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stevie-wicks · 3 years

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red, black and blue

She’d taken the photo in some empty parking lot in downtown LA, sunlight two years younger glinting off the hood of the Camaro. Billy’s moustache was still a couple of stray gold whiskers on his upper lip; his hair just past the tips of his unpierced ears. A different Billy to the one Hawkins had seen, but post-California Billy hadn’t had much time for Max’s amateur attempts at photography. Or for Max, in general.

“It’s a good photo.”

Jonathan Byers was not a formal wear kind of guy. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his ugly suit- or maybe that was just an extension of how he was feeling. How they all were.

Max wrapped her hands around her elbows, suddenly regretting resisting her mother’s attempts to usher her into a jacket. “Thanks. I know he looks- different.”

Jonathan looked for a moment like he might offer her his ugly coat; then he probably remembered the uglier shirt he wore underneath. “He looks happier.”

“He was.” Max dug her nails into her skin. “He hated it here.”

Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Max; I know it’s not- it’s not really the same, but when I- when I thought Will was gone, I-” He swallowed. “Will is my best friend. I know that sounds really lame, but I just thought that. Maybe you’d feel better, or, I dunno. I know what it’s like.”

He was trying so hard. Max almost felt bad for him. “I don’t think you do.”

She’d wanted to sit next to Lucas, but her mom hadn’t. Some murmured nonsense about Neil not liking it; some louder nonsense about how they were a family and that now, more than ever, they had to stay together.

El became the compromise.

Not that Neil was gung-ho about El, either; not with the oversized flannel and suspenders she’d refused to change out of. Light blue eyes bore a hole into the side of Max’s head as she shuffled into the pew next to El. They weren’t the same shade of blue as Billy’s; he’d had more green to his, more like Max’s own. Neil’s were like ice chips.

A bony hand reached over, and Max looked up at Joyce Byers’s warm brown instead. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

Stupidly, Max said, “He owed you a plate.”

El stirred. “I owe him my life,” she said quietly.

The last funeral Max had been to had been for some distant Mayfield relative. She’d been six and she’d cried all the way to Glendale because she was missing Jabberjaw. Then Dad bought her an ice cream and she’d forgotten all about Jabberjaw. She fell asleep halfway through the service, and they got home in time for Speed Buggy.

Billy’s service took half as long and felt an eternity longer.

Mom had offered to do a eulogy. She’d brought it up over breakfast, nervous eyes darting between Max and Neil, as if either of them would put up a fight. She tottered to her feet now, shuffling awkwardly to the front, in a dress a few laundry cycles short of being grey. For a fleeting moment, Max wished she had put up a fight. Billy would’ve died-

Max bit her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Mom cleared her throat. “Billy and I didn’t know each other for very long, but I wish we had. He was a wonderful young man.” She dabbed at her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.

Max sank back into her seat. Maybe it was for the best; she could never lie about Billy the way her mom did. Not when all she could think of was the blood- God, so much blood, his blood- his last scream torn out of his chest by misshapen claws- apologies on a dying breath-

She stood up. Mom paused midway between some crap about Billy’s ‘respect and responsibility’.

“Maxine,” Mom said, mortified.

“I have to go.” She tore outside, knuckling her burning eyes.

The breeze nipped at her skin. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands up her arms. It was mid-July, for Pete’s sake.

She should’ve worn the stupid jacket.

She wiped at her face roughly. When her vision cleared, Lucas stood in front of her.

“Your mom’s done talking, if you wanna head back inside.” He kicked at a pebble.

Max kicked it back. It skittered away, just out of Lucas’s reach. “Not really.”

He squared his shoulders. “Mind if I join you, then?”

She shrugged. He hesitated for a moment before sidling up next to her, arms barely brushing.

“Steve’s giving his speech now.”

Max’s eyebrows reached her scalp.

“For the basketball team,” Lucas clarified, then added, a little awkwardly, “None of the other guys showed up.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but. “Yeah, well. Didn’t think Steve would, either. He hated Billy’s guts.” She dug her heels into the gravel. “You all did.”

Lucas fell quiet. “I didn’t hate him.”

Max snorted. “’Cause you’re not supposed to hold grudges over people who are-” She blinked back a fresh wave of tears. God, Maxine; you’re such a goddamn girl, Billy would’ve said. “You should. He was awful to you.”

“I didn’t hate him,” he repeated. “I mean, he scared the shit out of me, sure. But still. He was your brother.”

“That’s not an excuse. And he was my step-”

“He was your brother.” Lucas had turned on his side, fully facing her now. “And I know you lo- cared about him. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s okay to cry.”

Her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to; not since Starcourt, not since she’d read the twenty-eight other names in the paper, not since she’d come home in an ambulance and her brother in a casket and Neil locked up Billy’s room and tore down everything else that had belonged to his son and threw it all in the trash like he’d been waiting to get rid of it-

Lucas held out an arm. Max buried her face in his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt and turning it translucent with her tears.

She cried long enough for her tear ducts to run dry, and then stood sniffling into the wet shirt. She was probably making it all gross with her snot, but she didn’t let herself get too torn up about it. The Sinclairs could afford a washing machine.

“Maxine.”

Max went rigid. Lucas, unbothered and oblivious, kept his arms around her. “Hey, Mr. Hargrove.”

She turned around slowly, just in time to catch the flicker of revulsion that passed over Neil’s face. “And who are you, boy?”

There was a painful pause. Max’s nails carved crescents into her palms.

“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” Lucas said at last.

Neil’s eyes were glacial. Max barely suppressed a shiver when they trained on her. “Maxine; something you learn when you grow older that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from. And this boy?” Neil cut his gaze to Lucas. “This boy is one of them.”

Max reeled back. “I-”

“You stay away from my daughter, Sinclair; do you hear me?” Neil hadn’t raised his voice once since he’d started speaking. To any passers-by, this would look like a normal conversation. “Stay away.”

He didn’t wait for Lucas to respond, tugging Max away with a harsh grip on her wrist. She didn’t dare to turn around.

“I don’t want you anywhere near that boy, Maxine.” His hold loosened the closer they got to the car- Neil’s car, a respectable Ford sedan. She didn’t dare tug her hand free, either. “I hope you learn your lesson with this. Billy didn’t; not at first. I’m afraid I had to use more- forceful- methods with him. I trust I won’t have to do the same with you.”

Max turned to Neil despite herself. It was the first time he’d said Billy’s name since the Fourth of July.

His eyes gave nothing away. “Do I make myself clear?” His fingers tightened again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” Neil’s smile was a mirror of Billy’s; shark-like and vicious, moments away from tearing into your throat. “It’s about time you got some new friends, too. Girls your age shouldn’t be hanging around with boys too much.”

“El’s a girl,” Max told her shoes.

Neil scoffed. “Really? Did she show you proof?”

What happened to you, Mad Max? Billy would’ve asked. You’re not going to stand up for your little hick friends?

Or maybe-

I had to use more forceful methods with him - the bruises she’d see on Billy while his own knuckles remained unscathed- Mom whisking her away on impromptu shopping trips whenever Neil and Billy raised their voices- forceful methods -

- maybe he would understand.

★

Billy’s life couldn’t have fit into a garbage bag.

Max hadn’t gone into his room since she’d gone with El, but he had to have more than what Neil had thrown out onto the sidewalk. Outside the four walls of his room, it was like Billy hadn’t even existed.

She slipped out of bed in the quiet.

Billy had taught her how to pick a lock, back in California. “Use a hairpin, or somethin’- you got one of those?”

She unfurled her fingers. The hairpin was damp with sweat. She wiped it on her t-shirt, and slid it into the keyhole.

“Keep your big ears close to the door; you won’t hear squat that far away.”

She held her breath, pressing her ear to the cool wood.

“Wait for the sound- there, you hear that? That’s how you know the tumblers are in place.”

The door swung open with a soft click.

Max half expected to be assaulted by cigarette smoke and hair metal. But it had been almost a week, and all that Billy had left behind were stale air and silence.

She flicked on the flashlight. The blinds were drawn, the bed unmade, half his closet on the floor. Air the room out, and you could pretend he’d walk right in.

His schoolbooks balanced an ashtray; the desk was not for studying. Instead, he’d cluttered it with beer cans and tapes and a tree’s worth of loose-leaf.

She padded over and sat down in his chair, trying to imagine him hunched over the desk, scribbling on page after page in messy letters. Billy’s handwriting was just as angry as he was.

Her eyes flickered over song lyrics- snippets from the racket she’d been forced to sit through every weekday morning and afternoon. Somehow, silent car rides had lost their appeal.

Strange little doodles decorated the margins- band logos and cars and anatomically inaccurate depictions of women. “Gross,” Max said aloud, pushing the papers away with a theatric shudder.

The tabletop had not been exempted from Billy’s artistry; Max shone the flashlight on more band logos and cuss words and names engraved into the wood. Here there was a crude AC/DC logo, the lightning slash extending down to form the ‘t’ in ‘TWAT’. There was a ‘María’ right next to that, the accent mark angled in the wrong direction. Max remembered her; she’d gone out with Billy for all of sophomore year- the longest Max had ever seen him go out with one girl. She’d taught Max how to do makeup.

A few paces away was Tina- the prettiest girl in Hawkins High, everyone agreed- Laurie was a slut, but she’d complimented Max on her hair- and then Karen. Max traced the ‘K’; she didn’t know any Karens who went to Hawkins High- but then again, she barely knew all the kids in the middle school. There could be a pretty blonde cheerleader somewhere, talking to her friends over the phone. “Yeah, I went out with him a couple of times,” Max imagined her saying. She’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger, lips pulled down in a pout. “And now he’s dead. Spooky.”

She knuckled her eyes. The beam of the flashlight caught on the letter S.

She held the flashlight up, frowning at the name that made itself obvious. Stevie- except the ‘i’ was jammed haphazardly between the ‘v’ and the ‘e’, like it had been an afterthought.

She stared at it until the light flickered overhead.

“Shit!”

Max dropped the flashlight, head snapping back to the door. It hung ajar, just as she’d left it. Heart in her throat, she inched towards the doorway.

The hallway light flicked on.

Max held the flashlight close to her chest, knuckles bone-white and stark. She stepped outside, and the light turned on in the living room.

When she stood in the doorway, staring out at the lifeless room, the telephone started to ring.

Her feet felt heavy as cinderblocks. She plucked the receiver from its cradle, bringing it to her ear with shaking hands.

From the other side, someone breathed heavily.

Max pressed the phone closer, hard enough to hurt. “Billy?”

A crackle of static. Some peculiar noise.

Apologies on a dying breath.

Then, “Max.”

ao3

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #tw: death #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: racism #max mayfield #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lucas sinclair #harringrove #lumax #el hopper #joyce byers #post season 3 #stranger things 4

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stevenbasic · 4 years

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I had resolved to be more professional, from here on out. I had resolved to not let this night get out of hand. After the texts from Sheryl, I knew I needed to be a better husband, a better boss, a better man. But this? This is what I get for letting shit happen....

“Omigod Dr JJJJJ….!” Melissa squealed, laughing too loudly as she leaned on me again, almost falling over this time as we made our way down the fifth floor hallway, “Stop doing that!!!” She’d been trying to find her keycard in her purse, and apparently two things at th same time was too much.

“Stop doing what?”

“That!!” she laughed, drunkenly slapping me on the arm and wrapping her arm around my waist, “you’re tripping me!”

“I am not tripping you…” I said, “you’re just...really drunk.”

