nothing you can do about this.”

“Okay,” she hesitates for a moment. “How about you help me to focus on something else?”

“What do you mean?” He frowns, flashing her a confused expression.

“Let’s get out of here, let’s go somewhere,” he notices her eyes flash, and she is glowing, at this particular moment she is glowing, glowing with some kind of a childish excitement. “Just for tonight.”

“For tonight, huh?”

(What about Jane?)

(Jesus, relax, it’s not like I’m planning to cheat on her.)

“Just for tonight, I promise,” she smiles softly. “Dougie, c’mon, live a little.”

C’mon, live a little.

This is the phrase he has heard many times before, from many people, in many places and many occasions. He presumes that by saying this, they all meant something different, maybe it was just a slight shift but still a shift – a source of change. Most of them did not make any advance for him – people say a lot of things, just for the sake of speaking, not signifying anything – but there was that one time he keeps in mind as something important, that one time from the past that has changed everything and nothing at the same time.

And moving back in time never flirts with self-improvement.

“You know what?” He smiles, he genuinely smiles this time, maybe even grins, but that might be a false belief. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Something tickles her calf, a mere brush on the exposed skin that sends a disturbing tingle through her body, this particular kind of tingle that can be either unpleasant or pleasurable. However, she ignores it, waiting for it to fade away, as she follows him further down the seemingly secluded path.

There has to be something sinister about forests at night. The darkish gleam of moonlight, barely sipping through the canopy layer, leaves most of its parts indiscernible to human’s eye, imposing her to wander in the poorly visible surrounding, where her visual range is rather scarce. These blurred shadows casted by the conifers, overlapping into something that causes shivers to run down her spine. Nevertheless, there is some kind of sacred beauty within it, the one that is yet to be discovered, the one that is not within her reach.

What seems to be within her reach is the decaying tree line and the shiny water below with a tiny, barely noticeable glimpse of sun bashfully popping out of ocean’s surface.

“This is a nice sight,” she notes with a small smile lacing her lips as he stretches his arm towards her – a hint for her to grab it as she jumps down on the sandy surface. His skin is cool to touch, since he has decided to leave the blazer in his car and roll up the sleeves of his shirt – “they’re too expensive to get any dirt on them,” was what he said as he was doing so.

“Indeed it is,” he murmured more to himself than to her, mindlessly enlacing their arms together, as they walk down to the water.

Why has he even brought her here in the first place?

Because he misses the past – that is why he has brought her here.

Because he misses the college days.

Because he misses the way things used to be before the broadcast of An Evening with Fred Astaire.

Sometimes he wishes he has never met Jane. She has changed him in the ways he has never wanted to change – she is the source of shifts, the force that drags him over an itchy carpet until he decides to succumb for his own good and pretend that he is interested in her tales about any mundane things she was doing through the day. He has never been able to understand why she stays at home instead of working, since he could easily hire a maid to fill in her place, but any time he had brought up that topic, she refused.

Furthermore, she limits him in the ways he does not want to be limited. He finds it utterly infuriating, the fact that all factors which seem to play the crucial part in her life are stability, domesticity, or routine, and of course there is some kind of beauty in all of them, but he has always thought that by doing so she deprives herself from any other benefits that come with life. It wearies him, her attitude wearies him, bores him to the nth degree, and all he craves for is a little bit of variability in life.

As he is standing here, on the sandy beach, he cannot even recall why he proposed to her right after the graduation. Maybe he should have ignored An Evening with Fred Astaire, move on with his life and forget about her, but for some unknown reasons he did right the opposite.

Jane is the most benignant and compassionate person he has ever encountered. It has never ceased to amaze him how she puts others before herself, how other people’s problems upsets her, how she offers them emotional reassurance, a shoulder to cry on whenever it is necessary.

Why is it not enough for him?

Why?

“When you look at the sky, what does it tell you?” She asks as soon as she catches him staring at the gradually vanishing stars, snapping him out of the trance.

“What does it tell me, huh?” He repeats, scratching his chin with his free hand. “The sky confirms my belief that our lives are somehow meaningless, if we compare it to the vastness of the universe, and yet they’re everything we have.”

“Fair enough,” she nods softly. “But when I look at the sky, it gives me hope, hope that we’re never alone, that we won’t be alone until the last star is burning. I’ve read once that stars are supposed to resemble hope, tranquility, just like swallows do… and sometimes it makes me feel like it all makes sense, at least this is what lightens my life… and this is meaningful.”

