#also Bob knows those women could easily kick his ass
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Saviors in a Half Shell 2
It was always the same routine. Find somebody (or somebodies) causing trouble, get there as soon as possible, and kick ass. He knew his role- he knew he could rely on his brothers to know what to do as well. They worked almost seamlessly as a team every night. As soon as the shadows began to fall, they were there to protect the city.
This was nowhere near as easy.
“You alright there, miss?”
“I’m pretty sure this is pretty illegal. Leonardo.”
Very few humans had ventured down to the turtles’ lair. It wasn’t the most inviting place. All sewer lines and tunnels leading to the lair stunk like nobody’s business. It was no surprise nobody ever accidentally made their way down.
It didn’t take long for Y/N to begin her complaints about the smell. Longer than he expected, but still. Even when she asked where they were going, why the smell was so strong, nobody gave her a straight answer. It was a good thing she had a blindfold.
Leonardo wasn’t sure why she didn’t seem disgusted at the sight of them. The few humans that had witnessed them had varied reactions- even April was in a state of shock the first time they met face to face. What could she be thinking about them now?
She didn’t even ask what they were. She had seen them.
“Ah, home sweet lair!” Mikey sighed with glee as he hopped down from the rather large ‘pipe’ like entryway. “Welcome to our crib, Y/N!”
The woman took in a deep breath as Raph set her down on the ground. She was thankful he didn’t put her on her feet, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand right. “Was the blindfold really necessary?”
The orange-masked turtle snickered. “Of course it was.”
“I guess the smell isn’t so bad now- wait, did we just go through the sewers? Why is it so cold down here?”
“Guys, I think she figured it out.”
“Can it, Mikey.”
Y/N could hear a quick ‘thud’ before someone untied her blindfold. She blinked a few times as her eyes began to adjust to her surroundings.
Oh, this would take more than a few seconds to adjust to.
She got to her feet finally, brushing off the thighs of her pants. She did a slow spin, looking the room up and down. She pursed her lips together before she finally turned to the four that had kidnapped her.
Leonardo stood first, his arms placed tightly around his back. She noticed he wasn’t the tallest of them all, but he definitely wasn’t short. This one stood at least a foot above her, and was a wall of green muscle.
Green muscle?
She assumed the next was Raph, he had been referred to a few times on the way there. He’s the one that carried her. He was definitely the biggest, both height and muscle wise. She made a mental note to make nice with that one. Though, she thought, if they had meant to hurt her, they would have done it by now. They wouldn’t have taken her.
She wasn’t going to use the term ‘rescued’ just yet.
The third one was adorned with a purple mask and- were those tortoise-shell glasses?
About that last one.
“Well, whaddya think?” The green thing with an orange mask asked. He was practically jumping up and down. “You’re here!”
Y/N frowned, not saying a word. This was definitely a lot to take in. Were those shells on their backs?
“My bad, my bad! Allow me to introduce ourselves!” the orange-masked green one said quickly as he waved his arms in the air, as if to erase everything up till now. “I’m Michelangelo, the best one of the group. That’s Donatello, the brains. Raphael, the muscle, and Leonardo.”
She slowly turned towards Leonardo. “Huh, you don’t get a description. What’s that about?” It was unclear if it was sarcasm or pure curiosity dripping from her voice.
The blue-masked turtle smirked at her. “Don’t need one, miss.”
She waved a hand mindlessly through the air. “Y/N is fine. I guess. You guys live in the sewers?”
“How’d you guess?” Raphael had never given a better deadpan look in his life.
“I mean, it makes sense. Not sure how you could afford an apartment like this in the Big Apple in this economy,” she shot back, though it was clear this was no longer sarcasm. It wasn’t anger, irritation- what was it. “Now. Do you guys regularly kidnap women on rooftops or was this a one-time thing? I’m sure there are more out there.”
Leonardo shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen.”
“I guess I’ll have to cross ‘mutant turtle ninjas’ off of my list of things I don’t think are real,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, looking towards the ceiling. “That’s really high up.”
Not as high up as I had been earlier, she noted.
“What made you try to do it?”
She turned back to them, not sure which one had spoken. “What?”
“Stand on the edge. What made you do it?”
“It’s… It’s complicated, I guess,” she said quietly. “Probably not something you’d be interested in hearing about.”
The blue-masked turtle (Leonardo?) took a small step forward. “We swore to ourselves and our allies to protect this city at all costs. That includes you.”
“I’m not sure my life story up until now is something you can mentally prepare for.” Y/N forced a laugh, shaking her head again. She had convinced herself time and time again that it was just another sob story, one more tally that might not even be worthy of being drawn. “I’m gonna be frank here. So, are you guys turtles? Not regular turtles, obviously.”
“Mutant turtles, miss,” Raphael said through a grin. “Unlike any other.”
She tapped on her chin. “Mutant turtles that are about twice my height, made of muscle, that… Fight in favor of the most populated city in the country.”
Michelangelo tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Saving damsels in distress in the shadows.”
“I’m definitely distressed,” she snorted. “I must be dreaming.”
~
It surprised Leonardo how easy it had been to get this woman to talk to them. She didn’t seem afraid, and she didn’t say why. He wasn’t about to ask.
Sure, she didn’t divulge into her life story with them, but she did agree to play a multiplayer video game with them. Even April didn’t indulge at their requests.
He settled on the belief that she thought she was dreaming. It was an easier reality to swallow than a human simply accepting that she was napped by mutant ninja turtles. He couldn’t stop from questioning what made him notice her in the first place.
It was a quiet night. The brothers were jumping from the rooftops both for exercise and pleasure. It definitely wasn’t to see who could do it the fastest. And Michelangelo definitely was not the fastest.
He never bragged, of course.
“How did you get all of this stuff down here? Did you really carry things one by one through the sewers?”
It was amusing how easily she spoke now versus just an hour ago. And while dominating at Super Smash Bros, nonetheless.
“We’ve been living here for as long as we can remember, we’ve had years to collect,” Raphael answered before Leonardo could even open his mouth.
“Collect much more and you’d be considered ‘hoarders’,” she said, grunting as she was taken out by none other than Michelangelo.
She set the controller down in front of her, leaning back against the couch. She felt even smaller sitting against the couch on the floor, but it was her fault. She had declined a space on the actual couch.
“Finally! Thought you’d never die!”
As the words left Michelangelo’s mouth, everybody in the room fell silent.
“Oh. Was that too soon?”
That was putting it lightly. You could slice through the tension in that room with a knife. Or a katana.
“Is there anything to drink in here?” Y/N said finally, looking up to the first turtle she could see without straining her neck. She made no comment about what Mikey said.
“What were you thinking you’d want? We have sodas, juices… Not much juice. We have soda that tastes like juice, though,” Leonardo said. He stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”
Y/N grabbed a chip from the bowl positioned between Michelangelo and Rafael as she followed the oldest brother. He had to be the oldest. Donatello was a close second, but he didn’t seem nearly as confident.
She was certain that all eldest siblings were just dripping with that oldest-sibling, leader, person-in-charge kind of confidence.
It wasn’t nearly as long a walk as she expected to a room that faintly resembled a kitchen. There looked to be a stove of sorts in the corner, something that resembled a deep freezer next to it, and an assortment of tables between those and a refrigerator.
“You guys kind of have it made down here,” she noted as she followed him towards the fridge. It had to be an older model, but there were wires sticking out the back that made her feel like it had been ‘upgraded’ somehow. “Solitary, no neighbors to disturb you, all the fixings to have a good time.”
“We make it work for us,” the large mutant turtle told her. “It’s our safe haven. Up top, we’re heroes, but only if we’re not seen. Here, we can be ourselves.”
“I always have to be ‘on’, a facade of myself,” Y/N said. “But no matter what I do, it feels like it’s never enough.”
The two stood in silence before Leonardo slowly, oh ever so slowly, opened the fridge. He gestured for her to look inside.
This kind of stock would put any caffeine-addicted young adult to shame.
“Sodas, all flavors, we have cherry, vanilla, orange- I probably wouldn’t touch the orange without Mikey’s permission, he might cry.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” she bobbed her head. “Is there anything… Not carbonated? But also not water.”
“Before you ask, we don’t have any coffee or alcohol. Or milks, not our thing.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Any tea?”
He perked up. “You want some tea? I could brew some. Any requests?”
“Anything but green tea is fine with me,” she shrugged. “I don’t like leaf water that looks like.. Green leaf water.”
Leonardo quickly ushered her out of the ‘kitchen’ and back to his brothers, crossing his fingers that they would stray away from the ‘death’ comments. Mikey was going to pay for that later.
He took his time looking through their rather large selection of teas. It was curious that she asked for tea specifically- his brothers barely touched it unless they were sick. They stuck to the bubbly, syrup-filled beverages that he swore would make their teeth rot within the next few years.
White teas, black teas, caffeinated and decaf varieties covered the table. He had decided to lay them all out to really choose. It took a few minutes of pondering before he settled on his favorite. He hoped she liked chamomile.
As the water was brewing, he could feel a new presence in the room. He turned to see his adopted father, and quickly gave him a slight bow. “Sensei.”
Why was he surprised? He was more surprised it took this long of them being home for him to come see them.
“You brought a civilian home,” Splinter said carefully.