“I am…” she said, voice suddenly playfully serious, “I really am…”

And then she laughed like a banshee...

This had all started hours ago, and I should have known the night would be trouble when she sat down across from me at the dinner table she’d reserved for us and ordered not one but two glasses of white wine. She wanted to celebrate our last night here, our last night down south away from the office and the rest of the world, and she was prepared to do it with a bang. She’d dressed the part, in a soft-looking, strapless party minidress that glittered with gold and clung to every jaw-dropping curve. A set of gold bangles around her neck in a necklace drew attention to her bare shoulders and elegant throat.

One drink down, two drinks down, four drinks down at dinner and soon she’d had me by the hand, dragging me up, dragging me away to the bar, a half-busy little place where we each grabbed a high stool, next to one another.

“What are you two drinking?” asked the bartender, as he sidled over immediately, suddenly apparently able to ignore a small group at the other end looking for some help with the wine list. He was an indeterminate guy of indeterminate age, wearing a hawaiin shirt that matched the napkins he placed down in front of each of us. His smile was innocuous enough, but I didn’t like how his eyes roamed up over Melissa - not that I could blame the guy, I guess. If she noticed his clandestine scrutiny of the fit of her dress, she made no sign, biting her lower lip and looking around the scene.

“I dunno what’s good?” I asked, scanning the taps. Beers down here were generally pretty crummy, but I always held out hope. And I had been smart enough to stick with beer tonight, so far.

“Maybe something for the lady first?” he asked, pulling a pen from behind his ear and jotting something down on a notepad pulled from his shirt pocket.

That got Melissa’s attention, drawing it away from the dance floor, where a few happy patrons bopped around to canned music as the Salsa band was setting up for their set. “Mmmm yes!” she sang, looking pointedly at me, “What should I get?”

“Oh, uh, I dunno…” I reacted, glancing around for a drink menu, “what do you fee-”

“Well, the girls always say vodka makes me silly, tequila makes me crazy,” she began, “and rum makes me naughty…”

“Well then how about a Bahama Mama for the pretty lady?” the bartender suggested, giving me a private wink as he produced a colorful cocktail menu from behind the bar and slid it to Melissa, pointing out a bright photograph of a yellow, fruity-looking drink.

“What’s in that?” she asked, looking at the menu and having some trouble deciphering.

“A lot of rum!” the bartender joked, already grabbing the necessary bottles and mixers and glassware and ice.

“Oh good!” Melissa laughed, hoisting up on the hem of her dress’ bodice; all through dinner it hadn’t seemed to cover her the way she wanted, and she was often readjusting it over her voluptuous chest. “Rum works!”

“Sounds like you better watch out, pal!” the bartender quipped, taking a moment when Melissa wasn’t looking to slide me the note he’d just been writing, “this one’s got it in for you tonight.”

“I got you covered bro” was what it said.

I looked up at him and he winked again, waggling his eyebrows in a move I would have only imagined in a terrible movie. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“So, what are you two, married, dating?” he asked, as he began to mix Melissa’s drink, pouring a healthy few shots of rum into a blender with some fruit juices...and then some more rum.

“Ah, n-” I began

“Well, almost!” Melissa piped in, leaning in to me and laughing, putting her hand intimately on my shoulder…

I couldn’t believe how fast she drank that. Or, with another wink, how much booze he was putting in her next one, and the one after that.

“If I keep drinking these I am going to turn into a Bahama Mama!” Melissa joked, squeezing the knee of mine that she’d been holding for the past five minutes, “your big, bouncy, Bahama Mama..!”

I gulped. This evening was starting to take a turn and the look in her eyes was growing more and more unhinged. “Okay yeah let’s get you something different nex-“

“Shots!” she called out, and next thing you know the three of us - Melissa, me and the bartender - were downing something entirely too strong and too easy to drink. Rum, again.

Melissa slammed her empty jigger on the bar.

“Let’s go watch the band!” she immediately announced after recovering from the shot, which had seemed to throw her a bit. Hopefully she didn’t see the all-too-obvious wink and wolfish grin the bartender gave me as he cleared away our glassware and turned to get our bill. Melissa was getting drunk, and hard.

Soon she and I were sitting in chairs, right in front of the band, a little four piece number playing some jazzy Salsa with brass, a guitar and some bongos. The drinks she had insisted we order sat on the little cafe table behind us and as the music had us entertained they were, thankfully, mostly forgotten.

After a couple songs she was standing, right aside where I sat, dancing, her curvaceous rear and powerful hips swaying to the music, hands and arms alternatively up above her, stretched out in front, or behind her back. I took the opportunity for glances, then extended looks. Finally, I was outright staring, watching her ass. I mean, it was right there, filling her dress, all my attention, and seemingly the lion's share of space in the room. Jesus her hips were a force of nature, and I could only imagine what it would feel like to grab them with my meager little hands and bury my face in that gym-toned monster. It was only after I saw a wife a few seats down smack her elderly husband on the shoulder for leering that I realized I was absolutely doing the same thing.

Suddenly shamefaced, I turned to grab my drink, look out over the small crowd of vacationers behind us, and turned back to see Melissa being called up by the drummer. With an open-mouthed grin of surprise, she looked down at me for approval but was already being pulled away, one of the two horn players having grabbed her hand. In less than a minute she had a microphone in hand and was singing along with the guy on the bongos, a task she’d taken to with drunken, enthusiastic vigor.

I clapped along, encouraging her, attentively captivated like the rest of the crowd, all our eyes glued to her figure as she stepped out from behind the drums and took to slowly dancing for us in her tube dress - which on her certainly looked nothing like a tube. No, she was a shapely hourglass, her silhouette a paean to fertility as she rolled wide, childbearing hips to the music. A tiny waist, big breasts...and she was the tallest one on stage, drawing all eyes to her.

As I watched her dance, riveted by her every move, I was reminded of the night out weeks ago at the cowboy bar back home, the bull-riding. I was amazed then at the attention Melissa got, how an attractive woman can so easily command a room without even speaking. I watched her up there, smiling ear-to-ear, drinking it in, innocently swimming in the crowd’s adoration, reveling in it. Beautiful women, I got to thinking, had a crazy power, and it made me wonder how scary it could be if they actually had something to say.

After a couple songs, Melissa was thanked and then ushered away by the drummer, laughing and giving a little wave to the applause, hoots and hollers of the crowd. It was then, as she stepped towards me, that I noticed her seat had been hijacked, absconded by a small group behind us. Apparently I was too spellbound by her dancing to notice, and I immediately scrambled to cover.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, as I moved to stand, offer Melissa my chair, “someone took your s-“

“Shh it’s fine,” she said, abruptly pushing me back to my chair, turning and - ooof! - sitting down happily onto my lap.

Good lord.

“Did you see me up there?” she loudly whispered, turning to put her left arm around me, draping it over my shoulders, “They made me sing!”

“Oh my god yes you did so good!” I lauded, trying to ignore the new, soft weight pressing onto my nethers. My compliment made her smile even wider and squeeze me to her with a squeal before she turned back again to watch the band rolling into their next song.

I was, of course, suddenly and acutely now aware of everyone's eyes, their judgemental stares, knowing that I looked like the older-guy asshole with the fawning, flamboyantly busty girl - probably an escort or mistress, they’d assume - squeezed into the too-tiny dress and tottering six-inch heels. It made me uncomfortable, and the only saving grace was that it was true what she’d said - it was just us here. We didn’t know anyone.

And so I tried to enjoy the moment, drink it in myself as she watched the music. She was soft and warm and heavy and smelled so good: shampoo, perfume and coconut rum. She began to slowly move to the rhythm in my lap, her big, strong ass overwhelming my skinny thighs and rubbing...oh no. It was then that I noticed that I was half-swollen already and could only pray she wouldn't feel it. But - jesus - praying wouldn’t be enough. Think about something else….

She turned, and gave me a look down over her shoulder.

Just then, a waitress appeared in front of us, holding a tray with two bright-blue shots. Melissa immediately screeched in delight, snatching them up.

I spoke up. “We didn’t order any dr-“

Melissa was already handing one to me.

“Compliments of the house,” the waitress replied, nodding towards the back of the room as she moved away. I looked up, over to the bartender - who gave me a double thumbs-up from across the crowd.

Fantastic.

Before I knew it, Melissa was cheersing me, clinking my glass with hers and quickly downing the thing. Her eyes flashed, she grinned, and looked at me expectantly. I eyed my shot warily.

“C’’mon, don’t be a baby, open up…” she insisted, taking my hand, bringing the shot up to my mouth. I opened for her, and she slowly forced it down my throat, smiling at me the whole time. “There you go..!” she praised, watching me swallow the strong, syrupy drink, “Yummy yummy, right?”

“Sure…” I agreed, my eyes watering from the alcohol, “yummy yummy…”

With that, she looked back to the band, half-turned now, slowly swaying to music, undulating again on my lap, enjoying herself and the salsa beat. She was humming, I saw her eyes fluttering. My only hope was that she was too drunk to notice me growing harder and harder underneath her plumpness. I readjusted as carefully as I could, shifting below; she glanced back at me, smiling tipsily. I watched as she closed her eyes, still smiling & swaying, and turn back to the band. I couldn’t help but breathe in more of her perfume, and stare at her back...

...

She could feel his eyes on her, on her shoulders, on her bare, perfectly muscled back. She felt him inspecting the outlined backstrap of the deep underwire she was wearing tonight for added support under her dress. He was looking at her tanned skin, imagining how soft it would feel, if he laid his pallid face against it. She knew she was drunk, she knew she was being reckless. She knew she might be making a mistake but - throwing caution to the wind - she tossed her hair over her shoulder, a soft, raven wave smelling of her, to flow over his face. She decided to flood him with her perfumes, maybe in the hopes that he might make a mistake tonight, too...

For his part, he was helpless to stop it, his cock still thickening underneath her, growing down his thigh. Oh no...oh no oh no oh no...he thought, Does she feel it?

As if on cue, she turned back to him, threw her arms around his neck and looked drunkenly into his eyes as she leaned in to tap her forehead to his. “I’m pretty tipsy…” she said, “can you take me back to my room..?”

=========================

Lots of help on this one from Team Missy: Doubleburger, vman2000, kjm7997 and Antares

#Growing Into the Job

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hamlets-ghost-zaddy · 5 years

Text

st. jude (the patron of lost causes)

Part 3/8

Donald Malarkey x Reader

Summary: Bombs aren’t discerning, they aren’t sentimental, and they kill without discretion. It’s the truth that got you through Bastogne, when men came to you in tatters and their life blood flooded past the stoppage of your hands. It’s the harsh reality that whispers through your mind as you wonder why Renee and Anna died, and not you–why you were sent on a scavenging run at that precise moment. Then, when the church was shelled.

Moved to an evacuation hospital to tend to soldiers with ghosts in their eyes, you meet Buck Compton and his loyal sergeant, a man with a weight on his shoulders unknown to even Atlas. His name means bullshit, and somehow you find that appropriate: what he’s seen, what he’s gone through? It’s complete bullshit.

You fear the still moments, those dragging hours, when there’s nothing to do. When Lieutenant Cox has allowed you to feed him every last spoonful of gloppy oatmeal; when the pain on Captain Halbert’s face eases as the drugs you injected into his arm dilute into his bloodstream; when Lieutenant Jamison’s nightmare screams have been shaken awake and to a stop. When the ward is quiet, you have taken to sitting next to Buck Compton, needle in hands and patching up holey socks.