“Is this why you carry one of them around your neck?”

“I know the answer will be disappointingly obvious for you,” she smiles merely as her fingertips brush over the metallic lavaliere. “But yes, I carry a swallow around my neck because of that.”

“Surprisingly, it’s not as disappointing as I thought it would be,” she notices the corners of his lips quiver slightly as if he was just about to smiles but never did. “Trust me, I’ve heard far worse.”

“Like what?”

“Are you sure you want an example?”

“No,” she hesitates for a split second, a split second she need to quickly reconsider what has been on her mind since they sat on the porch stairs together. “But you know what I want?”

“What do you want?”

He already expects one certain kind of answer, and yet, as far as he is concerned, it is not going to disappoint him.

However, her answers is everything but verbal.

Her answer consists of a kiss – a simple, classic, chaste kiss that makes his lips tingle as hers brush them softly – just a mere stroke, and yet this is all it takes for him to fall, to throw all his insecurities out of the window, to forget Jane and all the women before.

His hands find their place on the dip of her waist, squeezing the soft flesh, as his palms cradle the sides of her ribcage. Her lips part subtly in response, a soft moan slipping past them, as he teases the side of her breast mindlessly, fingers fiddling with the silky fabric of her dress. It feels nice to touch someone like this again, to share this particular human contact – sweet yet laced with a hint of lust that threatens to soak through the cloth of decency, which he is planning to avoid.

At least on the exposed beach.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he chuckles, like genuinely chuckles, between the kisses, gently pushing her away. “Let’s take it somewhere else. You know, I’ve seen that motel down the road and-”

“No,” she shakes her head softly, staring at him with some kind of pensive awareness. “Because you’re gonna change your mind.”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

And yet, for some unknown reasons she does not trust him.

* * *

The motel’s name is Burning Giraffe, and she gets the impression that it would sound weird, if she said it aloud. Maybe because the place itself looks as if it was from a different reality, as if it was something she was never supposed to come across but she has anyway.

Everything seems to be on its appointed spot and yet it still look out of place

(Time),

especially the giraffe neon – its sinister reddish gleam reminds her of something malicious, evil, something that is not meant to be discover, something that was never supposed to appear in any parallel reality. But it has anyway, and because of some abnormal turn of events she is here to witness it, which is most likely not a good thing.

All motels seems to feed on sins, on wicked, salacious behavior of equally wicked, salacious people. This place is no different, that is for sure, but underneath all of these lays something else – a source of everything nefarious and malevolent, yet alluring and enticing in its sinful form.

Hypnotizing like a soft click of the lock reverberating in the air, like a quiet creak of the door – genesis of their shared damnation.

She senses his looming presence behind, his diffusing body heat causes her to shiver in acknowledgment to her own feverish hotness that tickles over her nerves as if opening a gate to some delusional place of eternal bliss. Hearing the door shut, she turns to face him, his face bathed in ominous light, sharp cheekbones enhanced by its crimson gleam.

“Strip,” he demands gruffly as if taunting her to evade, but she decides to deprave him of this pleasure, to dance to his tune for now. She unzips her dress, tugging the zipper as low as her arms allow to, and lets the garment fall down her arms, silky fabric pooling around her feet. The act itself remains surprisingly graceful until she steps out of the ring and kicks off her shoes – way to ruin the impression, but Candice is not a woman who would shy away because of such a stupid reason.

“The rest too,” his voice still sounds a tad horse, but the stern cadence is long gone as if he was somewhere else, taking to someone else,

(your little Giraffe Motel poses the ability to attract distant memories)

(huh?)

(it feeds on them, it needs them to endure, remain here in its advanced form).

So she takes the rest of too, breasts spilling from the confinement of her brassiere, panties rolling down her smooth thighs only to drop on the floor with a nonexistent thud. He remains fully clothed – of course – while she stands stark-naked in front of him, her skin pricking with goosebumps, as his gaze rakes over her bare form. She looks sinful, bathed in the red gleam, as if she was meant to become his eternal damnation, his inevitable end that creeps closer and closer with every step she takes.

She is twenty six, his conscience scolds him, its voice laced with utter indignation towards the action he is about to perform.

But she is twenty six, he almost shivers at the lecherous purr of his own voice, whispering lewd phrases into his ear.