He felt his heart drop. “I had to, dad. She was standing on the edge of the roof- I thought she was going to jump.”
Splinter let out a slow breath. “I see. It was a good decision to bring her.”
“I couldn’t just leave her, even if I talked her off, what if she actually did it?” He didn’t want to imagine that. He barely knew her, but the idea of anybody willingly taking their own life wasn’t something he wanted to picture. She didn’t seem like a bad person. She seemed good. She didn’t deserve it.
“Now that she is here, what will you do?” his master questioned, flipping the switch off of the kettle as the water began to almost boil over. “I see she has already made herself welcome with your brothers.”
“If Mikey can keep his comments to himself,” he gritted his teeth. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. He poured the hot water into a cup, though now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold that quite comfortably. They weren’t exactly for small human hands.
“Leonardo, what will you do now?”
“Dad, I don’t know what to do. I swore to help the people of this city, but against the bad guys and robbers and thieves- I don’t know what to do. What should I do?” He felt smaller with every word.
He was supposed to be the leader, the turtle with a plan. It was his idea to help her, his idea to bring her to their home. He hated to even think the words ‘suicide watch’, but that was it, in a nutshell.
“Dad, do you think we can help her?”
“If she came this far without a fight, I have no doubt she is able to be helped. Mental illness is a complicated matter. I implore you to help this woman see the light. At this point, she might need someone to show her that life is worth the journey to get here.”
Leonardo, as he always was, was both enlightened and baffled by his father’s words. But if he said that he needed to show this human that life was worth the journey, that show her he shall.
Starting with that chamomile tea. He just hoped he didn’t burn the tea leaves.
#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt 2k14#tmnt 2k16#tmnt leo#tmnt raph#tmnt donnie#tmnt mikey#tmnt splinter#tmnt x reader#tmnt imagine#tmnt imagines
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What You Want (NSFW)
Pairing: Sam x Dean x Reader
Words: 2,128
Summary: The reader finally brings their boys together.
Warning: WINCEST. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT, CLICK AWAY NOW. Also - first time Wincest, bottom!Sam, top!Dean, light bondage, anal fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex.
A/N: This was written for Meghan for her March 2020 fic request
Betaed by @manawhaat
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Sam Winchester is beautiful.
This is a well-known fact, in your opinion, but it doesn't hurt to give yourself a moment to just look at him and appreciate him. Those long, long limbs stretched out on your bed, wrists bound to the headboard and feet dangling off the end because not a single bed in the Bunker is long enough for this man. He's stark naked against the sheets, golden skin already covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the cool temperature of the room, and your eyes happily trace down the lean lines of his torso to where his cock is rapidly hardening against his belly.
"Gorgeous," you murmur from where you stand beside the bed. You reach one hand out to just barely brush your fingertips along the underside of his cock and smirk when it twitches. "So responsive."
Sam shifts his hips on the bed, clearly looking for a little more than that tiny touch, but remains silent because you told him to and Sam is a good boy.
"Such a perfect pet," you praise, leaning down to kiss those soft pink lips. Dean might have lips many women would kill for, but Sam's mouth is equally as sinful. "I have a surprise for you, Sam. Are you ready?"
He nods when you rub your thumb over his lower lip.
"If you don't like what I have in mind, what will you say?" you ask.
"Wendigo," he answers obediently.
"Good boy."
You kiss him once more and then straighten up. After one more lingering look that has Sam squirming a little on the bed, you move to open the door.
"Dean!" you call down the hallway. Behind you, Sam's breath hitches and his lust-blown eyes go wide, but he doesn't safeword. You’re fairly confident that he won’t. After a year or so you’ve spent hopping back and forth between the brothers’ beds, there’s one thing you are absolutely certain of - the Winchester brothers are head over heels in love with each other but are too worried about the other hating them to do anything about it.
Tonight, your goal is to fix that.
Right on cue, Dean rounds the corner. He looks gorgeous today in a blue flannel, grey t-shirt, and an old pair of jeans that cling to his legs in all the best ways.
“What’s up?” he asks as he approaches, bright eyes taking in your naked form.
You beckon him closer. “I have a surprise for you. You can say no if you want to but I really don’t think you want to.”
Dean’s brow furrows but he allows you to take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. As soon as he sees Sam, he freezes.
“Holy shit,” he breathes.
Sam bites back a whine and the ropes around his wrists are pulled taut as he shifts on the bed.
Dean’s gaze jumps from Sam to you and back again. “I… what…?”
You give his arm a squeeze, gently guiding him closer to the bed. “He wants you. Don’t you, pet?”
Sam’s eyes are misty now, and his cheeks and chest are burning scarlet. Embarrassment, need, curiosity, fear, and desperation swim in those wide eyes. He’s chewing his lip nervously and you move to his side, leaning down to pull his lip from between his teeth.
“Look at him, Dean,” you purr, and Dean’s eyes mirror his little brother’s.
“Sam?” Dean whispers, taking a tentative step closer to the bed. “Do you…?”
Sam nods, almost frantic. That seems to be all the confirmation Dean needs. He kicks off his boots, peels off his socks, and climbs up onto the bed. Sam spreads his legs without any prompting, letting Dean settle on his knees between them.
“Oh,” Dean murmurs, pupils blown wide as his eyes travel over Sam’s body. “Sam.”
You know Dean’s seen Sam naked before - from whispered fantasies you’ve coaxed from Dean in the heat of passion - but never like this. Walking in on a shower and accidental flashes of skin when patching wounds is nothing compared to this sight. He settles his hands on Sam’s thighs and the younger Winchester jumps at the touch. Dean freezes and Sam’s eyes jump up to meet yours.
You brush a hand through his hair. “You can talk now.”
Sam swallows thickly and looks up at Dean again, waiting for green eyes to move up from where they watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “It’s okay.” His voice is barely audible but it grows stronger when Dean’s eyes meet his. “You and Y/N surprised me.”
Dean relaxes and leans down to nuzzle into the side of his neck. “She surprised me, too. Do you want to stop?”
“Only if you want to stop,” is the soft answer.
Dean lifts his head a little to meet Sam’s gaze. The look on his face is the softest, most open expression you’ve seen Dean wear in a long time.
“I want you,” he says, honesty laced through every syllable.
Sam tilts his chin up and captures Dean’s lips in a kiss. You watch as they melt into each other and your own heart triples in size. The amount of love these two have for each other is something you’ll never find anywhere else. The tenderness with which Dean handles Sam moves you. Big hands skim over his brother’s arms, shoulders, and chest to settle on his hips. Sam whines and arches into the body above his.
“Gonna take good care of you,” Dean tells him. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby brother.” He sits up a bit and just looks, taking in the sight of Sam with his kiss-swollen lips and leaking cock and long, long limbs. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
Sam’s cheeks color, adorable spots of pink. You can’t resist running a hand through his hair, smiling fondly.
“Y/N,” Dean says as he begins shedding his clothes and your attention jumps to him. “C’mere.”
You scoot down the bed until you’re close enough for Dean to pull you in for a passionate kiss. Sam moans at the sight, squirming beside you.
“Thank you.” Dean’s breath is warm against your lips. “You’re so good to us.”
You smile and kiss him again. “Anything for my boys.”
“Got any lube?” He shoots Sam a wink and chuckles at the shiver that runs through his brother’s body.
You grab the lube from the bedside drawer and toss it to Dean before settling beside Sam on the bed. You stroke his hair, watching as Dean slicks his fingers. His hand disappears from view and then Sam makes a little broken sound that you’re very familiar with.
“Dean,” he gasps, pressing his hips into Dean’s touch.
“Yeah,” Dean replies, eyes locked on what his fingers are doing. “Fuck, baby brother. So sensitive. And tight. Think you’ll be able to fit my cock?”
Sam nods, verging on frantic, and you press a soothing kiss to his forehead.
“Easy, pet.” You scratch your fingers across his scalp. “You’ll get what you want. Dean’s gonna take good care of you, isn’t he? Do his fingers feel good? Imagine how good his cock will feel.”
Sam whimpers, lust-blown eyes jumping between you and Dean. “Need it.”
“I know, I know.” You kiss him. “But you gotta be patient.”
Sam’s eyes flick between you and Dean again before he draws a slow breath and nods. Dean does something with his fingers, though, and Sam arches off the bed with a cry.
“Oh yeah,” Dean chuckles. “Found it. You like that?”
Sam nods, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open. You’ve never seen him this desperate before. Every fiber of his being is vibrating with anticipation and desire.
“Dean, please,” he chokes out, arms flexing against the ropes holding him in place. “I’m ready.”
Dean twists his hand, a movement visible in his arm, and smirks at the sound that pulls from Sam’s throat. “Condom?”
You reach for the drawer but stop when Sam shakes his head.
“I’m clean,” he whispers. “Got tested a couple months ago so Y/N and I could go bare.”
Dean groans and leans down to kiss Sam. “I did the same thing. Fuck, baby, you wanna feel me?”
Sam nods, chasing Dean’s lips when he pulls away. “I want all of you.”
“Fucking hell.” Dean kisses him again, this time with more of the reserved passion and deep love that he carries around in his heart of hearts - the truth of Dean’s that makes him who he is, that only a select few people will ever catch a glimpse of. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Pull me out of a fire as a baby,” Sam replies with a soft smile. “And save my life a hundred more times since then.”