He spends most of his time staring at a Flash Gordon comic or a copy of War and Peace—one half of the four offerings in the hospital library—and you doubt he’s registering the pictures or the words on the page. Yet, he goes through the motions of reading and seems to find comfort in the normality, so you don’t bother him. You hum a tune as you work, and he quirks a grin before his eyes return to his book. You almost wish he’d say something, if only to save you from your thoughts.

It’s in the quiet moments that you’re left, undefended, against the surge of thoughts of men seizuring in pain under your hands, of wrapping a comforting but superfluous arm around a nurse as she heaves great sobs, of watching a German shell landing on the church in Bastogne, collapsing on everyone inside.

Uninvited, Malarkey’s voice swims to the front of your brain: “It forces me to imagine of a future beyond my foxhole and the next meal of refried beans…it makes my brain stop thinking.”

What about a future beyond a hospital tent? you think, needle moving quickly in your hands.

You imagine Malarkey’s mouth quirking with a smile, never worn for longer than a handful of seconds. That too, he would say. And great now you’re hallucinating a conversation with him. Glancing around, your eyes drift over Buck, reading, over Constance tapping her toes to a song only she can hear as she fills in paperwork, over the men in their cots, as if someone would meet your eyes with a glare, exposing and branding you as crazy, deluded, mentally unwell.

But, no one minds you.

So, you wonder, where’s the harm in imagining Malarkey is sitting there, holding vigil over Buck with you? His chuckle, soft and gusting, echoes through your mind, and even though you’ve never heard him laugh, it feels right. It feels natural, like it’s something you’ve heard—or have meant to hear—all your life. You’ve been bottling things up for too long, maybe telling someone fictional will help, he offers.

Realizing your needle has paused, you bend your head over your work and tighten two quick stitches before you can muster a reply. Interesting that, even in your imagination, he makes something squirm in you. What if I want to bottle things up? What if that’s the point?

Point? he repeats, amusement giving way to mystification.

Your lips quirk, and you know if anyone looks at you right now, they would think you’re absolutely insane. But, with volunteering for the Army Nurse Corps, landing at Normandy two days after the invasion, patching up dying men, how sane could you possibly be at this point? You mentally reply: Yes, the point. Bottling things up allows me to do my job. I’m the caregiver, I can’t force my injuries on my patients—or Constance—or—

Not even in your imagination do you dare say, ‘or you.’

Who protects the guardian angels? Who defends the last defender on the wall? Malarkey replies, and you get the sense he isn’t looking for a reply. A pause, then: Tell me about them. The ghosts you carry.

You would never say their names aloud, not when it’s been only two weeks since you screamed their names until your throat turned hoarse, but it feels safe here, in this pretend conversation, so you think back: Renee and Anna. Two nurses I worked with in Bastogne. I was on the only hospital truck to make it into town before we were entirely cut off, and I helped them in a bombed-out church we converted to a hospital. They…

Before Bastogne, you took comfort in a singular truth: bombs aren’t discerning, they aren’t sentimental, and they kill without discretion. Fate blindly dealt hands to the men and women of this war—you win and cash out, you lose and all your money goes to the dealer—and it allowed you to move away from the still-warm corpses of the boys you couldn’t save. It allowed you to desperately grasp onto some confidence in your nursing abilities even as bombs rained down. Yet, after Bastogne…

I was sent out to find sheets to use as bandages. We were in a desperate way for bandages in those last few days, and I heard the whistling of bombs as I hurried back to the hospital, a big bundle of stained sheets in my arms. We’d need to boil them to sterilize them, and Anna had promised to have a pot waiting and ready for me when I got back. I was just down the street from the hospital, it…

You watched the bomb whistling down from the sky and you knew in that breathless instant, you knew with more surety than anything you’ve known before, that this shell wasn’t random. Names were painted on its sides—though how could the bomb factory workers have known their names?—and Fate dealt a rigged hand. A great plume rose from where the church stood, dust mixing with fire and spraying rubble. The sheets were dropped into the mud as you took off, running.

It was no use, and you knew it before you were pulled away from the rubble. There was no use in madly scrambling through the bricks, nails ripped off and bloodied, but you still had to try. The next day, when the German barricades were broken and reinforcements broke through, you were loaded onto a truck to return to your hospital unit. You swayed in the covered back of the truck, blinking, unsurprised, when Renee and Anna’s faces appeared in the shadows next to you.

But, even in your imagination, you couldn’t tell that part to Malarkey.

Yet, you are sure he understands—he would understand—your silence.

You give an extra spoonful of oatmeal for Buck’s breakfast; Constance gives you a battered copy of Evelyn Waugh, and you let Buck read it first; Doctor Schroder manages to commandeer a crate of Hershey’s chocolate bars and you slip one underneath Buck’s pillow before anyone else. Some part of you feels it’s your way of apologizing for always sitting at his side, hovering over him, but another part knows it far more selfish (a selfish hope that you showering him with special treatment, kindnesses, will somehow summon Malarkey back to Buck, back to the hospital tent, back to you.)

Constance notices on the fifth day of Buck’s stay. The girl has a sixth sense for gossip, or anything that might be spun into gossip. She sidles up to you as you sterilize a stitching needle, used on a lieutenant who promptly passed out when you made the first stitch. Constance had cleaned the skin around the stitches and, after sanitarily disposing of the bloodied cotton swabs, she says, “So. That Lieutenant Compton.”

You pink at the implication dripping in her voice, and you know you unwittingly affirmed her suspicions. She squeaks, “Oh, gosh, I thought so!” She checks over her shoulder, presumably at Buck, sitting on his cot and quietly talking about nothing at all with the man next to him. “He’s awfully handsome,” Constance says on a sigh.

Of course, she’s not wrong. Buck’s an all-American boy: golden hair and blue eyes and shoulders broad enough to cling to. He’s Helios, he’s Apollo, he’s Adonis—the pinnacle of radiant manhood—and you won’t deny it. Still, it makes you squirm, all queasy and knotted, at the thought of having feelings for Buck Compton. At being just like that desperate girl in those desperate letters, begging for him to write back and love her. It wasn’t that you felt superior to that girl. No. It was something else—but what?

“I don’t blame you, sis,” Constance is saying, ignorant to the thoughts swelling and crashing against the rocky coast of your brain. Her hip bumps yours, her wink conspiring. “Once he gets out of here, all repaired and good as new, I’d climb him like a tree if I were you.”

You can’t help a snort and smile.

Constance laughs merrily, all bright bells and twittering sparrows, and the men nearest the work table perk up and smile at her, as if her laugh is a flint stone sparking life in their souls. Focusing on arranging the surgical thread and needles, you hide your smile: Constance was good for these men. She brought a heart to the hospital tent.

And, as she moves away to continue her work, she leaves you with your thoughts.

Why does being regulated to the girl in the letters bother you so much? It isn’t that being attached to Buck (if only in Constance’s fabricated gossip) chafes you, no. Buck’s blue irises in your mind’s eye always blink and morph into the rich, soil brown of Malarkey’s eyes. And though you dare not label whatever you feel growing in your chest for Donald Malarkey, it certainly isn’t that. You wish you could articulate it to Constance without sounding crazed, you wish Doctor Schroder could diagnose you as deftly as he does the other patients. If you’re bluntly honest, though, you wish you could puzzle through it aloud with Malarkey.

He would understand.

Talking to Buck about Malarkey isn’t intentional.

Well, that’s not quite right.

You had thought about it for hours, mentally turning over how to broach the topic as you sat by his side. Every fiber of your being wanted to mention Malarkey but desperately didn’t want to all at once. Internally, you inspected every possible route the conversation could flow, and when you nearly convinced yourself to speak, the imagined conversation would take an unexpected turn and you would unconvince yourself again. As you sat, sewing and thinking, you felt the back of your neck prickle with the awareness of Constance throwing knowing looks at you. You ignore her.

Somehow, letting her think you liked Buck is easier. You don’t have to explain your thoughts orbiting around a sergeant serving on the frontlines with sadness coloring his face and heavying his eyes and how you wanted to let him hold you and you hold him until neither of you understood the meaning of sadness.

It’s this thought, occurring with a startling realization that shortens your breath and stills your thumb from worrying your icon of St. Jude, that finally prompts the words to tumble out. “What’s your favorite memory of Sergeant Malarkey? Something happy?”

Buck, propped up on a heap of Army-issue pillows, blinks at you once, twice. A smile, that smile only Malarkey manages to coax from him, appears. He hums in thought, arranging his hands on his stomach. “Well,” he drawls, stretching the word into multiple syllables. “We had three months back in England after D-Day and before Holland. Malarkey and another guy in our company, More, well, they took out an Army motorcycle for a bit of a joyride.” He snorts at the memory, and you smile along with him. The idea of Malarkey shooting down a road, his laughter caught up in the wind and the speed making him feel alive, makes your heart do something sweetly painful. “And he ran into our old CO—”

“The one who gave him hell for his last name?”

If Buck’s surprised you know this factoid, he doesn’t show it. He nods. “Yeah, him. I didn’t train with him, but by all accounts, Sobel was a real son of a bitch. So, Malarkey runs into him as we’re about to jump into Holland. The motorcycle is strapped to the back of a truck—Sobel’s a supply officer now, I guess—and Sobel knows, he fucking knows, that Malarkey is the one who took it. But, as cool as you please, Malarkey pretends he doesn’t know a damn thing, and Sobel doesn’t have any proof so can’t write him up.” Buck’s laughter is choppy, rusty from disuse, but it fills the hospital tent with warmth once it gets going.

You can’t help laughing along.

(And you know you’ll catch a full barrage from Constance about it, her lips curling into a smirk and her questions growing steadily more steeped in innuendo, but you don’t care. You know you’re not Buck’s girl, you’re not that girl in the letters, but you’re content to laugh along with him. There’s an old adage that laughter is the best medicine and, if it means you get a shred of information about Malarkey’s life beyond the war, well then, you’d agree.)

#donald malarkey imagine #band of brothers imagine #malarkey imagine #donald malarkey x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fic #friendship #angst #hurt/comfort #donald malarkey #band of brothers imagines #my writing

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shady-glasses · 6 years

Text

(31) Question For Your OTP - SeroKami

Is it SeroKami? KamiSero? Idk man. @tenseii told me to post this so they could read it so here you are!

Original Post

1. Who in your OTP is the serial butt-slapper and who is constantly getting their beautiful butt slapped?

You would think it's Kaminari? But it's actually Sero. A good slap on the butt after a good training session amongst bro's that leaves Kaminari flustered and red faced mayhaps?

2. Who wants to be immortal and who wants to die before they’re old?

Kaminari is ready to go okay, but Sero is like “death? Nah.. not, yknow, feeling that..”

3. Who smokes and who pulls the cigarette from between their lips every time they try to light one?

Kaminari tried to smoke once in high school to look cool, and Sero would put up a big fuss, which Kaminari actually appreciated because it gave him a perfect excuse to stop and, thank god, he actually hates smoking.

4. Who always has cold hands and who is always warming them up for them?

Sero is a skinny tol boi with zero circulation who always has freezing hands. Kami 'warms them up' (i.e Sero puts them up his shirt and uses his lower back for warmth while smiling as Kaminari shrieks)

5. Who plays candy crush in important meetings and who elbows them in the ribs to make them pay attention?

I'd say Kami, except for instead of candy crush, it's the minecraft pocket edition.