While Douglas is a lawyer, a stern man who tolerates no disobedience, who creates his own set of rather socially bankrupt rules only to follow them and crack any case, he is just a man too, and most men do not poses the immunity for stark-naked women.

So he does the only reasonable think for his blasé mind right now – with two long steps and a harsh push he pins her to the wall, bodies flush against each other as their teeth clash in a feverish bruising kiss. He pulls on her plush bottom lip, biting hard enough to break the tender flesh, and in this peculiar moment she considers whether he might get off on her mewls.

Soon enough he allays the doubt, a brisk swipe of his tongue against her bottom lip and a hint of cooper lingering on her taste buds prove it well enough. It is like an unspoken agreement between the two of them – pleasure that mingles with pain, and both of them conceive it to the point where it is possible to remain nonverbal.

She should have known better, since they met for the first time, what kind of man he is, that kind of man who would be meaning to break her just to hear her desperate pleads – a rare, maybe even extinct sight, in terms of Candice. Some twisted part of her brain is willing to see how far he is planning to push in order to accomplish the goal of shoving her past the personal breaking point.

“What should I do to you, sweetheart?” He inquires, speaking more to himself then to her, his fingers dancing over her exposed cleavage, skipping past the tops of her breasts. He twists one of the hardening peaks, maneuvering it between the pads of his fingers, before he tugs it sharply, eliciting a quiet gasp from her slightly parted lips.

“Taste me,” she taunts, both eyes and voice laced with a smoking hint of lust – a hint dedicated to him and only him. She mindlessly arches to his touch as his hands stroke down the length of her body, brazenly kneading her breasts as he makes his way to the floor.

He kneels in front of her, his movements slow but deliberate, a sly smirk playing upon his lips as he watches her thighs quiver slightly. He would be lying, if he said it does not fuel his pride, seeing her fall apart, piece by piece, her tough demeanor unravelling as soon as he grips her hips, the smell of her sex makes him throb in way that is equally pleasant and disturbing.

She is going to taste divine, he already knows that.

Douglas has always enjoyed going down on women. There is something about the power he holds over them during this peculiar act, the way they squirm underneath soft but firm pressure of his mouth, how he coaxes them to open their legs with sweet promises of an unforgettable experience, how they are willing to do anything he wants right after their worlds shatter into pieces.

And besides, he has really missed it since he got married.

He grips one of her thighs and she gasps softly, his touch leaving her skin tingling in the most exquisite ways. He orders the brunette to hoist it up his shoulder, pinning her to the wall, trying to gain some more leverage. She whimpers softly at the unpleasant sensation of wallpaper’s porous texture, which becomes long forgotten as his lips find their place between her legs.

Sweet kisses on her thighs, almost too sweet for a man like Douglas, as his lips gently tickle her tender skin. A few seconds pass before she allows herself to lean into the sensation, her eyelids falling shut, shivering as his tongue glides over her heated flesh. His cool hands feel like heaven on her overheated skin, soothing the burning of her sinful agony, despite the protruding sting of his nails digging into her outer thigh.

However, what comprehensively brings her back to reality after those few carefree moments, is a harsh nip that causes a shrill tingle of pain to lick over the nerves, but also increases the itchy throbbing of her clit. When their eyes meet, she gets the notion that he looks a way too smug, his teeth remarkably straight and astonishingly white which gives her the impression that he had to whiten them at some point of his life.

He glares at her, cocking a mere sardonic eyebrow that infuriates her

(gets her going)

more than anything else. If he asks her to beg, she will much likely slap him across the face, which makes her even more surprised when she hears his answer.

“Touch me, or I’ll fucking-”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head in disapproval. “Say ‘please’.”

“Douglas, I swear I’ll-”

“Say ‘please’,” he murmurs against her skin, a mere tip of his tongue pressing against her quivering entrance as if he wanted to give her a taste for what is about to come but not any real relief.

“You’re such a fucking-”

“Tease? Asshole? Jerk?” He gauges with amusement. “C’mon darling, it’s not that hard.”

“Fucking fine,” she sighs, in one hand considering the act of begging itself to be humiliating but in other hand he has brought her to the point where she is too desperate to care. “Please touch me before I bite your dick off.”

“Was it that hard?” He asks rhetorically, deciding to ignore the sarcastic tingle of her voice and the mocking promise. Since she could make an exception for him, he can undoubtedly return the favor, he can and he will.