Dean’s expression softens and pulls that same depth from Sam. Fingers stroking Sam’s cheek, they both succumb to it, bask in the honesty and connection they’ve been building their whole lives. They don’t shy away from it like they usually would and you suddenly feel like you’re intruding on a private moment that isn’t meant for you. “I’d do it a hundred times more. That’s my job, right? Look out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?”
Sam’s voice is delicate - timid, almost- as he smiles and lifts his head to kiss his big brother. “I love you, Dean.”
Dean’s eyes are shiny when he opens them, resting his forehead against Sam’s and drawing a shaky breath. You knew how much the boys loved each other but seeing them finally admit it is something entirely different. “Love you, too, Sammy.”
They kiss again, a slow moment drawn out even further when Dean starts to pull away and Sam chases his lips. Dean caves easily and this time they don’t stop until they’re breathless. Dean presses soft kisses to Sam’s cheek, his jaw, and then you see him whisper something in Sam’s ear that makes the younger Winchester nod.
Suddenly, two sets of eyes are on you. You squirm a little, glancing between them.
“Y/N,” Dean purrs, sitting up. He reaches for you, drawing you in for a kiss. “You know we love you, too, right?”
Your cheeks warm. “Dean-”
“Ah, ah.” He fits his free arm around your waist. “Tell her, Sammy.”
“We love you,” Sam says, tone leaving no room for argument. He is a little breathless, though, and when you glance down you see Dean’s fingers twist just so. “You’re one of us, now.”
“You haven’t died and come back to life yet,” Dean jokes. “But I think we can waive that and make you an honorary Winchester.”
“Does that make me your sister, then?” You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively and feel warmth burst in your chest at the twin laughter that springs out of the boys.
“I mean, I’m three fingers deep in my brother’s ass,” Dean points out, all too matter of fact about the whole thing. “I think throwing one more sibling into the equation can’t make things much weirder.”
You laugh and give him a playful shove. “I think you should fuck your brother before he explodes. Poor boy is desperate.”
Dean grins and kisses you again. “I think you should ride Sam’s cock.”
Arousal shoots down your spine at those words and you hear Sam groan his approval.
“Fuck. Yes.” You punctuate each word with a kiss. “Sammy?”
“Do it,” is all he can manage.
Having hoped the boys would want you to join in, you’re more than ready to take a cock. Dean directs you to straddle Sam’s hips with gentle hands. Feeling Dean steady Sam’s cock beneath you is almost too much, and your mouth falls open as you sink down on Sam. Dean shifts up, one arm looping around your waist to steady himself as he moves into his brother. Sam makes a choked sound, head flying back.
“All good, Sam?” you ask, rubbing Dean’s arm with one hand and Sam’s belly with the other.
“It’s… a lot,” he says. His eyes give him away. It’s more than just a physical overload… he’s crossing a line with Dean that can’t be uncrossed. Not that he wants anything other than what he has right now.
As if he can sense what Sam’s thinking, Dean presses a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and smooths gentle hands over Sam’s thighs. “Need us to stop?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sam growls, hips twitching beneath you. He’s desperate and there’s an intimacy in the air that drags on your skin, pulls you down deeper over Sam and has Dean pressing against you like the three of you can’t be close enough.
Dean rumbles out a soft laugh against your skin. “Don’t worry, Sammy. We’ve got you.”
---
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Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth
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If you could put any character into Hetalia what country would they be
Oooo!!
Mexico: OH BOY!! If Mexico isn’t introduced as a woman I will 1000% go bonkers. She has so much potential! Here we go. Mexico is a strong willed woman with curly hair and a confident air around her 24/7. She doesn’t like to speak English so she will only speak Spanish, especially with America, she won’t speak English with him just because. She is very passionate about her country’s rich history and will educate anyone who is interested, she doesn’t discriminate, she’s excited to share her culture with others :) She is very involved with children. She visits orphanages and hospitals to see them and tell them stories! She takes Mexican holidays very seriously and she puts photos of old friends on her alter during Dia de los Muertos to keep their memories alive long after their families are gone, she believes she owes it to them :’) She also has a HUGE passion for quinceneras ooooh my gosh!! She throws about six every year for families who can’t afford big parties, she throws them herself with her own government allowance! She makes the dress, books a nice venue and buys tons of flowers ‘every girl deserves to have her own special moment’ and you can bet that when the girls dance with their dads she has to excuse herself to cry happy tears in the bathroom. She often goes to church and she has crosses and statues of Jesus adorning her house because it makes her feel safe and comforted to have Him there to watch over her. Lastly, she knows she shouldn’t feed stray dogs. She’s been told not to....But she leaves seven dog bowls out at night for hungryc homeless doggies :’)
Azerbaijan: Azerbaijan would be a tall, slender woman with with deep brown eyes. She’s very stylish and has three closets worth of beautiful dresses, especially dresses that are yellow, orange and peach since she thinks they suit her best. She’s a Muslim woman but she doesn’t wear hijabs, they are not very common in her country at all so she doesn’t wear them. However, she has a collection of hijabs in every color just in case she may want to wear one. She’s kind but if she sees people littering or graffiti-ing buildings she will stomp over there and tell them off, she fears no man!! She loves children and goes out of her way to greet them and compliment their clothes or something like that. She’s fluent in many languages and often pretends she doesn’t speak English because she prefers her own language, Russian and French. She is very traditional when it comes to tea culture and hospitality. She’s a wonderful woman who loves her people very much!! :)
Ethiopia: Miss Ethiopia is so strong dude, she can easily toss a man in a river if she wanted to. She says she doesn’t like violence but she does get a kick out of putting men in their place if she has to. She does NOT mess around!!! She can’t stand liars, she refuses to associate with them. She almost always tells the truth, it is very important to her. If the government wants her to lie to her people, she will not. She does not enjoy living in her capital, it’s too stuffy and crowded for her!! And she doesn’t really like modern clothing so she sticks to her traditional clothes, which she mostly makes herself. Her hair is usually very intricate, she spends a long time braiding it. She loves her natural hair and does everything she can to keep it healthy :) She travels all over her country constantly she’s never in one place for too long. She rarely goes to world meetings just because she doesn’t...like to go. She sees them as a waste of time since she could be back at home with her people. She’s very involved with them!! She has a medical license so she helps sick men, women and children who may not have access to medical help. She loves her people so much and has dedicated most of her life to them, she’s selfless and a role model :’)
Greenland: He’s a strong boy who’s about 17-18 physically. He lives close with his citizens and is very social! He’s very involved in the community, more than happy to help whoever needs it! A woman needs help with her baby? He’s there to help! Someone’s stuck out on the water? No worries, he’s gonna go get his boat and help them back to shore! He sticks to where his people are and will move with them. If a city becomes less popular he’ll move to be close to others. When he was young he was alone a lot so staying close to his people is very very important to him! He doesn’t get invited to as many of Nordic events like Iceland does so he’s a bit bitter about that though he’d never admit it.
Jamaica: Miss Jamaica is a very strong woman. She is proud to be Jamaican and will let everybody know it! She goes to church every Sunday and helps out within the church community. Helping the elderly is very important to her, she sees people disregard the elderly a lot in the world so she sees it as her duty to help them! She dedicates Monday and Wednesday afternoons to helping out her elderly friends by cooking, cleaning and just socializing with them especially if they have no other family. It’s stereotypical but she loves when tourists come to Jamaica for Bob Marley’s birthday concert because seeing everyone bond over music and food like that makes her incredibly happy!! She’ll even set up a tent to make food for people too! And speaking of food, she knows how to cook, man!!! She can cook circles around most nations! She puts in a ton of spices and sings while cooking and she invites all of her neighbors over for cook outs as often as she can cause she just!! Loves to cook! And now she gets to share with her neighbors :) She’s a very kind woman but Dont underestimate her cause she can and will beat your ass u_u
Hawaii: I’m not really into statetalia at all but I imagine that Hawaii still has a representation around despite being part of the US. We’ve got another beautiful woman!! She’s about 5’6 with waist length hair that she’s been growing out for years. She is very passionate about conserving Hawaiian traditions so she teaches children the art of hula and passes down legends and stories of the spirits. Her arms and legs are decorated with tribal tattoos that she updates every decade or so since nation bodies reject ink over time. She often attends protests because she doesn’t want her land to be taken over by pipes or buildings. She gladly welcomes tourists, she loves showing off her culture to those who are curious about it because it’s so fun to see their eyes light up when they see traditional dances or fire stunts!
Most of these are women but there are like 4 female nations rn theyre all men which isn’t bad but female nations are even more interesting to me since women are constantly underestimated y’know. I hope I got this right, I did a lot of research first about these places. I think they’re all very beautiful places!!