6. Who can fall asleep anywhere (and does) and who has to put them to bed?

I empathize with this cuz?? thats me af?? but I'd say Sero during exams. He probably stays up all night and crashes right after so Kaminari piggy back carries him back to the dorms, but not before drawing on his face.

7. Who is the genius procrastinator who wings every test but still comes away with straight As, and who takes preparation and conscientious work very seriously?

They both kinda stupid lol. But Kaminari is by far the one who tries to 'wing it' the most.

8. Who takes their coffee black and who likes it with milk and two sugars, getting called a pussy by Person A?

Sero doesn't even really like coffee, however, when he has it he takes it b l a c k because unlike SOME people,, hes not a pussy

9. Who initially seems shady but turns out to be a cinnamon bun, and who initially seems like a cinnamon bun but turns out to be shady?

Everyone in 1a thinks Sero is soooooo soft and sooooo friendly, and they almost don't believe the “one time he filled my shoes with whip cream at a sleep over” stories. And then Kaminari is just trying his best over here, drinking his respecting women juice, staying in his lane (most of the time).

10. Who moans and talks with their mouth full whenever they eat good food, and who tells them to stfu but can’t help laughing?

Kaminari is loud at everything he does and just doing that teenage boy thing where they moan and Sero is like “dude stop” and they make a bunch of over-exaggerated sex moans with a mouthful of cheeseburger and Sero is laughing and trying to cover his mouth like “OHMYGOODNESS, DUDE, STOP WE'RE IN PUBLIC!”

11. Who gives the bear hugs and who is always sidling up to them and snaking their arms around their waist?

Kaminari just like.. hugs.. okay.. like, he and Kirishima are chronic platonic cuddlers, but that doesn't mean he's had his fill of boyfriend hug time so

12. Who still buys juice boxes and fruit snacks to put in their lunch?

Kaminari FOR SURE. He may be a 22 year old pro hero with a real job, but fuck you fruit-by-the-foot still go just as fucking hard as they did when he was five so yes he's still going to eat them

13. Who packs the other’s lunch and who repays them in sexual favours?

You know Sero does the shopping, so that is def where the fruit snacks in Kami's lunch come from so, y'know, Kami has gotta show his appreciation somehow? ;) ;) ;)

14. Who leaves notes in the other’s lunch and who tells them they’re dumb (but secretly has a collection of every note Person A has ever written them)?

They both do! But not just in lunches, also on laptop screens, on the bathroom mirror, on the microwave, etc. Being pro heroes mean it's hard to find time to see each other even when they live together, so little notes get left out to show they were still thinking of the other.

15. Who unconsciously holds their breath the first time they kiss, and who pulls back and says, “Breathe…”?

Ohhhh def Kami, cuz lets be real, its 100% his first kiss, and he's really scared of fucking it up.

But it's short and goes fine, and is so much more perfect than he imagined, and he thought all first kisses were supposed to be awkward but? It wasnt? And all the emotions build in his chest and he's not quite ready to open his eyes yet because it's kind of a lot right now. And he can feel Sero's breath ghost over his lips as he run's a hand through the buzzed blonde hair at the back of his neck and tells him to, “Breath” with a little laugh.

16. Who gets arrested for a petty crime they committed by accident and who bails them out?

They heroes so probably no criminal records BUT Kami did get detained y police after a drunken fist fight with Mina in a denny's parking lot (long story, but she won).

17. Who grabs the other’s hand just as they’re getting out of bed and pulls them back under for cuddles?

Sero is def the “5 more minutes” kind of guy, and his boyfriend has, yknow, actually fat on his body, so hes w a r m, and so knew apartment law is he can't leave right now its officially illegal because Sero would freeze to death and that'd be murder

18. Who gets mad about something unrelated to Person B and punches the wall, and who patches it up and kisses it better?

Neither cuz thats a unhealthy habit yo, but have they taken blow's for each as pro heroes? Yes they have! Sero is probably more likely to take a hit, and shrug off any injury though.

19. Who has the plain black phone case and who ordered one with cat ears off ebay?

Kaminari thought the sleek black would be cool and edgy, but hes also clumsy, and has almost dropped it a LOT. So Sero buys it for him and Kami uses it just to spite him.

20. Who likes to drive with the music blaring and who is too shy to sing along?

They both blast their music, and when alone will sing along with each other (power ballad duets?) but with others Sero will usually only hum along as he's not the most confident in his voice.

21. Who’s the fantastic kisser and who has the beautiful eyes?

Sero is probably the better kisser, but they both think the other person has the prettier eyes. And yes, they have fought about it.

22. Who has the sunshine smile and who has the seductive gaze?

Sero has that smil, you know the one okay. And Kaminari “sex eyes” Denki doesn't have the most perfect teeth, but he has a whole lot of libido to make up for it lol.

23. Who gets offended by the intensity of the other’s crush on a celebrity?

Sero logically shouldn't be jealous of Briteny Spears but like.. how can he compete with that? It's Briteny Spears, she is far superior than him, he wouldn't stand a chance! So yeah he's a little bitter about it, and kinda wishes his boyfriend would pick a less pretty celebrity to crush on.

24. Who is embarrassed that they have to wear glasses sometimes and who wants them to wear them in bed?

Kaminari is that kind of guy who's mark's go up like, 20% after he gets glasses because “Wait, the write the notes on the board too?” or some shit. But glasses are kinda lame in his books, so he wears contacts, and tells literally no one about it at first. Sero likes them though! He thinks they’re cute.

25. Who cheats on the other then immediately begs for their forgiveness?

Sero: I dont want to hear it

Kami: BABE IT WAS JUST ONE NIGHT! I PROMISE!

Sero: Go cry to Briteny, cuz i honestly dont care

Kami: It was one concert! How could I pass up Britney Spears LIVE in concert?

26. Who is the jealous one and asks why the other was being so flirty all night, and who is oblivious to their own charms?

Sero is just nice okay? How was he supposed to know that girl at the side bar was flirting with him, he just thought SHE was being nice? He legitimately doesn't notice anything is wrong until he has a possessive hand around his waist and a lapful of his boyfriend to help him clue in.

27. Who orders a milkshake with their food and who orders a soda?

Tbh they broke, so they go splits and get a rootbeer float, because compromise

28. Who runs their battery down to 1% and who feels the need to charge theirs at 80%?

Kaminari is a walking power outlet so he is fearless when it comes to phone battery like “yeah I can make a phone call with 3% it's fine” and Sero over-charges his phone so know the battery drains super fast now.

29. Who has the excellent singing voice and is always singing around the house (and for Person B), but has no interest in going professional?

Kaminari actually has an amazing singing voice, probably because he has been singing for as long as he can remember. The pro hero life has always been the life for him though, so he'll stick to small 1 person concerts for his boyfriend while making eggs.

30. Who would rather be barefoot if the setting is appropriate, and who has the huge and spectacular shoe collection (possibly also socks)?

Kaminari may be a fashionably challenged preteen but he glows up okay? So he has WAY to many shoes than he needs, and Sero does not care for it. Sero has like, 5 pairs of shoes tops, and ofc he doesn't wear shoes in the apartment because he's not an animal.

31. Who takes their liquor on the rocks and who likes it neat?

I feel like after the 'fighting mina in a denny's parking lot' thing Kaminari isn't much one for hard liquors anymore anyways. So Sero is way more the kind of high class scotch guy.

#serokami #my writing #mine #kamisero #kaminari denki #sero hanta #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #alcohol tw #smoking tw

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buttsonthebeach · 6 years

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For DWC: cards and letters and stationary

Okay, so I know it isn’t Friday, but I’m not going to be around for DWC tomorrow, and I had an idea for this prompt the second you said it, and I finally wrote it and got too excited to wait. Whoops?

This is slightly canon-divergent for the Merrill romance, because it didn’t feel natural for my Hawke to ask Merrill to move in after that first night. You can read more about these two in Who Tells Your Story, where I will post this at some point.

Pairing: Marian Hawke x Merrill

Rating: Explicit for sexy times (although they are fairly brief)

Summary: Marian wakes up the morning after her first night with Merrill, and grapples with the idea of a new beginning.

When Marian awoke at Merrill’s side it was with a deep, cold dread. Like being at the bottom of a well. She knew what it was like at the bottom of a well because she and Carver and Bethany ended up in one once, although saying they’d “ended up” there made it sound like it wasn’t on purpose, which it was. They climbed down and when Marian looked up to see how far away the top was, and then down to see how small the twins were, she knew there was no way they were getting out on their own. Their father had to levitate them out, in fact, sweating the whole while, their mother keeping a watchful eye out for anyone who might see him.

“Don’t get yourself into situations with no way out,” Father said, when they were free, his grip hard on Bethany and Marian’s hands alike. Carver trailed behind with Mother. “Do you hear me?”

Merrill was still asleep, lying on her back, her lips parted. She was beautiful. Marian had noticed that before, of course. But in an abstract way. Not in a way that twisted her up inside. She is beautiful, and she is here, and she said she loved me. And last night I told her that this didn’t have to be the end. What does that mean? Why did I say it so quickly? How did Merrill take it?

Hence the deep, cold dread. The sense that she was at the bottom of that well again.

Marian rose from the bed slowly and carefully, rearranging the covers after she left, tucking them just a little around Merrill. She stopped just short of brushing back her hair. She stood there a moment, and then walked out into the hall, working through her thoughts, trying to understand them.

She used to help Bethany sneak into the chantry in Lothering sometimes, and once they’d heard an angry sister declare to a mother weeping for a son who’d been taken to the Circle that not only was the tower his place, but that they should castrate him when he got there, just to be sure there wouldn’t be more like him.

“Maybe you and I should never have children,” Bethany said quietly on their walk home.

“That’s absurd,” Marian said, because she suspected it was what Bethany wanted to hear.

“It does run in families, though. Look at us. Look at Aunt Revka, and all of her children. It’s in the Hawke blood and the Amell blood. And there is some truth to what she said about the Chant of Light.”

It. That was how they always referred to magic in public - and even, sometimes, when they were alone, as they were then, walking up the dirt path.

“But only some, Beth,” Marian insisted, pretending the words had struck no chord in her. “Imagine if Mother and Father thought that way. There’d be no you - and you are the best person I know.”

Bethany smiled at her then. Her smile always made Marian think of summer and sunflowers. Even now, standing in her dim, too-big Hightown house, where Bethany had never set foot, and never would.

That was some part of the dread. Marian protested that day, but privately, she doubted she would ever marry and have children of her own. She knew what the rest of her life as an apostate would look like. She did not resent her father and mother for that life - the running and the fear - but if she had the choice, she wouldn’t live that way. And she wouldn’t run the very risk that Bethany described that day. She wouldn’t bring a child into that life.

Of course, it did occur to her shortly after that decision that she might marry a woman, instead. Her first love had been a girl, a farmer’s daughter when she was fifteen. Wren. Marian could still picture her heart-shaped face perfectly. Maybe that was it. Maybe she would marry a farmer’s daughter with a heart-shaped face and they would adopt orphans given up to the Chantry - and Marian would live every day looking over her shoulder, praying no templars ever came to take her away from her children, that she never fell prey to a demon while sleeping next to her wife -

So that was part of the deep, dreadful feeling she had, then. Marian had never expected to fall in love again. And she hadn’t. She’d found several men and women attractive since then - she’d bedded some of them - but she hadn’t loved any of them.