She moans in relief, pretty sure he feels her throbbing, as he licks a broad stripe down her folds, shunning the tingling nub on purpose. He smirks against her flesh, somehow amused by her reaction – a frustrated huff followed by another breathless gasp of his name. The sensation is ticklish, barely there to feel, all wrong considering the sticky wetness covering her inner thighs.

She feels beyond desperate for more, her dainty form quivering slightly, cadenced with the throbs of her swollen clit, mingled with the prickly sensation of her nails digging crescent shapes in her skin. In addiction he looks rapt, absolutely entranced, with dilated pupils, the cavernous ebony of his pupils almost swallowing the icy blue, as he gazes into her eyes. For a brief moment she catches a glimpse of something almost maniac, something that might concern her, unless he envelopes her tingling bundle with his greedy mouth.

Her ears prick at the high-pitched squeal, sound that is entirely foreign for her, until she realizes it has been released past her trembling lips just seconds prior. His grasp around her thigh emphatically tightens, drawing a sinful cry from her constricted throat, mauve bruises already forming beneath his fingers. In response to the harsh gesture, she grabs him by the hair, barely noticing hints of whatever hair product he uses coat her fingers, her hips rolling unwittingly. She can hardly keep an upright posture at this point as he slowly devours her, the agonizing pace that causes her to tug at the strands hard enough to make him groan against her sensitive bud.

As the time passes, his movements become a way more expeditious, brazen even, to the point where she aches to scoot away, escaping from his touch, but he holds her steady, preventing any excess writhing. However, her whole body jerks in one rapid motion in time with a gentle prod of his tongue against her entrance. She nods, already short of breath, her hips unconsciously grinding against his mouth, desperate for him to fill her in any way he pleases.

“Say that you want it,” he growls, the animalistic hoarseness of his voice causes her to shiver in his grasp, but she remains silent, no words slipping past her trembling lips. He nips at her folds, drawing another pained squeal out of her throat. “Fucking say it.”

“Yes, I want it,” she pushes past the inability to form any coherent sentences, her approval coming as a trembling whine that makes him twitch within the confinement of his pants.

“How badly?” He inquires, forcing her blasé brain to come out with another response, while he seems to suck it right through her pussy.

“Badly,” her response is muddled but her gestures exigent – hips bucking on their own, seeking for more stimulation.

“Badly, huh?” He teases, right before the tip of his tongue delves inside, drawing a salacious purr that turns into a moan as soon as he begins to move. His thrusts are erratic, relentless as if he was starving and she was his meal, lacking in any kind of rhythm, in any kind of cadence. He laps at her with obscenely loud slurps as if driven by some sort of carnal lust, insatiable, desperate for more, and she keens with pleasure, messily grinding against his mouth, willing to take anything he offers.

Nevertheless, there is something feral in the way he eyes her, shallow exhales billowing upon her heated flesh, and she cannot help but wonder how is he able to breath with his nose practically mashed against her clit. All of sudden, another wave of heat washes through her dainty body, breaking her poor reverie, licking over her nerves with this peculiar pre-orgasmic fiber of pleasure. It is harsh, rapid, ravenous, and she is drowning in it, so, so close to the blink.

And then it happens – the fall, with a mere scrape of his teeth, applied in just the right way, he pushes her over the edge. She moans vaguely, incoherent chain of words slipping past her lips, some of them consisting of odd variations of his name, while others – not so much. As her high subsides, she tries to push him away but he ignores her attempts, shamelessly drinking up any traces of her arousal, humming pleasantly at the musky taste lingering upon his tongue.

“Stop, please,” she whimpers pitifully, tugging at the darkish strands to discard his face from its place between her now quivering thighs. “Too much.”

Uncommonly and much to her surprise, he obeys, no words added, no vexing remarks, just a reticent rise from the previous kneeling position. She backs away, even if for a one little step – innate response for his now towering position. She has never bothered to notice how tall he is, comparing to her, and although she is not very short herself, she finds him utterly intimidating, gazing at her with features framed by the crimson neon.

She approaches the bed at his nonverbal command – a simple shift of his eyes towards the mattress – and plops down onto the coarse sheets, propping herself on the elbows to watch his movements with silent intent. He clearly takes his time, much to her exasperation, removing the pieces one by one, nimble fingers dancing over various expensive fabrics that cover his lengthy frame. He discards them onto the armchair one by one as she keeps staring, her gaze fixated on the unveiled bare skin. Maybe it is impolite to stare, but she cannot help herself, driven by some kind of a burning need to memorize everything about his appearance, all the little details that are poking her eyes as if they craved for her undivided attention.