#this ask got BURIED#im sorry if I got anything wrong skdjskjdbs I love these countries I really do I think theyre beautiful and interesting skdjskhs#aph#hetalia#headcanons#hetalia headcanons#aph azerbaijan#aph ethiopia#aph greenland#aph jamaica#aph mexico#I love azerbaijan btw I did a huge project on it in middle school and I still read up on it often!!#its goregous there!! and the food and tea looks good#and im not even a tea drinker lmao
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Jive
Back to Gotham…
Selina stood there very poised and still in the Gotham rain and fog as she stared out at her city. Oh, it had been so long since she had even seen her city, it was gorgeous, it was mesmerizing, and it was home. The water slid cool over her exposed skin as she hailed a cab and loaded up her bags in the trunk. Sitting in the back she lounged like a back. It'd been so long…
Sighing she let her eyes flutter shut as she relaxed enough just to enjoy the chaos of being back in Gotham, for that's what mother city really was. Chaos; at it's finest.
"Ya visiting?" the cabbie asked her.
"No, I'm home," she answered letting the Park Row lay thick in her voice then, which had her smiling slyly. The cabbie did a double take on her but kept his eyes on the road as she gave him the address to the penthouse she had recently bought. It was the old one that Barbara Kean had once owned, Selina had avowed that she'd one day own. Now it was hers, paying the cabbie she hoisted up her bags as she sauntered past her new doorman, internally gleeful at actually having a real doorman, before she made it to the elevator and on up.
Time had changed Selina, it hadn't changed much, but with her current profession she had long since ditched her curls for a nice bob cut; it was just easier to manage. Her green eyes and make up were always done as a weapon in her arsenal. Along with her body, she was a weapon, she was a thief, and she was now the best in the business as she dropped her bags and looked around the empty apartment with a smile.
It was really hers! The glee in that knowledge had her sitting before that old clock and just staring out at Gotham.
Her first order of business would be to track down Ivy. Last she saw of her friend was the plant lover becoming like her plants.
Selina was well aware that Ivy was still alive, she'd have heard if Ivy wasn't alive. And while her prematurely aged friend might not have always had the street smarts, or people skills, Ivy was Ivy, and she had a way with plants. That way with plants had been what had changed Pamela to Ivy.
Selina just stared at her city for a long while; she was keenly aware that he was also in the city. But then Selina had always been aware of him since that first night she had witnessed his parents' deaths with him. She could still hear those helpless screams from the boy.
However, things between them had been left complicated, and something she'd really rather not encounter again. Besides they were not teenagers anymore, they were adults.
Getting up finally Selina ordered take out from a Chinese place that had been in Gotham since long before her time, and was likely to be there long after. Rummaging through her empty penthouse she found some candles, an old Marine lighter, likely James Gordon's, she also found a musty, dusty old shoe, a bottle of white wine that did not smell drugged and two cans of soup from WWII easily. The power kicked off, but it was an old building, so she wasn't upset by that as she answered her door to the delivery boy. Paying him, and tossing him a flirtatious wink and tip she took her dinner and set herself up with the candles in front of the balcony.
Kung Pao Chicken, a bottle of white wine, candle light, and the rain; she could think of worse ways to spend her evening as she sat there just savoring being home.
Tomorrow she'd order everything she needed for her apartment, then she'd buy some wardrobe, and then she'd get back to reacquainting herself with the Gotham underworld and cops. Crossing her ankles as she leaned back on her hand she wondered how the underworld was fairing.
Last she remembered, there was a war waging between Penguin, Fish Mooney, and Sophia Falcon, and a new Maroni had been muscling back into the game as well. That did not include the Russians, the gangs, or the cartels that had no doubt moved in since she had left. There were also rumors, or a mysterious shadow that grabbed men up, was stopping crime. The goons she had heard in London had called it, the Bat.
Selina would have laughed at that, but she remembered Indian Hill.
An involuntary shudder ran through her at the thought of that sick projects center. And all the damage it had wrought on Gotham. Selina supposed she was lucky though, she had almost been sent to the Doll Maker, and after the stories Fish had said about the Doll Maker she didn't think she wanted to be tangled up with that sort of sick bastard.
Taking a sip of the wine, she savored that flavor, it was good wine, surprisingly. But after some of the piss she had grown up on it had taken years of refining her palate to know the good shit from the sour shit.
Her eyes absently wandered in the direction that would have taken her towards Wayne Manor, she wondered how he was doing.
Closing her eyes she scolded herself for that weakness, because he was Bruce. She was Selina. And they were not the kids they had been. No doubt if they met now she'd punch him as hard as she could and run like hell. Bruce was insufferable, and a pain in the ass, and an asshole. She was better off without his rich kid, high morals, and insufferable curiosity for everything.
Besides, he'd no doubt grown up, and she had too. They were nothing but fond, complicated memories now. Selina finished her wine before she stood and hunted out her sleeping bag for the night. Tomorrow she'd start on living in Gotham again.
~~~*~*~*~~~
Bruce sat silently in his study, a sniffer of untouched brandy in his fingers as he stared out at the rain showering Gotham right now. He was alone this week, Alfred had recently discovered he had a daughter and Bruce had insisted Alfred go to Julia. After all, Alfred had been like a father to him and he was certain Alfred would win his daughter, Julia, over.
A heavy breath left him as he closed his eyes.
There was another reason he had wanted Alfred to go to Julia, it had to do with a broken dream that had died in the desert.
His own child, if his child had been born, would be two now. Bruce often times wondered what that child would look like. Would the child have been a boy or a girl? Truthfully Bruce could only ever imagine having a son, so when he dreamt of the child he would try to imagine what his son would have looked like. Would the boy have his mother's olive skin? Or would he have Bruce's dark hair? Would his son have that smirk, the smirk Talia claimed made him look like he knew everything? Or would their child have her temper? Bruce had hoped that the child would have Talia's eyes, those lethal sharp green eyes. Honestly, he'd always had a soft spot for predator green eyes, and he knew where that weakness stemmed from, but only two women he knew of actually had that predatory green gaze.
One was in the desert, she had screamed her hatred for him and demanded he leave after their loss.
The other, as far as Bruce knew, was in Europe on her growing career as a thief.
Broken dreams, he mused, there was no child, and there would be no child. Bruce was never going through this agony again; he hadn't even told Alfred about the lost child. It had already been three years since he had lost that child, but still, he hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone.
Standing he putt the sniffer aside as he picked up the latest case folder on the case he had been asked to look into by Gordon. Bruce was pleased that he was still on good terms with Gordon, they had had a strained relationship before he left, but now they appeared to have gotten better. Things between Gordon and the Bat were tentative, but they were slowly building a rapport. There was a sound from the front of the house which had Bruce shutting his case file shut and slipping it into the stack of Wayne Enterprise papers as he strode through the Manor.
"Jim," he blinked twice when he opened the door to see the Lieutenant there now.
"Hey Bruce," Jim's voice was strained.
"Come in," Bruce stepped aside as he let his old friend come into his home.
"I need help," Jim turned on him then and Bruce blinked.
"Of course, whatever you need, what can I help you with Lieutenant?" Bruce said as he gestured for Jim to follow him. Jim had lost his own son and wife to a fire last year, Bruce had cursed himself for not being fast enough to save Gordon's son.
"It's actually about my daughter," Gordon said as he sat.
"Barbara, right?" Bruce said; he had never understood how Jim could marry another woman named Barbara after what Barbara Kean had done. But Jim apparently had a fondness for he name Barbara.
"Babs," Jim said sitting.
"I don't see how I could be of much help," Bruce admitted as he poured the older man a sniffer of brandy and offered it. Jim took it.
"She's getting kicked out of her school, again," Jim said and Bruce nodded as he took a seat. "I'm out of schools to send her to except private."
"I can make a few calls," Bruce said calmly. "Gotham Academy is a prestigious school with a good scholarship program."
"Bruce, I've looked, but with as many schools as she's gotten kicked out of," Gordon sighed.
"I see," Bruce said.
"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate, she can't be homeschooled like you were."
"No, I suppose not, perhaps arranging for her to have counseling," Bruce offered. "I can speak to the school, and arrange something."
"Thank you," Jim said quietly.
"You did much for me when I was young Jim," Bruce said levelly.
"Babs is a handful since the fire," Jim sighted. "I don't get it, nothing works, not talking, or getting her into gymnastics, or anything, she just keeps getting in fights and getting kicked out of school! And She's So Fucking Smart! I Don't Know What To Do!?" the explosive frustration wasn't new to Bruce as he leaned back in his chair.
"It's never easy," Bruce parroted Alfred then.
"You turned out alright, so what did Alfred do to help you?" Jim whipped around on him and Bruce refrained from snorting at the phrase of him turning out alright.
"Boxing, Royal Marines PT work outs, an extreme change in schooling," he answered honestly.
"I don't know what to do with her!?" Jim sighed sitting down.
"There is nothing you can do," Bruce said calmly. "But I'll make some calls."
"Thank you, Bruce," Jim sighed. They both looked at the news then.
'And in Other News: Superman has once again claimed that Lex Corp is responsible for the recent slew of androids that recently attacked Metropolis…'
"I miss the days where the weirdest things were Indian Hill," Gordon sighed.
"I do to, Lieutenant." Bruce agreed. But Bruce had learned much in his years abroad, and the world was so full of Magic and mystery. He didn't like it. He would stick to the science.
"I heard you were backing the S.T.A.R. Labs project," Gordon said.
"Yes, I believe there is much to learn from the particle accelerator, it should be built and operational in a few years," Bruce said.
Gordon shrugged as he sipped the brandy. Bruce sipped his in silence as well as they sat there.