And she knew, going down the stairs, replaying the events of the night before - Merrill’s big green eyes, the way she stayed so close the whole time they made love, the way she kissed her, savoring every breath - she knew this meant something. This wasn’t Isabela, who’d come in here like a hurricane, dropping knives and clothing left and right, never giving Marian a moment to think or feel anything other than more.

And she wasn’t Fenris. Fenris who’d smile at her and shiver when their hands touched as they practiced his letters, and whose voice grew louder and louder each time she tried to defend the reason she’d let an apostate go or lied to a templar or took Anders’ side. Fenris who’d finally looked at her one evening, a month before, when they’d been saying good night and she’d sidled up to him and angled her face up, a clear invitation for a kiss that would taste like the wine they’d shared, a kiss that would soothe away the argument they’d just had about Anders and Justice, and said:

“It’s never going to work between us, is it?”

She knew they couldn’t pretend anymore.

Wasn’t that part of the attraction to him, anyway? Knowing, on some level, that it was never going to work? That he was too principled, too wounded by mages and magic, to really fall for a mage who never said what she was really thinking if she thought it would disturb the peace?

Marian paused by the table in the hall where Bodahn left her letters and began to leaf through them. On top of them was a note from Bodahn himself, saying that he, Sandal, and Orana had gone out to the market together. Beneath that: trash. Trash. A plea for assistance. A clearly false advertisement for some sort of - male sexual enhancement. Another plea for assistance. Trash. A bill she would show to Varric before paying, because he’d insisted on becoming involving in her finances. Trash.

Marian went through the cards and letters and let herself think, until the thought floated to the surface. Merrill was not Isabela or Fenris, and that was why Marian was afraid.

Because when she turned and looked at the front door that Merrill came through the night before, her eyes wide and afraid - when she looked at the wall that she’d pressed Merrill up against when they kissed - when she thought back to all of the moments she’d missed over the years, the way Merrill looked at her, how stupid she’d been not to notice - she knew this meant something.

She’d known it the night before, or she would not have gone upstairs with her.

The stairs creaked then, and Marian turned to see Merrill standing on them, dressed only in a long white shirt - one of Marian’s own. Marian’s heart beat faster. There was something guarded in Merrill’s eyes. Shit - of course.

“I’m sorry,” Marian said at once. “I didn’t mean for you to wake up alone. I was going to the kitchen to bring us some breakfast.”

So quick to lie, Marian.

“Oh, it’s fine. I am an early riser anyway. Being Dalish, and all that. Always up with the sun.” Merrill smiled, but it was a weak smile, and her words were strangely clipped - not flowing and tumbling over themselves, the way they usually did. Marian’s heart sank. Merrill approached anyway, stopping a careful distance away from both the desk and Marian. Then she looked down at her bare feet, curling her toes in the expensive rug.

“Merrill -”

“I know last night meant something different for you than it did for me,” Merrill said, quick now, like usual. “Of course it did. I’ve been in love with you for years, Marian. And I know you aren’t in love with me. You said last night that this didn’t have to be the end but - if you are having second thoughts about me it could be.” She took a breath, and looked up, and her eyes were resolute, but there was something sad in the shape of her mouth. “I am sure it will take you some time to decide what you feel for me - if you feel anything - and that’s perfectly fine and I only wanted to say that -”

Marian took Merrill’s face in both her hands and kissed her.

Marian kissed her because it wasn’t Carver or Bethany that suggested they climb down into the well that long-ago day.

It was her.

Because under all the carefully manicured layers that Marian wrapped herself in now, she was still that child who knew an opportunity she couldn’t refuse - and leapt.

Merrill made a startled noise against her lips - but then she parted them, and Merrill followed suit, and they were warm and close together and the soft lap of Merrill’s tongue against her own made Marian’s breath catch. She fisted her hands in the loose cotton of Merrill’s shirt, shivered when Merrill’s own hands found their way to her back. They were both out of breath when they parted.

“You’re right,” Marian said. She kept Merrill close. “We are in different places. You got a bit of a head start on me. But I want to see where this leads, Merrill. I meant what I said last night. I did.”

Merrill’s smile was a little like Bethany’s. Summer and sunflowers and everything growing and new.

Marian kissed her again. And again. And again, through Merrill’s delighted giggles, as she pushed her towards the table and then helped her up onto it, sweeping the pile of letters and cards aside.

“Stop laughing,” Marian said, pushing the wide collar of the shirt down, leaving sucking kisses along Merrill’s collarbone. “It makes it hard to kiss you.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll kiss me somewhere else instead,” Merrill said, and her smile was wicked now, so Marian sank to her knees and parted Merrill’s legs and went to worship between them. She got her head underneath the hem of the shirt and saw Merrill there, already bare, and bit her lip against the flood of heat in her own belly at the sight.

“Here? Now?” Merrill didn’t sound hesitant. Marian pushed the shirt back anyway, all the way up Merrill’s stomach. She met her eyes, and then planted a kiss on each of Merrill’s thighs, right near those tiny, perfect whorls of dark hair.

“I think we both waited long enough.”

Merrill was noisy with a tongue between her legs, Marian discovered. And strong. She quickly got one hand in Marian’s hair and tugged whenever she wandered away from her clit. She broke out in elven when Marian sealed her lips around that pearl and sucked. But she didn’t come until Marian took one hand away from where it had been playing between her own legs, teasing her own swollen sex, and pressed two fingers up inside Merrill instead - and then she finished silently, except for a few high, needy noises at the biggest peaks, when her cunt was tight around Marian’s fingers. Marian felt her chest tighten, watching her come down from her high, seeing how her whole body rippled with it, how her mana buzzed and zapped around them both, just brushing against Marian’s own. She was beautiful, and she was here.

Later, in the kitchen, they sat together and had bread and cheese and cured meats, and talked idly, and Marian felt something settle into her chest. A little fear, maybe. But excitement, too, at the sight of Merrill in the morning, wearing her shirt, hair mussed, talking about what they should do that day. This was a beginning. This was something real.

Bodahn commented on the spilled mail when he, Sandal, and Orana returned later. She and Merrill hid their smiles in their tea, grinning at each other over the porcelain rims.

“I’m sorry, Bodahn,” Marian said. “But I’m afraid it may happen again.”

Merrill couldn’t stop laughing, and Marian found herself already planning new ways to earn that sound.

#dragon age 2 fanfic #f!hawke x merrill #hawke x merrill #who tells your story #beach writes #marian hawke #merrill

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themarionetteanovel · 3 years

Text

Chapter Sixty-Three - Pointing Fingers

Kevin wished he’d never looked at his phone, never spotted Claire on his step, and was instead at Allison’s place, making love to her once more. Just as well, he supposed. It was only a matter of time before he had to face this eventuality. He trailed a few paces behind her. She seemed to need to be alone with her thoughts, so he let her be. Once they’d reached the trail, she’d occasionally check over her shoulder to see if he was still following. Yet she never waited for him to catch up. He knew where she was taking him anyway. He’d been there before. After all, it was on his property.

She slowed as they drew nearer to the path leading to the clearing. She stopped, letting him catch up to her. He held her to his side and gave her a light squeeze. “Are you all right?”

“She’s going to hate me,” Allison sighed, stiffening.

“Why, because you and I have gotten together?”

“Partly that.”

He was glad she was no longer saying they were just friends. She dug her toe into the soft dirt and said, “I feel like I’m violating her confidence by bringing you here.”

“Someone is dead, murdered. My ex-girlfriend, who may have cheated on me and played head games, but I still loved her. And I’m pretty sure Dave was responsible, and that Clare’s since found out and is covering up for him.” He’d been tempted to let her think Claire had been playing her, but even he wasn’t that manipulative.

“I know.”

“I know you fancy her, but even if she isn’t straight, even if she is into women like you hope, what’s the likelihood of her coming out anytime soon? Close to zero, is my bet.”

She stayed silent, her wide set eyes glistening in the pale moonlight. He continued, “You know what it’s like, that first time with someone of the same sex, where it’s better than anything you imagined possible and then you hate yourself the next day. Perhaps you convinced yourself you were forced into it, or you were taken advantage of while drunk, or it was only the novelty of the experience that turned you on, the taboo, not that you lust over people with the same equipment below the waist.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I crushed on women years before I went to bed with one. And I’ve slept with a lot of straight women who were curious and nothing more. I can tell.”

“We’re talking about Claire,” he said kindly, recalling Dave’s complaints. “Small town girl, with her first ever boyfriend who she’d been hoping to marry and have children with. Until you came along, sleeping with another woman probably didn’t enter her mind.”

“Can we come back here tomorrow?” Her voice was shaky, as was the light coming from the flashlight she held.

“We should be almost there, shouldn’t we?”

“I can’t remember where the other path is.”

“But you said there was blood inside that place. Was there any …”

“Blood,” she said absently. She’d turned so her back was facing him, her arms limp at her sides. “Enough blood to have soaked into the ground, she’d said.”

“Let’s head back, then.” They probably should. If Claire was leading police to Sophie’s body, they’d probably search the mansion as well. They’d find the blankets and air mattress, the burnt-out candles, and the leftover takeout containers he and Allison had eaten from. And what would Claire tell the authorities, especially if she was angry about he and Allison being together? Though if he returned to clear everything out and was caught, that would only appear more suspicious. He stood, frozen, his mind blank.

He heard a sniffle and realized she was sobbing. She’d sidled further away from him.

“Allison.” His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet forest.

“Claire never thought Dave had anything to do with her death, you know. And I don’t think it was just denial on her part. The only way she knew about Sophie at all was because she never believed Dave’s death was accidental. She believed somebody killed Sophie and then killed him somehow and made it look like he’d frozen to death or whatever, hoping Dave would be blamed for her murder if her body was ever found.”

“That’s possible,” he conceded. “Such a plan sounds absurdly complicated and dependent on myriad factors outside of one’s control, but I suppose anything’s possible.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were glassy with tears, her cheeks were slick. “You could have killed them too. Both of them.”

“What?”

Before he had time to react, she began sprinting along the trail. He was about to chase after her and then thought better of it. Chasing her would only frighten her. Let her cool off and come to her senses. She’d probably head home via the riverfront, and perhaps drop by Claire’s place on the way first. He doubted Claire would be home. If he went to his car, he should be able to head her off somewhere on Main Street on her way back to her house. He turned around, switched on his phone to light the trail, and began jogging back to the mansion.

#fiction #new adult fiction #mystery fiction #cosy mystery #mystery novel #small town setting #abandoned mansion #abandoned building #antique store #dark secrets #family feud #whodunnit #marionette #puppeteer #missing person #unsolved death #glbt #books #writing

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its-negans-lucille · 7 years

Text

Blood Rose - Part One

THIS HAS BEEN REPOSTED

Masterlist

Prompt: Can you do something with either Negan or Daryl and the reader where the reader has a secret crush on him and she leaves him little drawings of him and flowers and poems and it secretly becomes his fav part of the day. One day she accidentally gets herself caught by him somehow, and you can go from there. (: Ships: Negan x Reader Words: 1,640 Warnings: Curses, suggestive language, creepy Dwight

***

You looked at the blood red rose in your hand as you stood before the door. You knew it was silly and immature but you were shy and you didn’t know how else to show him that you cared. You fiddled with the petals absently, you were careful not to break any off from the rose.

It had taken your months to find rose seeds and it had taken a lot of effort and bribery to keep the mini-farm under your bed a secret. But here you were, holding the fruits of your labour.