Maybe they do.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he jeers

(he is nothing but right)

with a subtle yet mean cadence lacing his voice in a tight knot that seems to clench around her throat, retrieving any ability to fight back.

Instead she bestows him with a different kind of response, with a simple gesture of drawing her legs apart, even if for the slightest bit, but still enough for him to pick up a hint. He looks painfully hard, feels heavy and hot against her slick thigh as he settles between her spread legs, accidently nudging her clit. Her hips buck instinctively at the jarring stab of pleasure, already craving for more friction, but he simply retreats with the same blatant amusement as a few minutes prior glimmering in his eyes.

However, she does right the opposite, pushing him away in order to switch their positions, but fails completely as he snaps out of her grasp in an unnervingly swift movement, preventively pinning both of her wrists above the head. She is about to writhe away from the docile position he has put her into, when all of sudden he thrusts into her with a low groan – an action that is followed by another sharp cry, undeniable reason of the painful intrusion. He does not seem to care, or maybe this is just his unique Art of Fucking, claiming her with rough shoves that send her to the pinnacle of incoherence, that leave her torn between pleading him to slow down, or begging for more.

He is everything but gentle, his movement deliberately rough, but the jarring stab of pain only fuels her pleasure, contrasting yet mingling together so perfectly. It brings her to the point of inevitable contemplation whether he is doing it just to see if he can break her.

Who is she trying to fool? Of course he is.

Her fleeting conclusion becomes long forgotten as soon as his hands release her now sore wrists only to wrap around her throat a brief moment later. Although he refrains from choking her, his grip is firm as if he was meaning to indicate some kind of a threat, as if he was trying to tame her. She swallows hard, staring into his eyes with fazed look upon her flushed face, but it does not seem to scatter his concentration if not the opposite. His brows are knitted slightly, eyes wide open and awake, lean body bathed in the sinful crimson, forming an image that is meant to invade most of her dreams in the following years.

Her newly released hands rest upon his shoulders – an attempt to steady her jerking body, to anchor herself to passing reality with a firm grip around his rounded muscles. It feels good to be able to touch him, to squeeze his heated flesh in time with the rapid thrusts as if she intended to distract him with the oddly soft gesture. She is unusually close by now, so close that she can almost taste it, her stomach coiling with unbridled desperate excitement, her hips bucking half-consciously to match his movements, the willpower to savor the moment lost somewhere between pulsing waves of heat. Her back arch from the mattress, her eyes shut, ready to savor the upcoming bliss, and then, all of sudden, he simply halts, making her whine in utter frustration.

“Really?” He chuckles, his features marked with an expression of blatant amusement that infuriates her almost as much as his denial. “You thought I would let you cum that quickly? Then you clearly underestimate me, darling, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re a fucking sadist,” she hisses, frustrated with the rejection, her body burning with the need for release, stomach coiling disturbingly. He is most likely to punish her for the mean remark, but she finds herself not caring for the slightest at this point.

“Fucking sadist…” he mutters under his breath as if he was considering the sincere meaning of her confession. She shivers at the disturbingly soft manner of the spoken words, and yet decides to overstep her boundaries once more, to test him, to see if she can be the one who breaks him for a change.

“You know what? ” She inquires with a mischievous glint in her sapphire colored eyes, the distinctive hue temporary latent by the crimson light. “I bet your wifey doesn’t let you fuck her like this.”

“And yet, I bet you envy her anyway,” he jeers, tightening his grip around her throat, forcing a choked moan out of her constricted windpipe.

She definitely should not have said that.

I definitely shouldn’t have said that, she thinks, shivering as he eyes her dainty form with some kind of unsettling malevolence dancing in his icy irises, now fierce with passion. She stares at him, her chest rising and falling in time with every sharp breath she takes, pretty much aware that irking him is equal with playing with fire.

Maybe she wants to get burned.

He finds another steady rhythm, slower than before, but still deep enough to repetitively nudge her g-spot. She lets out a weak moan in response, her legs wrapping around his waist in search for a different angle, nails digging painfully into his shoulders

(she wants to hurt him),

drawing a hoarse groan out of him. She clenches around him purposely, already close to the blink due to both of the previous and the ongoing stimulation, somehow desperate to see him fall apart. His head drops to the junction where her neck meets the shoulder, teeth nibbling at the skin to muffle the innate sounds threatening to slip past his lips, when suddenly, completely out of blue… he stops again.