#bluboothalassophile#multi chapter fic#fanfic#batcat#bruce wayne#selina kyle#chapter 1#jive#fanfiction.net#ao3
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Warning (Soldier 76/OC feat Jacko)
sort of a part two/continuation to guided, but not featuring the junkers.
This is after Jacko’s returned to her home. A couple of “visitors” show up to her house- just the people she needed to see, actually.
Faucon belongs to @milked-goats / @writing-goats!!
Also under a read more bc LONG
Soldier 76 was a tired man. A tired man wandering the Irish countryside chasing some tale of some kind of… gang… terrorizing a local town. The people say they’re demons, but he figured the people were just scared. Not the first time he’d heard a bunch of assholes be called “demons”, anyway.
His companion- a tall French Woman by the alias of Faucon- walked behind him. Both must’ve looked ridiculous, walking along a forest path in full armor. Faucon knows she wants to get out of her heat-prison, but Soldier insisted on staying in gear. Who knows when they’d ambushed? Especially in these dense trees.
“Soldier,” the woman behind him started, taking a moment to figure out the translation to what she wants to say. God she wishes she studied English more often…
“Are you sure this is… right?” Hopefully that gets the point across. She just wants to make sure they aren’t lost.
Soldier had to think for a second, looking back at her. She glanced around at the trees, as if trying to figure out where they are. He sighed, running a gloved hand over his head.
“No- but I know we’re not lost. We just need to patrol around, then hurry back to a city to catch our flight back to Egypt.” Ana’s going to kick his ass for taking so long to get back to the necropolis.
If they’re lucky, the punks were eaten by fucking wolves and they can just leave.
But, as usual, luck was not on Soldier’s side.
A rustling caught the old soldier’s attention, he whipped around, weapon pointed towards the noise. He scowled behind the mask, trying to find anything- be it human or animal.
“Faucon, can you get up in the sky?” She looked up, frowning at the thick branches above her. There’s no break in the tree canopy, aside from the odd tiny holes. No way she could break through. She’d simply get branches and leaves stuck in her jetpack. She grunted out an “mm-mm”, stomping her foot angrily. He sighed. She frowned in response.
“Je suis désolé*,” she apologized. He leant his rifle on his shoulder, slowly walking again. She followed, keeping a closer eye on their surroundings.
“No need to apologize,” he grunted. “Can’t help that the trees here are so damn thick-” A large branch landed in their path, startling the soldiers. 76 jerked back, pulse rifle aiming upwards. They looked up, seeing something vaguely human shaped dart through the trees. Faint giggling could be heard, making the younger woman shudder.
A faint blue light suddenly lit up, at the far end of the path they’re on. The soldiers pointed their weapons forward. The light bobbed up and down, seemingly beckoning them to follow it. Faucon almost started walking, but Soldier moved his hand to block her path.
Before any action could be taken, shadows appeared around them. In the trees, among the bushes- bright eyes glowed in the dark. When had the sun set? Was it truly set, or were the trees just that thick?
A… creature stepped out of the brush. Nearly human in appearance, but with glowing gold eyes, black fur, and long claws. More of them stepped out- too many to count. Some sat in the trees, some hung behind. The humans were clearly outnumbered.
“No choice,” Soldier growled. He backed up, pushing his charge back. Without any further prompt, the two began to run. Like hell they could take on that many of those… things.
The monsters were definitely up for a chase, however.
Soldier fired his rockets into the pack, hoping to deter them. It injured a few, but it also just made the rest angrier.
An orange light appeared ahead of them, similar to the blue one from before. It floated in front of a break in the trees, on what looked like a worn dirt path. Soldier didn’t notice it at first- but Faucon did.
“À travers les arbres**,” she commanded, suddenly taking control of the situation. She gripped Soldier’s wrist, pulling him through the small gap between the trees. The older man almost tripped over roots- and his own feet- but managed to follow closely. The creatures roared, struggling to fit between the trunks at once.
It gave them enough of a head start to try and hide.
More orange lights appeared, a trail of them leading down the worn forest path. With no other choice, Faucon and 76 followed the disappearing- and reappearing- flickers of light.
At the end of a trail, and old cabin sat in the middle of clearing. The two stopped, startled to find anyone living this far out in the wilderness. They caught their breaths, checking behind them to see if they were followed.
Faucon nearly screamed as the door to the cabin slammed open.
“Oh, I’m so late! I hope they’re-”. The soldiers looked over at the new voice, seeing a very… small woman struggling to hold a large bag- and an even larger hat. The orange-haired woman stared at them for a moment, before sighing loudly in relief.
“Oh, thank the spirits. I thought I was TOO late,” she said, putting her hand- and hat- over her chest in relief. Soldier started to say something, but was cut off by loud snarling.
“Dammit- now we have to protect a civilian,” he growled, pulling his pulse rifle out. Faucon readied her SMG, moving back to keep a closer eye on the smaller woman.
“Protect me from what? The Phouka? Oh, please- I handle them on a daily basis,” she laughed, easily brushing past the confused soldiers. 76 shook his head, grabbing her shoulder roughly.
“Get behind-” The pack appeared, growling loudly. The woman pulled her shoulder away from 76’s hand, walking forward. The monsters seemed to stop- and a few even backed up.
“Oh hush now- I know what I’m doing,” she said, pulling her hat on. She whipped her bag around, digging through it. A faint chiming could be heard- bells jingled on the outside of the messenger bag.
Out comes a large, iron horseshoe.
The creatures- Phouka, she called them- cried out in anger. The woman approached them, holding the horseshoe out. The phouka growled and hissed, before turning and running.
Once she was sure they were gone, the seemingly-crazy woman turned back to the stunned soldiers. She put the horseshoe back in her bag, fishing something else out. She hurried towards them, a smile on her face.
“You two can call me Jacko- now where did I put-” She huffed, before letting out a happy “ah!” as she pulled out two daisychains. While the two were gathering their thoughts, Jacko shoved the small bracelets onto their wrists.
“Keep those on while you’re in my home. I’ll give you something stronger before you leave. Now come in! The tea’s about to be ready and we need to let the Phouka run off for a bit.” Without giving the two a chance to decline, she ushered them inside.
The house’s decor was just as eccentric as the woman who owned it. Charms and wreaths hung on the walls, what looked like Halloween decorations sat around the small living room, and a ton of different plants grew in various hanging and stationary pots.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Jacko said, hurrying to the kitchen. Faucon slowly slid her jetpack off, before sitting on the loveseat. 76 stayed standing, clutching his pulse rifle. Something was off about this woman- this whole situation.
The small woman returned, carrying a large tray with tea and cookies. She had taken her hat, cloak, and boots off. All that was left was a dark orange sundress and socks.
She set the tray down, looking up at him with unnervingly large green eyes. He chewed on the inside of his cheek- a nervous habit he could never break.
“You can sit down, you know! Just because I know how to ward off some of the fair folk doesn’t mean I could beat you in a fight,” she laughed, sitting in an old armchair across from the loveseat. She waited for the older man to sit- although he just… stood there. She guessed he was suspicious. That’s fair.
“Anyway, I know you’re curious and suspicious, but I can’t explain too much at the moment. Not without giving away some very important details for later.” Soldier sneered behind his mask. What the hell was this woman talking about?
“For the incident that happened just now, know that there are creatures long-thought fictional roaming around the world,” she started, voice turning deadly serious. “Keep your eyes on the shadows- but don’t linger too long. Many hate being stared at.” She got up again, going to a large cabinet at the back of the living room.
“Now, do you have something I can call you?” Faucon snapped out of her confused stupor, watching the woman dig through the cabinet. Bottles and dried plants were pushed aside as she muttered to herself.
“... Faucon,” the taller woman said. “And Soldier 76”. Jacko nodded, mumbling a “nice to meet you both”.
“Ah- there they are.” She pulled something out of the very back of the lowest shelf. She came back over, handing something to both visitors. Faucon examined the item.
It was a heavy bracelet, covered in red cloth to keep from biting into the skin. She looked at Jacko in confusion.
“Iron bracelets- the red is to make you invisible. Although… I guess he’d be safe. Those Phouka must’ve been after you, miss,” Jacko explained, eyeing the red on Soldier’s jacket. “Just to be safe- wear those as you leave the forest. They should ignore you”. Jacko sat again, pouring tea for her guests.
Once the tea was poured and the cups were dispersed, Jacko divided up the cookies. WIthout thinking, Faucon took the plate happily. Soldier tried to stop her, but she hungrily shoved a cookie in her mouth. Double fudge… Delicious.
Faucon didn’t see the glare Soldier shot her way.
“This visit has to be short- you two have a flight to catch”. Soldier raised his pulse rifle, startling both women.
“How do you know that? Who do you work for?” Jacko shook off the shock, letting out a small sigh. She frowned, nose wrinkling slightly with the action. Faucon found the look to be quite adorable, and couldn’t help but snicker behind her cup.
“Whatever I said, you wouldn’t believe me. Just know I work for someone who wants to help you- all of you.” Not a complete lie, on Jacko’s part. Soldier growled, moving forward. He slammed his hand on the coffee table, making the women jump. Faucon was definitely enjoying this… display, though.