You suddenly heard footsteps echoing down the corridor and you quickly stored the rose behind your back and leaned against the wall nonchalantly. You held up your hand and pretended to be examining your nails which were chipped slightly. Three people rounded the corner; at the forefront of them was Dwight. A smooth smile slipped onto Dwight’s face as he saw you.

“Ah, what do we have here…” Dwight said as he stood before you, his hands in his front pockets.

You and Dwight had fucked once and now he seemed to believe he had some claim to you, which he most curtaining did not. You gripped the rose a little tighter as Dwight sidled up to you so that your breath intermingled with his.

“What’re you doing out here, sweetheart?” Dwight said as he pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from behind your ear. It was all that you could do to not flinch.

“Nothing.” You answered in a cool voice.

“Well, it’s getting dark out so you best be getting back to bed. You don’t want Negan to find that you were out after curfew, do you?” Dwight said as he searched your face. His breath spelt rancid as your breathed it in. You felt a shiver go down your spine as Dwight said Negan. It was all you could do to keep a heat from rising to your cheeks.

“I’ll go to my room in a second.” You said dismissively to Dwight as you looked him dead in the eyes. You saw him lick his lips and nod, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“Alright, Darlin’, you be careful now.” He said as he leaned back from you. There were still two men flanking him, watching with boredom.

He began walking down the corridor and you felt your heartrate slowly go back to normal. You waited until you could no longer hear his echoing footsteps. You pulled the rose out from behind your back and caressed a petal. You placed it carefully at the foot of the door, making sure it was visible enough so that Negan would not step on it.

You pulled out a piece of paper that was slightly crumbled. You tried your best to flatten it out so that it was smooth; when satisfied you placed it beside the rose. You looked at the piece of paper before you folded it. On the paper was a meticulously drawn, realistic picture of Negan. You couldn’t do much, but you prized yourself on being able to draw. The facial hair was a bitch but you got through it by imagining what it would feel like for that facial hair to be brushing between your legs.

You folded the paper carefully and replaced it beside the rose, you stepped back to admire your handy work. A small smile danced on your lips.

You decided that it was finally time to go. Knocked briskly on the door and ran as fast as your feet could carry you around the other corner. You let out an involuntary giggle at how insane everything was. You quickly calmed yourself down and walked back to your room, a small smile on your face.

***

Negan was sitting on a cream, leather armchair watching a DvD of ‘Friends’ when there was a knock on his door. He rolled his head on his neck as he slowly stood up. He picked up Lucille and held her at his side as he sidled toward the door lazily. He wondered who would be coming to his room at this hour.

“Now this better be good…” His voice trailed off as he saw that there was no one at the door. He frowned and leaned over the doorframe, clutching Lucille behind his back. There was no one in the corridor or anyone in his immediate facility. He was about to close the door again when he saw that there was something at the base of the entrance way.

A rose and a folded piece of paper.

He frowned and looked out of the door again to check to see if there was anyone was attempting to prank him, because if they were Lucille would have a lot to say about it.

He picked up the rose and the paper and strode back into his room, making sure to shut the door behind him. He sat down on the leather chair that he had recently vacated and placed the rose on a table situated beside him. He paused ‘Friends’ and examined the paper in his hands. He looked it over a few times before finally, carefully, unfolding it.

What he saw made his lips part ever so slightly in awe. It was himself. A portrait of him which looked almost like a photo. He flipped the paper over quickly, trying to find a sign of who had written this and gone to this much trouble but there was no signature. He was so determined that, in fact, he opened the door again to check outside if there was an accompanying note. There was none.

He sat down once more and placed down the paper and swiftly picked up the rose. He caressed the petals with a feather light touch. He placed the rose under his nose so that he could take in the scent, he breathed it in heavily and sighed. He decided that in the morning he was going to make a little visit to his wives and ask if any of them had sent it. He wanted to congratulate the person who did send it since as a romantic man himself, he wouldn’t have been able to do a better job.

***

Negan walked through the door that led into the small, separate block which all of his wives lived in. There was a small and well-furnished foyer room which had a soft couch, a box television and a few chairs and cushions. There were rooms that lead off from the main foyer: the dormitory, where all of the wives slept, the kitchen, and finally, the fuck room.

It was the most efficient way, Negan found, to run things here.

“Hello Ladies.” Negan said with a smile.

There were about five women sitting in the foyer. One of them –Quinn- was lounging lazily watching the TV. Two women –Sophie and Amelia- were painting each other’s nails and talking about which film star –if they had the choice- they would fuck. Finally Amy and Sherry were reading magazines.

Quinn and Sherry bother ignored Negan while the other three went bouncing up to him, jumping up and down like excited puppies.

“Now, now. There’s enough of me to go around.” Negan smiled as he entwined his arms around the women.

“Finally come to give us some attention, eh?” Quinn said as she finally looked up at Negan, she had an annoyed and frustrated tone of voice. Negan held a hand to his chest and gasped in mock offence.

“I have been treating you women like damn Queens!” Negan pronounced loudly. “Haven’t I girls?” He said as he looked to the three women who were positively throwing themselves at him, using all of their assets to attempt to get Negan to quench a thirst.

“Yes, daddy.” All three of them said in sickly sweet tones. Negan let out a gruff laugh.

“Now, I actually came here to ask you if any one of you fine women had written yours truly a little note.” Negan fished out of his back pocket the drawing and held it up so that they could all see.

“Oh, I did it!” Said Amelia as she twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“No you didn’t! You were here all night last night!” Said Amy, indignantly. Immediately Amy and Amelia started arguing loudly about who had been where and when.

“Tut, tut, tut. Ladies, ladies!” he said loudly, silencing the argument. “So, none of you did it?” Negan said bemusedly as he looked at the women. They all shook their head. “Hm.” He said thoughtfully.

“Who cares!? Why don’t you have some fun with us?” Sophie said as she bit her lip and dragged a finger down Negan’s chest. “You can have me, Amy and Amelia at the same time if you want.” Sophie said with a seductive smile.

“No matter how much of an appetizing offer that is…” Negan kissed down the Sophia’s neck getting a small moan from her. “I can’t.” He said as he unlatched himself from the women.

“What?! Why?” Amy said in a disappointed tone.

“That is for me to know, and you to… not know?” Negan said with a smile as he backed out of the room. “That’ll be all for now, ladies!” He shut the door to the women cursing his name.

And his dick.

***

THANK YOU FOR READING!

Have a wonderful day!

(Loved this prompt by the way!)

@negans-network

#Negan #Negan x Reder #Negan TWD #TWD Negan #TWD #The Walking Dead NEgan #Negan The Walking Dead #The Walking Dead

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Mile high chapter 2

Javier had been shocked and hurt when Stephan had chosen the latter. He’d been giving Stephan the silent treatment ever since, avoiding him at parties like this. He’d even left the room at the sight of Stephan for several months after the breakup. Stephan had been crushed by the whole thing.

I had understood that Javier was hurt badly, but I still thought he’d been an a**hole about the breakup.

Still, I’d been upset about the breakup as well. Stephan had never looked at any guy the way he looked at Javier, and I’d really hoped, at the beginning, that the relationship would work out for them.

Javier saw me staring at him, and his smiled died a quick death. He’d always been polite and courteous with me, but I’d sensed that I made him wary. Not a lot of people understood the relationship between Stephan and I.

Javier surprised me by striding to me and enveloping me in a soft hug. “I’m so happy to see you well, Selena.”

I hugged him back automatically. He didn’t let go for some strange reason.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” he whispered in my ear.

I blinked, meeting Stephan’s sheepish eyes over Javier’s shoulder.

“Why would I hate you?” I asked him quietly. He’d thrown me for a loop.

“For being such a bastard to Stephan for so long. My heart was totally broken, but that’s no excuse for the way I treated him. And I wasn’t exactly nice to you. I stopped speaking to you as well, even though none of it was your fault. Stephan even tells me that you defended me, up until I threw a fit at that Valentine’s party and embarrassed myself.”

Javier had been on our crew for the month when he and Stephan had started seeing each other. I had never even given a thought to the fact that Javier hadn’t spoken to me either, since the breakup. All things considered, I had just expected it.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I was jealous of you. I had myself half-convinced that something was going on between the two of you, and that was why Stephan couldn’t seem to commit to being gay.”

I stiffened. He hugged me tighter, though his hold was still soft. I doubted that the slender man had it in him to be rough.

“I know. Crazy, right?” Javier continued. “But me and Stephan have been talking again. Please, tell me you’re okay with it.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t really sure what to think. Javier’s about-face was just so sudden and unexpected, and Stephan hadn’t said a word. I had just barely caught up with the fact that he wasn’t seeing Melvin anymore.

“Yes, of course. I’m not Stephan’s keeper, contrary to popular belief.”

He kissed my forehead, pulling back to look at me. “I know, but you’re his family. I just want us to be cool.”

His eyes were earnest and pleading now, far from the cool way they usually looked. It gave me hope.

Perhaps he just acted cool, to hide his feelings. I could well understand that.

I smiled at him. It was stiff, but not for lack of effort. “Yes. Okay. I want whatever makes Stephan happy. Always.”

Javier nodded emphatically, finally stepping away from me. “Good. Great. Stephan was worried you wouldn’t like us seeing each other again.”

I sent Stephan a baffled look. He was still watching us, looking distressed.

“He should know better,” I said.

Javier moved back to Stephan. I was floored by what happened next. Stephan threw an arm over Javier’s shoulders, messing up his hair playfully. He released the smaller man almost instantly, but it was still the most affectionate thing I’d ever seen him do in public with another man.

For some reason, I felt my eyes getting moist.

Stephan caught my eye, walking over to me. He pushed me into his chest, leaning down to speak into my ear. “Are you really okay with this?”

“What kind of a question is that?” I asked, my voice muffled against his pale orange polo. “And why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

He was running a hand up and down my back soothingly. “It was just weird timing. I kept meaning to, but things have been so crazy. I could never find the right time. He actually called me because he heard you’d been hurt, and he wanted to make sure we were both okay. That’s sweet, right?”

I pushed back, nodding at him. “What about your…issues?”

He swallowed, hard. “Javier and I talked about it. And I realized he has a very good point. I don’t have to make an announcement to the world. I don’t need a coming-out ball, yanno? But I don’t need to lie about it anymore, either. I can just live my life. I don’t owe any explanations to anybody. I always said I just wanted my private life private, but I’m beginning to see that there was more to it. And I have nothing to be ashamed of, right?”

He had tried to make it a statement, but I still heard the question in there. I gripped his arms, hard. “Not a thing. I’m so proud of you, Stephan.”

He squeezed my arm. We avoided eye contact for a long minute, both blinking back embarrassing tears.

Finally, composed, he just nodded, heading back to stand near Javier. He gripped the other man’s shoulder briefly before folding his arms across his chest, listening to whatever Jessa was ranting about.

I felt a little in shock about Stephan’s sudden, drastic change of heart. But it was a good shock.

I watched the two men for several minutes, dazed by the change in Stephan. It wasn’t full on PDA, but he kept playfully poking Javier in the chest, or tugging on a lock of his hair. Javier kept his hands carefully to himself, but he was giving Stephan the warmest, sweetest looks. I thought it was beautiful.

Murphy and Damien were the next to join our group, and made the rounds, hugging everyone. I realized that our little group had grown rather large and loud.

I searched the spacious lounge, thinking that Justin might have a hard time spotting me in such a large group, but I saw no sign of him.