And again.

And maybe once more, it is hard to tell since her perception is rather poor, considering, give or take, four nearly schematic sequences of bliss and denial.

“Please, please, please, I- I-” she sobs helplessly, her insides aching to the point where she is willing to make any exception for him if that will guarantee her the much needed gratification. “Let me cum, I need to cum.”

“I don’t think you’ve earned it, sweetheart,” he counters despite his obvious inner struggle, still grazing the swollen nub with reticent strokes of his thumb – a refined action that leaves her writhing below him, burning for release.

“I don’t care,” she whimpers desperately, at the blink of tears. “Please, let me.”

And so he lets her, he lets her because she clearly had enough

(she is not the only one),

angling his hips just right to push her over the edge. She screams, although she is unable to hear it, her senses remain somehow muted as it washes over her, wave after wave, her body tossing and turning, nails raking fiercely down his back

(crimson nails in crimson neon),

unconsciously drawing blood, which elicits another pained groan out of him. All of these little sensations showering her trembling body, from the pulsing of her core to the tingling of her clit, immerse Candice to the point she is barely aware of what comes next.

(the unawareness has always been a blessing)

With a last snap of his hips, last throaty groan, last squeeze of her bruised flesh, he comes, his movements halting as the bliss washes over him, blacking out his vision for a mere second, all while he is shivering in her arms with rapid aftershocks. It takes him a few longer moments to come to his senses, pull out (“Jesus Fucking Christ, Douglas!”) and roll over onto his back.

The aftermath is always weird, nothing has changed in that matter, but today it has been enriched with something else, something that he has not experience in quite a long time, if ever, something that allows itself to be describe as bittersweet, and yet he has no idea how to call it. Melancholy? Is it melancholy? Maybe, maybe not. Nevertheless, as a coping mechanism with the so-called ‘melancholy’, he drapes one forearm over his eyes, shielding himself from the debauchery of the crimson light, from the debauchery of his deed.

Why does he have to keep doing this?

And why does it have hurt so much tonight?

Why?

(World is an empty place.)

* * *

“Check the mail, darling, will you?” He asks, unusually preoccupied with cutting the vegetables. To her it seems like he might have finally found out what his true and only passion is, or maybe she just gets that kind of an impression, because she is acting like a geek again.

The second one.

“I will,” she agrees, mindlessly staring at the porch. Today seems to be one of these days when her mind leaves its body to travel to places that she wishes she could visit instead.

“By the way we have to finally take care of seating our guests in proper spots,” he reminds, much to her annoyance. “I feel like your father shouldn’t sit with Tammy, otherwise they’ll eat each other alive. No offence, but you know how triggered she gets with all of his chauvinistic crap.”

“Yeah whatever,” she replies with a careless shrug, suddenly filled with a burning need to collect any possible letters.

And so she does, stepping out of the house, all the way down the driveway to reach the mailbox – a simple routine that she normally hates, apart from all of the times when James decides to ask her a question connected with the organization of their Big Event. Today’s mail is supposed to be just an ordinary mail – no letters, because who would bother to send them if he can replace any papers with an email? Despite the obvious reasonability of this fact, James feels some kind of need, apparently determined by internal factors, to check it anyway.

However, today something catches her attention – a bouquet of dead flowers tied with an elegant velvet ribbon along with a small card attached to it, filled with equality elegant handwriting.

~Happy Wedding Day~

All of sudden, she laughs, cackling a laugh that is jarring, bone-chilling, and almost maniac, foreign even for her. It cuts through the peaceful silence of a plain Sunday morning like a metaphorical knife through the mist, mist that has been clouding her life since the Giraffe Night, that has been floating back and forth as if waiting for her to finally loose the last bits of sanity she has been so unwearyingly holding onto.

Of course, Dead Flowers. How sweet of him.

“What’s going on honey?” James asks from the threshold, probably lured by her sick cackle, his worried voice breaking her reverie.

“Nothing,” she replies mindlessly, staring at the gift with a small, bittersweet smile. There are some days when she really misses him.

Her mother was right and she was right, that day when he left her.

World is truly an empty place.

Created: 02/24/20

Completed: 04/18/20

Edited: 04/20/20

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