“Cut this shit out. Tell me who you’re working for or I’ll-” “Kill me? Or take me to the authorities? You’re not part of Overwatch, anymore, sir- you don’t really have any authority here.” The sternness in her voice made him reel bad- as well as the knowledge she had. Who the hell was this woman?
“Now, I suggest you either sit down, or calm down, before I have you escorted out of this house”. Soldier didn’t know if she had other people- guards- here, so he just, reluctantly, shut his mouth. Faucon grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to come sit with her. He grunted, letting out a huff as he flopped himself on the old loveseat. Faucon resisted the urge to lean against him as Jacko sat up straight.
“You two are in danger- as is every previous Overwatch soldier. You’ll get a message soon- I don’t know from who. I’ve only heard them be called “the ones on the rock”. My sources are very… ridiculous, when it comes to details,” Jacko explained. Before Soldier could open his mouth, she continued. The two notice her eyes seemingly glaze over.
“The shadow’s searching- he’ll attack the ones on the rock, followed by his imps. After the attack, the ones from the rock will send the message. No matter what, you must answer it,” she said, voice sounding… far away. Faucon reached a hand up, waving it in front of her line of sight. Jacko’s eyes barely twitched in her direction.
The eccentric woman suddenly snapped out of her stupor, shaking her head. Soldier stood as she shook the disorientation away.
“I’ve heard enough. I don’t know how you got this information, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” he growled, heading for the door.
“If you don’t heed my warning, you’ll ruin many lives!” Soldier ignored her.
“Faucon! Fall out- we need to hurry back to town.” Faucon quickly stood, followed by Jacko. The frenchwoman started to leave, but Jacko grabbed her arm. She looked back as the smaller woman picked up a small, cloth-covered box.
“Take this- open it when you’re alone,” she said slowly, as if knowing Faucon had trouble with english. Faucon held the box awkwardly, staring down at the black cloth wrapped around it.
“There’s a way to contact me inside- as well as a few… extra items you might need, later,” Jacko said quietly. “Just… do not open it while you’re still in Ireland. Wear the iron bracelets until you’re where you need to be. Then open the box, when you’re alone. Soldier will take the items inside if he sees them”. Faucon, despite knowing she should tell Soldier about this, hesitantly nodded.
She slipped the medium-sized box into her bag carefully, before grabbing it and her jetpack. She hurried after her Commander, leaving the seemingly-crazed woman alone in her house.
The iron around her wrists felt more like shackles, clinking heavily against her armor. The two soldiers walked in silence, processing what had happened.
She reached over, grabbing the older soldier’s hand. He held it limply, thoughts more focused on the woman back in the cabin. She heard him mutter something along the lines of “this whole place is ridiculous”.
Neither of them saw the creatures of the forest scurrying past them, through the trees. The only thing Faucon managed to catch was a small hiss, and golden eyes darting back into the shadows.
The grip on Soldier’s hand tightened, as they made their way out of the forest.
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Elsewhere Men’s Hockey
Well this got long.
Jack is only half human. Alicia (human) attended Elsewhere U. and met Bad Bob (fae king).
What was Jack’s fall? We may never know exactly. He was kicked out of his kingdom, that’s for damn sure.
He is returning to the land of the Queen to try to regain entry.
John Johnson. Hoo boy. So. He’s been at Elsewhere a while. A long while. He started out as an RA. At some point, he became that guy that will go to the ends of the earth to get someone back. Particularly someone from his team. He’s traded away so many things. His face. His personality. Not his name. Not yet. Johnson isn’t really human any more. He’s not sure what he is.
He would have stuck around Bitty’s sophomore year, but there was a student from the hockey team who’s been missing since their last game - the one after Bitty’s “concussion” (more on that later). No one remembers his name, except Johnson. Johnson always gets his boys back. So he “graduated” and went searching. He’ll be back, eventually, though there’s a real risk that more of him will be gone forever in exchange.
So Jack. There’s a reason Jack is awkward, bad with pop culture, with technology. He wasn’t raised as a human. It’s hard enough to blend in. He sure as hell hasn’t kept up with human culture. There’s a reason he started with history and is working his way up to modern day. There’s a reason the boys on the hockey team fear him.
Speaking of hockey - yeah, some of the fae picked it up. It’s an allegory for battles. It is more dangerous, but with higher rewards in his world. Several of the hockey teams’ opponents are fae teams. The boys don’t notice. They never do. There are rules and rituals they follow to make sure the boys get back to Elsewhere after certain away games. Hockey players are a superstitious lot anyway, so it’s easy to hide.
Jack remembers the name of the boy Johnson went after. They don’t talk about it.
Jack’s eyes are very very blue. They look unreal.
Jack isn’t someone you can just google and learn all about his past. Still, some things are known. He certainly won’t talk about his grave mistake, how he nearly died. He lets people make their own conclusions.
Shitty:
His initial isn’t even B. Knight. It’s unclear if he figured out how important names and lies and truths are, or if he’s just weird. Could go either way.
When he gets high, he sees truths he’s not really meant to. He’s never openly taken it seriously, but then - he did befriend Jack in a very serious and determined way. It’s hard to tell what he knows.
Ransom:
He’s a bio major, so mostly the strange things keep away. (They do not like to be studied, pinned down).
Then again, he’s super pretty. His eyes, his cheekbones, his ass. There are a few that follow him. They are sometimes known as Mandy and Jenny. Those aren’t their names, but sometimes it helps to be able to identify things in some fashion.
He doesn’t believe any of it is real. But he can’t explain some things that he experiences, and it bothers him.
Holster:
He’s an econ major. He’s pretty uninteresting, and so is one of those students who lives mostly unaware.
Particularly because he takes hockey rituals so seriously.
He’s only really at risk because of his singing, and occasional use of pianos. He’s learned there are places it’s safe to sing, and places it’s far too creepy, and he doesn’t even really realize it.
Lardo:
Her art is creepy. Fucking creepy as hell.
It’s also beautiful.
What does she see? What does she know. Too much, and too little.
She plays it cool, always.
Inside she’s screaming.
She feels safer when the boys are around, so she sticks pretty close to them.
Jack likes her. He looks out, in little ways. She’s always a bit at risk, and he does what he can.
Speaking of - hockey nicknames are their own protection. That’s one of many reasons even Lardo has one.
Bitty’s Freshman Year:
Bitty:
He brings an unexpected element of protection to the team. He bakes so much fucking food. There have been fewer dangerous food related incidences since he joined the team.
It’s not hard to convince him to carry salt. It’s almost too easy.
It’s harder to convince him singing everywhere isn’t safe. The haus has protections. So does the locker room, at least for home games.
Remember what I said about that concussion? Yeah. Not a concussion. It was an away game. Somewhere less than human. Jack should have seen it coming - they always try to cheat. It’s in their nature.
At least it’s a magic that shouldn’t (probably) affect Bitty long term.
Still, Jack feels guilty. It’s his fault. He should look after his team.
Bitty’s Sophomore Year:
Bitty and Jack are getting along better.
Bitty is helping far more at catching Jack up on his pop culture and technology than he expected.
Nursey:
This boy is just a walking target. Flower crowns, poetry read aloud on the quad to the crows or anyone who would listen.
He’s careless, and it’s partly because he doesn’t know any better, but he’s in danger.
He didn’t used to be this clumsy. It’s not entirely clear what he’s tripping over.
Dex:
He’s Nursey’s roommate, not just his defense partner.
Nursey can’t remember if his eyes were always that yellow.
What is he?
He might be a changling. He’s definitely not human. Cryptid of some sort, almost certainly.
He seems pretty harmless, so Jack lets him stay on the team.
In fact, he seems pretty protective of Nursey and Chowder.
Computers just… malfunction around him.
Chowder:
He takes hockey rituals seriously.
But his laughter is like sunshine.
He’s down to earth.
He’s sweet and innocent and lighthearted. Sometimes that’s all it takes.
His braces aren’t iron. It would be better if they had some.
Really, he does okay. He’s not as exposed as some. Jack pays extra attention to him, because Bitty likes him so much.
Farmer:
Jack worries about the women’s volleyball team. It’s not as well protected as the hockey team.
Farmer is down to earth too, but in a way he fears will make her careless.
She’s okay, for now. She follows the unspoken rules.
Epikegster:
The haus parties are always dangerous. Even with the protections on the haus, it attracts attention. There’s a reason Nursey Patrol exists. There’s a reason Jack doesn’t show his face very often.
Bitty convinces him.
Kent Parson isn’t his real name. Jack doesn’t know what it is.
He chooses that form because he’s seen the way Jack looks at Bitty. Short man, blond. Changing eyes he can’t quite control.
What, you thought he was human?
Everyone believes they know him.
They’ll continue to, until he’s gone.
Parson has thrived on the ice since Jack’s fall. He’s gained power, and he’s dangerous.
It’s just that he’ll use his power to influence things if he can.
He plays by his own rules.
Jack’s changed, and he’d learned tricks from the humans, ironically. He doesn’t fall under that influence as easily as he once would have.
Goodbye for the Summer:
Jack doesn’t want to leave Elsewhere behind. Not if it means leaving Bitty.
There’s a reason he needs a word from Bad Bob to decide it’s okay, it could work.
When he texts Bitty, when he visits him over the summer - well, there are truths Bitty needs to know. There are secrets he can’t keep if he wants this to work. And Jack wants it to work.