I did spot Melissa across the room. She was sitting by the bar with Captain Peter. She was wearing a skin-tight red dress, staring at our group sullenly. I wondered, a little cattily, why she insisted on wearing colors that clashed with her hair. I mentally chastised myself. She was an unpleasant person, but that was no excuse for sinking to her level.

I gave her a little wave when our eyes met, resolving to at least be polite since she was a member of our crew for at least another month. She just nodded back, then looked away. At least she hadn’t flipped me off.

I focused back on our growing group as we were joined by two more.

It was Judith and Marnie. They’d been on our crew a few months back. They were inseparable party girls. Judith had long black hair, and Marnie was a platinum blond. They were both very short with great figures and cute faces. They sort of reminded me of naughty pixies. Half-drunk naughty pixies at the moment.

I remembered that they often introduced themselves to men at bars as Ivanna Humpalot and Alotta Vag**a. They rarely went back to their rooms alone, sometimes even sharing men with each other. They were a funny pair, but not for the faint of heart. Stephan and I had been at Judith’s twenty-first birthday party about two months ago. It had been crazy. She’d made out with at least three men that I’d seen, and dragged two of them to her hotel room.

Marnie was a year older than Judith, just twenty-two. I was older than both girls, but the two of them had me beat by a lot of years in experience. They both thought any woman who had lasted to fifteen with their virginity intact was a prude. I didn’t imagine they even had a word for someone who had lasted until age twenty-three, like I had.

Judith squealed in delight when she saw me. She rushed over and hugged me.

“I heard about the attack. How are you doing?” she nearly shouted.

I hugged her back stiffly, wishing she hadn’t spoken so loudly. “Good. How are you?”

She cast a sidelong glance in Damien’s direction.

“How much you wanna bet I’ll wake up in Damien’s bed tomorrow?” she whispered. “Then I’ll be good. Marnie hooked up with him a few months ago. She says he’s hung. The last guy I hooked up with was a real disappointment. It had to have given me some like good c*ck charma, right?”

Her words surprised a laugh out of me. I hadn’t known about the hook-up between Marnie and Damien, but I wasn’t surprised.

“TMI, Judith,” I told her with a smile. “I have to work with him every week.”

Marnie had sidled up next to us, squeezing between us to hug me softly. “If Judith goes after him tonight, I’m joining them,” she said with a wink. “I swear to god, if any man can handle two women at once, it’s him. He’s a marathon man.”

Judith wrinkled her nose at Marnie. “I never get the really good ones to myself. She always wants a piece.”

I didn’t even try to hide my laugh. She was complaining, but her tone was more amused than upset.

Damien caught my eye from a few feet away. He didn’t walk over, just gave me wide, questioning eyes. I was sure he was worried what they were telling me about him. I just smirked at him. He covered his face with his hands, and I swore I could hear his pained groan. I didn’t feel real bad for him, since I was willing to bet he’d end up with the feisty girls by the end of the night.

“I heard a rumor that you lost your V-card. Finally. And to some super hot rich guy. Is it true?”

I grimaced. The rumor mill was alive and well, and apparently held some truth. “Yes. Please don’t say it so loud.”

I was still mortified that the two girls even knew I’d been a virgin. They had guessed it, strangely enough, considering I knew few people who knew less about being virgins themselves. We’d been in Judith’s hotel room, watching some romantic comedy on a layover, when the two girls had started in on their favorite sex stories. They’d asked me to share, and I’d just blushed. They had guessed, with no little disgust, that I was a virgin. I had to give them a firm talking to when they wouldn’t stop trying to find men to relieve me of the ‘problem’. Marnie had even volunteered to lend me her on-again off-again boyfriend at the time. I had not taken the offer well. I’d gotten over it, though, knowing she was a little oblivious to other people’s feelings when it came to things like that.

“Well, congratulations. Was he any good? Sometimes the really good-looking ones are horrible in bed.

It’s that whole, I’m so hot I don’t even have to try, mentality. Yanno?” Judith elbowed Marnie playfully in the ribs while she spoke.

I just shook my head, wide-eyed. I most certainly didn’t know anything about that. I couldn’t imagine there was a man on the planet who was better in bed. I didn’t particularly want to share that information, though.

“So he was good? Your first time was good?” Marnie pried.

I nodded, very uncomfortable. The sharing personal information thing was so not for me.

“On a scale of one to ten, what was he?”

I sighed. They were not gonna let up. “How would, ‘I want him to f**k me to death, and he just might’, rate on that scale?”

The women hooted with laughter, but their laughter died as they looked up and to my left.

I felt a familiar firm hand grip my nape. Soft lips that I was well acquainted with kissed my cheek.

“That’s a heartwarming assessment, Love,” Justin murmured against my skin.

CHAPTER FIVE

I felt heat suffuse my cheeks in a rush, and a perverse shiver of pure pleasure rock my body.

Typical Justin timing. Showing up at the most disarming moment possible.

Judith and Marnie were just staring at him, stunned speechless for a long moment.

I turned to look up at him. His hand fell from my nape and we just stared at each other. I drank in the sight of him.

He looked… wonderful. He was dressed in a bright blue polo with dark washed, fitted jeans, and navy running shoes. It was the ‘Justin’s supermodel take on casual’, I thought. Even his casual looked too sexy for public. I’d never seen him in jeans before. He made them look sinful. I saw just the hint of the top of his tan chest at his collar, and had to stifle my urge to check my mouth for drool. His caramel- colored hair just brushed that collar, and I clenched my hands to keep them at my sides. I wanted to touch him. But touching always led to too much, too fast, with us.

I met his vivid blue eyes. They were intense and unsmiling. His eyes dropped down to my earrings and then to the collar at my throat. His jaw clenched, then unclenched. He ran his tongue over his teeth. My whole body seemed to clench.

“Thank you for wearing those. It was…considerate of you,” he said in his most polite, if hoarse, voice.

He swallowed, shoving his hands into his pockets, then folding them across his chest. It made his upper arms bulge through his fitted shirt distractingly. His chest and arms looked bigger than I remembered, the muscles bulging as though he’d been lifting weights excessively. The material of his shirt looked so soft it made me itch to run my fingers over it. But that light touch would turn to a stroke. And then I would stroke harder to feel the resilient flesh beneath… Justin’s eyes were running down my body now, not for the first time. His eyes were on my very bare legs, then my cl**vage.

“Your legs are outrageous. You make that mini skirt look illegal.” He looked back at my face, finally.

“You look beautiful.” He took a deep, harsh breath, staring at me. It was gratifying. “But isn’t that outfit a bit sexy for a work function?”

I wrinkled my nose at him, then pointedly looked around the room. This was Vegas, and we were in a bar full of flight attendants. My attire was downright modest compared to some of the outfits I saw.

“Did you want me to f**k you in front of all of your co-workers? Because that’s all I can think about, when I see you in that outfit.” His voice was pitched low, but I gasped at his words.

“This was supposed to be a short, casual meeting,” I told him, a hint of accusation in my voice.

He took another deep breath, looking around the room, and away from me. I watched as he counted to ten silently.

“I missed you,” he said finally.

I had missed him too, but I couldn’t make myself tell him that. He still unsettled me too much for that kind of honesty. Instead, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “You were late.”

His jaw clenched again. “Yes. I was in my car, in the middle of the most annoying business call of my life. I think I may need to fire my manager in New York. I didn’t see you arrive, and lost track of time. I apologize. I didn’t want to miss a second of our time together, which made the phone call particularly annoying.”

“It’s okay. We got here early, for once, so I was just surprised to see that you weren’t early, for once.”

“Introduce us,” Judith said loudly.

I wasn’t surprised. The two party girls had shown a surprising amount of self-control in letting us talk quietly for as long as we had.

I turned, giving the women a rueful smile. Jessa moved closer, and we suddenly had the attention of the entire group.

I went around the group, naming all of the people that Justin hadn’t yet met. I touched Justin’s arm lightly as I finished. “Everyone, this is my friend, Justin,” I said, feeling awkward. I had no idea what to call him.

“Boyfriend,” Justin corrected, and I raised a brow at him. I didn’t know what he was, but it didn’t seem like he could call himself that. “Very serious boyfriend,” he elaborated with a smirk.

I thought I knew what he was doing. He wanted to talk to me in private, and he knew that giving himself that title would antagonize me enough to draw me into an argument. I wasn’t going to bite, though, I told myself resolutely. And he was overly possessive. He would say anything to warn other men off.

I sent Damien a glance. He was watching us, his mouth tight. I glanced away quickly, wanting to avoid drawing attention to the fact that he was staring at us rather intently.

Judith and Marnie began chatting Justin up mercilessly. I was more than a little surprised that they weren’t hitting on him. Not even a little bit. It seemed more like they were interviewing him. I thought it was kind of sweet. They were the most flirtatious women I knew, but they were going out of their way to be completely platonic with someone whom they thought was my boyfriend. Someone who happened to be the most beautiful man on the planet. It made me see that they were good friends to me. Maybe better than I’d given them credit for.

I had a sad habit of being more cynical than was warranted. Kindness or consideration almost always caught me by surprise if it came from anyone but Stephan. I supposed he was the only person I’d ever allowed myself to have expectations of. I had plenty of friends. Mostly casual friends. But friendship and trust just hadn’t been a connection I’d made. I listened to the girls asking Justin question after question, even their language cleaned up.

I suddenly felt old beyond my twenty-three years. I’d always thought they were the mature, experienced ones, but I certainly had them beat in the cynicism department.

I touched Justin’s arm with just the tips of my fingers. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom.”

Justin tried to walk me to the bathroom, but I waved him off.

“Go say hi to Stephan,” I told him.

He gave me a stern look, but headed in that direction.

Judith and Marnie joined me. The top of their heads were right at a level with my chest. I always felt like a giant when I was hanging out with them.

“O M G, Selena, that is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Judith gushed as we made our way across the bar. I flushed, but I certainly couldn’t dispute the comment.

“That man is downright pretty,” Marnie said.

I wrinkled my nose. The word pretty just sounded so feminine to me. And that was so not Justin.

“He’s good in bed, too?” Marnie asked, clearly skeptical. “That just isn’t fair. If I looked like him, I’d never leave my house. I’d just stay home and f**k myself. If you tell me he has a big dick, I might become either a cutter or a lesbian.”

We got to the line for the restroom, filing into the outrageous crowd that had already formed a good twenty feet away from the actual bathroom.

I smiled ruefully. “Then I won’t tell you,” I said.

Both women started making loud sounds of despair. I laughed at their theatrics.

“I guess good things really do come to those who wait.” Judith said, sounding sad. “I can’t go on one date without sleeping with a guy. And I can’t go two days without finding a date, so I guess I’ll never be getting anyone good.”

“I can’t wait to come either, so I guess I won’t be getting anything that good. That kind of good only comes to those who wait twenty-three years, apparently,” Marnie said forlornly. She brightened, snapping out of it almost immediately. “But we are gonna get a piece of Captain Damien tonight. He’s a nice slice of something good.”

I didn’t point out that he hadn’t even looked happy to see them. I doubted it would even slow them down. They were a persuasive pair.

“What’s with all this tabloid garbage I keep seeing?” Marnie asked, leveling a rather serious stare at me.

I grimaced. “Mostly lies and just horrible people saying horrible things because it gets attention. I’m trying to ignore it.”

Judith gave me a baffled look. “I think it’s awesome. It feels like we know a celebrity now. I think it’s all so fun and exciting. And he’s so beautiful. There could be worse things.”