He doesn’t tell Bitty his true name.
That would be foolish.
(That’s what he will do if they get married).
Junior year:
Shitty didn’t want to leave Elsewhere. He didn’t want to go back to the mundane world.
Fucking Law School, man.
There’s more than one reason he comes back as often as he can.
Jack has earned his way back.
He’s not in Providence.
That’s just what he tells people.
The Falcs, all of the expansion teams actually - they’re not human teams.
Jack belongs there, but he still has a lot to prove.
Georgia is human. They’re better at organization. It’s a delicate balance. She loves this world. She made her choices, and so far, is happy with them.
The LAX bros:
Well they’re monsters.
Sometimes literally.
Tango:
He might be in danger.
He asks too many questions.
He seeks answers, and too loudly, too obviously.
Someone should be looking out for him, but Jack has graduated, and Johnson is still “finding himself.” Johnson will always be finding himself, because that’s the one person he’ll never find again.
Whiskey:
He’s in danger too.
He would have been fine, an econ major. Down to earth and practical.
He would have been, but he hangs out with the LAX bros.
It’s a problem.
But who is looking out for these frogs? The EMH has lost it’s best protection.
The secrecy is hard for Bitty. The distance is hard too, because it’s more than just raw distance on a human scale.
They tell Shitty the truth.
There are others they don’t tell.
Shitty only remembers all the details when he comes to visit from Harvard Law.
It’s actually safer for them all that way, anyway.
Shitty looks at Jack, who he’s known for years, and he sees a truth. “Love has changed you, m’dude.”
When Jack comes out to Georgia, his teammates, it’s less about the fact that he has a boyfriend, and more about the fact that his boyfriend is human. It’s something that he needs them to know, but also that he needs to protect.
His parents are genuinely thrilled. Remember, Alicia is human too.
There’s a reason he wants his father’s advice about who to tell, and how. There are things he needs to protect.
Bitty sees things differently, the more he knows.
He doesn’t know what Marty is. He doesn’t need to. He sees the human glamour, knows it’s glamour, and let’s it be.
He knows about Dex.
They bake together a lot. It turns out to be a good time to exchange information in subtle ways.
He’s not sure if Dex should be allowed to feed the team. Does that count as human food?
He’s worried about the tadpoles, but he may have missed the opportunity to really protect them. He does his best. This is the first year in a long while that the team captains don’t really know what they’re doing as far as Elsewhere itself is concerned.
Still, his hockey does improve, once he learns a few things.
The defensemen, and Chowder in the net - they defend more than during the game. There are skills they should know. Holster and Ransom didn’t know to teach them, and they’ve had little contact with Johnson. Bitty passes along what information he has.
He’s not sure what he’ll do when he graduates. One thing’s for sure: he’s not going back to Georgia.
#elsewhere university#check please#omgcp au#fae#elsewhere men's hockey#jack zimmermann#eric bittle#zimbits#shitty knight#adam holster birkholtz#justin ransom oluransi#larissa lardo duan#derek nursey nurse#william dex poindexter#tango#whiskey#it could have been a lot darker#but based on canon it's pretty chill#johnson the metaphysical goalie
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Hiched chapter 2
And then the cancer diagnosis. Diagnoses, plural—first Mom in my freshman year of college, then Dad just last year.
But even though I’d had a front-row seat to Mom’s mortality, Dad’s still came as a shock. He’s as wise and proud as ever, and he puts up a brave front for the rest of us, but I can tell what the cancer is doing to him. I’ve been his daughter for twenty-six years; I know where to look. It’s those little moments, like when his hands shake when we talk about the future, or he gets that faraway look in his eyes.
Dad has so little time. Sometimes it’s still hard to remember that. All too soon, Rachel and I will be each other’s only remaining family. And my little sister sure as hell won’t run Tate & Cane Enterprises. She has never been interested in the business world; she loves fashion, not finance. Although maybe I should ask her advice on graphic design, for revamping our marketing campaign styles . . .
I frown into my sangria. Damn, I’m thinking as if Tate & Cane is already mine. As if I’ve subconsciously taken my responsibilities for granted.
Well, why shouldn’t I? Dad always told me that his seat would be mine someday. This company is my birthright. It’s Dad’s legacy—the hard-won fruit of all his blood, sweat, and tears. He shouldn’t spend his last days worrying about what will happen to it. And soon, this company will be all I have left of him. Assuming I actually manage to hold on to the damn thing.
Personal sentiment aside, T&C also employs over six thousand people. Six thousand lives that will be turned upside-down if our rivals take over.
Fuck. I can’t believe I’m even considering this ridiculous contract.
But my career is everything to me. It always has been. While other girls enjoyed normal social lives, I studied for hours every night. While they picked out homecoming dresses and sneaked booze from their parents’ liquor cabinets, I did internships. While they rushed sororities, I co-chaired my university’s Women Entrepreneurs Club. I aced every single one of my undergrad and MBA classes. No partying and barely any dating. I never coasted on Dad’s reputation; ever since I was old enough to understand what a huge responsibility waited in my future, I wanted to be ready for it.
Well, I’m ready now. I’ve worked hard all my life, and I’ve earned the right to prove myself as head of Tate & Cane. I’m confident that I can fill Dad’s shoes.
I can’t let Dad down. I can’t let my younger self down. This company is mine; the thought of losing it to a rival is even worse than the thought of Justin making suggestive comments at me for the rest of my life.
This company can’t slip through my fingers, so I won’t let it—even if that means I have to partner with Justin. Not just partner, but dear God, marry the son of a bitch. Our fathers must have gone temporarily insane when they wrote their wills. Then again, they always did have weird, old-fashioned ideas about dating and courtship.
But no situation is impossible. If I can just calm down and think clearly, an optimal solution will emerge. Any seemingly impossible goal can be managed by breaking it down into bite-sized component tasks.
I breathe deeply to calm myself and try to let my training take over.
Camryn has made two important points. First, both Justin and I want to save Tate & Cane Enterprises. This company is our birthright, our fathers’ legacy—and its employees are our responsibility. And second, this marriage is just another form of legal partnership. Which means it’s a contract open to negotiation.
Yes, it royally sucks that I’m not marrying for love. My closet romantic side cringes at the thought. But I try to set aside as much emotional baggage as I can. Not every marriage has to be like a Hollywood romance, after all. Justin and I don’t need to be in love with each other to successfully co-pilot a company.
The $100 billion question here is: How well would we work together?
Can we even get along? Will our partnership be stable and productive? Or will it implode . . . taking Tate & Cane down with us?
This decision doesn’t rest entirely on my shoulders. Our fathers have always said that we’re stronger together—that’s why they paired us off in the first place. So Justin ought to do some heavy lifting too. In fact, I could argue that it’s his job to convince me, since he’s already on board.
So, let him make his sales pitch. Let him prove himself to me. Let him demonstrate how and why this relationship could actually succeed. I’ll do my part too—I’ll try to maintain good faith and stay receptive to the idea of us becoming friends. But I’m not the type to commit to something unless I know I can follow through. If I’m going to marry Justin, then by God, I want to win at it.
The end of my inner debate must show on my face, because Camryn reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.
“I’m going to order us dessert.”
“I love you,” I say on a sigh. Even with my newfound determination, I’ll need some serious chocolate to get through this.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re really brave.”
I force a smile. “Thanks.”
Grumbling to myself, I fish my phone out of my purse and call Dad to schedule another meeting with Justin and Prescott. I have to give them my answer as soon as possible.
• • •
Late that afternoon, almost the close of the business day, I open the same conference room door I walked through yesterday. Nobody turns in response; the three men seated at the table have already looked up at the sound of my footsteps in the hall.
Justin’s crooked smile is just a little bit too smug. What was that you said earlier? Something about not marrying me? it seems to gloat. How’s that humble pie taste?
A muscle tenses in my jaw. He didn’t even have to say a word and I’m already irritated all over again. Goddamn it, he’s so annoyingly attractive—with his charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and merlot-colored tie, all expertly tailored to fit his six-foot-two frame—and the fact that he can get under my skin so easily just annoys me even more.
His entire demeanor screams confidence. From his deep, inquisitive eyes that see too much, to his strong hands with neatly trimmed nails, to the thick column of his throat that bobs when he smirks at me. He’s the thing my teenage fantasies were made of. Woodsy male scent. Muscular, yet trim frame. A quick wit that always finds a way to pull me into a debate.
Ignoring the pounding of my heart, I force my eyes away from Justin and address the room. “Thank you all for reconvening on such short notice. I have a proposal to make.”
“I thought that was my job,” Justin interjects.
Pointedly ignoring his joke, I explain. “I’ll sign the inheritance contract at the end of the month . . .”
Everyone blinks at me. Dad and Prescott look pleasantly surprised. Justin’s annoying smile is gone, replaced with a slightly furrowed brow.
“But only,” I continue, “if Justin can show me that a relationship between us could work. After all, Tate & Cane’s fate hinges on our ability to cooperate as both business partners and spouses.”
“A trial period?” Dad asks.
“You could describe it like that. I also think that getting to know each other better will help the company’s public image. We need to make our relationship believable; it’ll look strange if nobody ever sees us together before we marry.”