She had a good point about the worse things, I thought.

I shrugged. “I can’t change it, so I’m adjusting.”

“So he doesn’t have a longtime girlfriend?” Marnie asked. “I read somewhere that he was dating some gorgeous heiress, for like, the last eight years.”

Talk about a mood killing change of topic.

I sighed. “He tells me she’s just a friend. I guess the question is, do I believe him? I’m working it out.

Trusting him is not my first instinct, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

Judith gestured at my jewelry. “And all this gorgeous bling. I vote trust him.”

I laughed. They were starting to remind me of a half-drunk version of good cop, bad cop.

Marnie patted my shoulder. “Be careful, Selena. That man looks like he could break hearts for fun, yanno?”

Judith pretended to fan herself. “But what fun, right?”

I couldn’t argue with any of it. It was nothing that I hadn’t thought myself.

There was a group of women huddled close, a few people ahead of us. They were whispering and rudely pointing me out. I didn’t know any of them, but they were most likely other flight attendants that I’d never worked with. I guessed that they’d read something dreadful about me. I ignored them. It was something I was going to have to get used to.

It was all part of the media circus that surrounded Justin’s life. And I had apparently decided not to give up on the man, despite my better judgement. He still wanted me, and he was a hard man to ignore when he was in hot pursuit.

The group burst into laughter. Even their laughter sounded catty, so I knew they were saying something awful. I forced my mind to focus on something else, a longtime habit I’d used for avoiding unpleasant things that couldn’t be changed.

We eventually made it through the line and got in and out of the bathroom without incident. The group of mean girls had had Judith and Marnie about ready to brawl. They’d gotten progressively louder, emphasizing words like ‘whore’ and ‘gold-digger’, as they shot me strangely malevolent glances.

Whatever they’d read about me, I couldn’t understand how it would affect them, or why they would care enough to be openly hostile to a stranger. It was beyond me, so I didn’t linger on the musings long.

CHAPTER SIX

My back stiffened as we approached our group again. Justin was standing near Stephan and Javier, and they were laughing at something. But he wasn’t alone. Melissa was practically plastered to his side, laughing along with them.

“You notice that bitch didn’t say boo until we left. Then she swooped in like a vulture,” Marnie was saying under her breath.

“I don’t like her. She talks a lot of shit about people for doing less messed-up shit than she does on a regular basis,” Judith added.

I tried to follow all of the shits in that sentence. I gave up as we got close enough for me to see the way Melissa’s hands were sneaking in little touches all over Justin.

She touched his arm, patted his back, reached way way up and squeezed his shoulder. And then ran her hand along his chest and stomach on it’s way back down. Justin took a little step back, avoiding her touch, but I still saw red. Red as in crimson. Crimson as in blood. Blood as in I was going to make the bitch bleed.

I moved between the two of them in an odd haze of temper, plastering myself to his side and pushing her roughly out of the way with my body. I ran my hand along the line of his chest and abdomen that she’d touched, as though my touch could erase hers.

I heard the ice cubes in her drink clink against her glass as she was jostled by my sudden movement.

She gasped in outrage.

I ignored her, looking up at Justin. “Why were you letting her touch you?” I asked him quietly.

He looked surprised, and half-amused. “I thought she was a friend of yours. I was trying not to be openly rude, but she was making it difficult. You have a drink while you were gone? You were gone for thirty minutes. Now you’re acting a little…differently.”

“You f**king bitch. You made me spill my drink on my dress,” Melissa was yelling behind me. It was easy to ignore her, for some reason.

I ran my hands up and down Justin’s torso again, using my fingertips to trace each muscle. He was unbelievably hard.

“Not one part of my body is this hard,” I mused aloud.

“Careful, Love. You can’t offer a starving man a feast and expect him not to take you up on it.”

I stroked his chest again, pausing at one of his n**ples. “I want to see your skin,” I told him.

Now I’d done it. I’d gone and touched him, and it was worse than being drunk. I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but touching more of him.

“Fucking Bitch!” Melissa said louder. “Do you have any idea how much this dress is worth? It’s BCBG. Do you even know what that is, you skank?”

I saw Justin’s eyes widen just a second before he spun me around, putting his back to the crazy redhead.

I heard the sound of a drink being thrown, glass and all, against his rock-hard back.

It had been aimed at the back of my head, I realized, stunned. She was such a crazy bitch… “Fuck,” Justin said, glaring over his shoulder at a still fuming Melissa. “You need to get the f**k out of here, or security will be escorting you out. I think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough tonight, don’t you?” His tone was positively scathing.

Melissa cursed fluently as she stormed away.

Our group erupted into chatter as she walked away. The general consensus was, ‘Bitch is crazy’.

“Bitch be cray cray,” Murphy summed it up, as only Murphy could. Everyone laughed, breaking the last bit of tension.

I looked up at Justin, pursing my lips. “That was gentlemanly of you, taking the shot for me,” I told him.

“Thank you.”

He shook out his shirt, ice cubes still flying off of his back. I checked his back. His shirt was soaked.

Even his jeans were soaked. I was relieved to find, though, that the glass had broken on the ground, leaving him unscathed.

A waitress showed up with a bucket and mop and began to clean up the liquid and broken glass. We moved out of her way.

“It looks like you’re going to have to take off all of your clothes,” I told him with a smile.

He smiled back, but his smile was all heat. “I have a change of clothes in the car. Come with me?”

I leaned in closer to him, inhaling deeply. He smelled so good that I felt my eyelids drift closed with the pleasure of his scent. It was so good that I wanted to put a name to it, and bottle it up.

“Convince me,” I told him softly, as I forced my eyes back open to look at him.

He glanced around, running his tongue over those sexy as hell teeth. “Okay. Did you have something particular in mind, or do I get to pick how? I’m trying to play nice here, since I don’t want to scare you off again. You’re not making it easy, though.”

“Your shirt’s all wet. I want you to take it off. I want to see your skin.”

He gave me an appraising look. “That’s it? All I have to do to get you to my car is to take my shirt off?” He was whipping it off before he’d even finished his question.

Hoots and whistles were starting up around the lounge as people took in the spectacular sight of his nak*d torso.

I gasped at the sight of all of his bare skin. He had definitely bulked up in the month we’d been apart, his already impressive chest swollen attractively. It was distracting, to say the least.

“You’ve been lifting more weights,” I observed.

His smile was a little pained. “I needed a little more physical activity to adjust to the whole celibacy thing. I usually work out for two hours in the morning. I added two more in the evening, as well, as a sort of…sleep aid.”

I felt a strange stirring of guilt, and a not so strange thrill of joy at his mention of celibacy. I opened my mouth to say…something, but I couldn’t seem to hold a thought, with all of his bare skin in front of me.

My captivated gaze moved lower.

His jeans dipped low. I traced the skin just above his jeans. It was dangerous territory, dipping into a sharply defined V. An impressive and growing arousal was making his jeans more obscene by the second.

He gripped my hand. “Unless part of my convincing you was that you want to get f**ked against the nearest wall, I’d start walking, Buttercup.”

He grabbed my hand and started walking.

“I need a new shirt,” Justin called in Stephan’s direction as we passed. Stephan gave him a wide-eyed look, but just nodded. “We’ll be back.”

“I want to have his babies,” someone muttered as we passed.

I sent a glare in their general direction. I couldn’t get real mad about it, though. I had made him bare the finest chest in the world to a room full of hungry flight attendants… And if anyone got a glance at his jeans, it certainly wouldn’t lessen their interest.

Clark met us at the entrance of the club, holding the door open, face impassive.

“Nice catch, Sir,” he said quietly.

I smiled at him, knowing he was referring to Justin moving to protect me from the thrown drink.

“Any paparazzi in the parking lot?” Justin asked brusquely.

“Max just did a sweep. Looks clean so far, Mr. Cavendish.”

Justin just nodded, almost dragging me through the small back parking lot.

Clark managed to get in front of us again to open the car door. “Your suitcase is already in there, and open.”

Justin nodded. “Very good,” he said, ushering me into the car first.

I sat down, then scooted across the seat to make room for Justin. He crowded in behind me without a pause, the door shutting behind him. I heard him take a few ragged breaths, and then he was on me.

He had me on my back between one breath and the next. He opened my legs wide, crawling between them. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his stiff erection out with a harsh groan.

“I wanted to take my time with you, when I finally got my hands on you again, but I can’t wait. Unbutton your blouse. I want to tear it too badly to touch it.” As he spoke, he was inching my skirt up over my hips. It was a little stretchy, luckily. I thought that he wouldn’t have hesitated to tear it if it wasn’t.

My panties weren’t so lucky. He gripped the lace in his hands and ripped both sides. I wriggled my lower half while working on the small buttons of my blouse. When I had released the last one, he was pushing my shirt open impatiently. His hands were already on the front clasp of my bra when what he saw made him freeze. My torso was still dotted with the last vestiges of what had been some truly heinous bruising. I saw his hands shake a little as he unclasped my bra. He brushed along the fading marks with just his fingertips.

“Over a month later, and it still looks like this?” His voice was deep with agitation.

I turned my face away. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve talked about it enough.”

He gripped my chin, turning my face back to him. His eyes were wild. “I couldn’t stand it if something were to happen to you. Do you understand that? I’ve never felt so powerless or terrified in my life as I did when I watched that ambulance driving away with you, having no clue what had happened, or even if you were alright. And then to find out that some monster had put his hands on you? I want to kill him. I need to protect you.”

I just set my mouth in a hard line. “That’s not what I want from you. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He was kissing me suddenly. It was an angry, passionate kiss. I kissed him back with just as much passion. Just as much anger. He was thrusting into me so fast that I was filled before I knew his intent. I was wet and ready but I was so tight and he was so big that it still caused a delicious friction that bordered on pain.

I gasped, my head falling back, my eyes closing.

He gripped my chin, hard. “Look at me,” he ordered.

I did, watching the fervor in his eyes with a wistful pain that I felt deep in my chest. I would have given anything to have him feel the way he looked at me when he was deep inside of me. He looked at me like I was more dear than his next breath at times, and it was almost more than I could bear.

His hair trailed over his face and into mine as he leaned his face close. He held my wrists above my head, using his hands as shackles. He moved my wrists into one hand, the other moving to my jeweled collar, tugging at the ring roughly. His thrusts never let up or slowed. “You’re mine, Selena. Say it.”

My words came out as a rough gasp. “I’m yours, Justin.”

“Come,” he ordered, thrusting so fast and hard that I sobbed as I came.

He groaned my name again and again as he poured into me.

Afterwards, he braced himself carefully on his elbows, protecting my still tender chest and ribs.

He grabbed a clean t-shirt from his open suitcase to wipe me, and then himself. I lay and watched him almost lazily as he changed into a new pair of boxer briefs, jeans, and a soft light gray V-neck shirt.

He crouched beside me once he’d changed, straightening my clothes almost tenderly.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked as he buttoned my shirt.

“Mmm, no,” I said. Anything that could be considered pain certainly hadn’t bothered me at the time.

“Not even your ribs?” He smoothed my shirt as he finished with the buttons.

I took a deep breath, but no, there was still no pain. “No, not at all. They finally aren’t bothering me so much. Breathing was a little rough there for awhile.”

His mouth tightened as he smoothed my skirt back down. “We don’t have to do any of the rough stuff, if you don’t want. I don’t just mean while you’re healing. I could give that stuff up completely, if it isn’t what you want anymore.”

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