It’s also a chance to dip my toes in before diving straight into the deep end. An attempt to inject a little normality into a deeply abnormal situation.
But I don’t say that part out loud. I don’t want to admit right now that marriage still scares me a little. Not with Justin blinking curiously at me, and Prescott looking frustrated at the prospect of even further delays.
Justin finally speaks up. “So, essentially, you’re asking me to date you.”
I nod at him. “Yep, that’s the idea. At least take me out for a drink before I consider taking your name.” I look straight at him, waiting to see his reaction before I hit him with my next clause. “Oh, and another thing. Refrain from having sex . . . with anyone.”
Chapter Three
Justin
She wants me to woo her?
Of all the scenarios I imagined—from the most likely, where Selena rips up the contract, to the even crazier, where she actually signs it—this wasn’t one of them.
She’s laid down her own stipulations, ensuring that I’ll have to work to win her over. Though I probably should have expected a curveball. This is Selena Cane, after all.
“If there are no further questions, I should get back to work,” Selena says. When nobody responds, she turns and struts out of the conference room, her round ass swaying as her heels click across the floor. The door swings shut.
“That was interesting,” I say under my breath.
Fred stops beside me as I stand, trying to process what just happened. “It sounds like the ball’s in your court, son. But don’t worry. I know you can pull this off.”
“Thanks.” I nod, then take off toward her office. She doesn’t get to drop a bomb like that and then saunter away.
She’s inside, perched in her cream-colored leather chair, stilettos kicked off under her desk. Her toenails are painted light blue, and she’s tapping her foot in time to whatever tune she’s humming. Something on her computer screen has her complete attention.
Startled at the sound of the door opening, she looks up, her wide crystal-blue eyes finding mine. “Did you need something? I have work to do.”
She mentioned us going for a drink. Which is perfect, considering I need to prove how compatible we can be. But first, I need her to see something. This isn’t just some game; I need her to understand exactly what’s at stake if we don’t succeed.
“Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”
I tug her up from her desk chair, allowing her a moment to slip her delicate feet back into her heels, then tow her from the office before she can argue.
“Where are you taking me?”
I grunt and mumble, “You’ll see.”
“Don’t be such a caveman; use your words.”
“We’re going to the mail room.”
She scoffs. “What on earth for?”
I don’t answer, just punch the button for the elevator. We cruise down to the basement floor of the building with an eerie silence hanging around us. When the doors open to the basement, I take a deep breath.
“Ahh . . . you smell that?” I grin at her.
Her mouth turns down into a frown. “Mildew?” Her gaze darts around the large open space stacked with boxes. “The health department would have a field day down here.”
This is my favorite place in the whole building, so I don’t take too kindly to Selena turning up her nose at it. “Don’t be such a grouch. Come on.”
I lace my fingers with hers once again and tug her farther down the fluorescent-lit hallway. When we reach the mail room, I wonder for a moment if Rosita is on her break.
“Now, what is it that you wanted to show me?” Selena raises her eyebrows and places one hand on her hip, obviously not impressed.
Wide shelves line all four walls. They’re numbered with the corresponding floors of the building and hold various envelopes and packages. It’s not a high-tech operation, but it gets the job done.
“Not what, but who.” I tip my chin toward the Latina cheerfully humming a tune to herself. Rosita’s back is to us as she sorts mail at the far end of the room.
“Rosita,” I call out.
She swivels around, clearly not expecting anyone, and her shoulder-length hair swings. A look of surprise is painted across her pleasant features, especially her large dark brown eyes, and a hint of pink comes to her round cheeks.
Rosita immigrated here from Mexico when she was just eighteen, taught herself English, and worked hard to support her growing family. Now, she’s a force to be reckoned with.
A company of this size usually employs a mail-room staff of three to four people. But Rosita said they’d just get in her way, so she runs the whole operation herself. She took ownership of both the position and the space, and made it hers—even hung cheery posters on the wall. One of a monkey dancing. Another of bright orange poppies.
“Mi amor!” she cries, already heading toward us. “Abrazo.” She opens her arms to me, expecting our customary hug.
“Gracias, Mamacita,” I reply, giving her a light squeeze.
It’s the same way she’s been greeting me for the past six years. I know about a whopping four words of Spanish, but I always use them with her. I want her to feel at home, I guess.
Coincidentally, Rosita and I started work here on the same day. We even attended orientation together. I was a fresh college grad, still wet behind the ears, and Rosita, fifteen years my elder, was skeptical about the owner’s son. Unlike Selena, I haven’t worked here since I could walk. I had other jobs during college and made a point of interning at another firm so I could see how the competition worked.
When I met her, I thought Rosita might assume I was some rich, privileged punk who didn’t have to earn his paycheck. It made me all the more determined to prove her wrong. And Dad always was big on learning the ropes from the ground up, anyway. So for my first two weeks at Tate & Cane, I began working right alongside Rosita in the mail room.
It was during that time we cemented our relationship. We delivered packages and memos side by side, and shared jokes and stories. But when I really fell in love was when she shared her empanadas with me at lunch.
Rosita’s eyes widen slightly as they swing from mine to Selena’s. “Miss Cane,” she says, her voice soft and quizzical. It’s not every day the CEO’s daughter wanders down to the mail room.
“Please, call me Selena,” she says, correcting Rosita with a smile meant to ease. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Everyone at the company knows Selena, even if they haven’t met.
“Did you . . . need something?” Rosita looks between me and Selena again.
I shake my head. “Nope. Just came to say hello.”
Rosita’s posture relaxes and she smiles. “Did you get my invite for Maria’s birthday party?”
“Of course. Two weeks from Saturday, right? It’s already on my calendar.”
“Have you had lunch yet?” She smiles and reaches out to smooth one hand over my silk tie. “I worry, you know.”
I smile. “I’ve eaten. Thank you.”
Sometimes when I’m busy, I’ve been known to skip lunch—that is, until Rosita forces herself into my office with a sandwich from the deli down the street. It’s like she can sense when I’ve missed a meal. She often blurs the line between coworker, friend, and mother.
I’ve brought Selena down here today because I want her to see there’s more to this company than what the numbers say. Some things can’t be learned from a spreadsheet. The perspective Selena has perched in her corner office chair all day is quite different from the perspective one gets on the ground floor of this operation.
Standing here, looking into Rosita’s rich mahogany eyes and feeling the warmth and care that pours from her very soul, it’s impossible for us not to be aware of the importance of our responsibility. We can’t fail at this. If we fail, we take all these people down with us.
And I, for one, won’t let that happen.
After pleasantries are exchanged, Selena and I head back toward the elevator.
“She’s important to you, isn’t she?” Selena asks.
“Very.”
She nods, looking contemplative.
I check my watch as we step inside the elevator and let out a sigh. Selena looks as overwhelmed as I feel. We’ve been under a mountain of stress lately, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get more intense.
“Today was unexpected,” I say. “Just like that, after weeks of negotiation, you’re actually going to consider this, huh?”
“I will do this on my terms, if and when I’m ready, Justin. Consider the next few weeks a trial period.”
“That will be easy, sweetheart.”
“Oh, it won’t be easy,” she says, correcting me. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Tate?”
“I told you not to call me that, either.”
“I know. You told me to take you out for a drink before you’ll consider taking my name.” I smirk at her. “Which I think is an excellent fucking idea. Brilliant, in fact.”
I coax my first smile from her and feel like thumping my chest. Although I have a desk full of work to get back to, the idea of sitting across from Selena and hearing her tell me about this supposed trial period sounds like a lot more fun. Time to push a little harder.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, you know.”
“We’ve had a lot going on. I think we could use a cocktail,” she says, amazing me that she actually agreed.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen?” I know she’ll never agree to leave without wrapping up the last of her e-mails.
“Sure.”
Then I watch her ass as she saunters away toward her office.
• • •
Once we’re seated at the elegant Stanton Room, a swanky bar across the street from our office building, Selena and I place our order with the waitress—a vodka martini, extra dirty for her, and a Scotch on the rocks for me.
“Extra dirty, huh?” I wink at her.
“Surprised?” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips.
“That the straitlaced Selena Cane likes it extra dirty? Why, yes, I am.”
“Don’t overthink it, Justin. I’d hate to see you burst a brain cell.”
I scowl at her. If there’s one thing Selena and I do well, it’s banter. And though she’d like to believe otherwise, sexual tension runs rampant just below the surface.
I lean in toward her, my elbows on the table. “So, how will all this work, exactly? Me and you? I just like to be clear on expectations so I can exceed them.”
Her gaze is cool. Not icy, at least, but still a long way from where I want her. “Well, I haven’t put a lot of thought into it yet, but you’ll have to win me over. Show me that this crazy thing could actually work.”
If there’s one thing I know about Selena, it’s that she refuses to fail. Something tells me that with everything that’s on the line, Selena needs to know I won’t fuck up and embarrass her as a husband. We have to work together, live together, and actually pull off this whole coupledom in a big way.
“So you said you want to date? I don’t date, Snowflake.”
“Winning over doesn’t necessarily mean dating.”
She takes a sip from her martini glass and sets it down with an inquisitive look on her delicate features. She may look like your average, sweet girl next door, but at her core, Selena is a ballbuster. A total triple threat. Sexy, intelligent, and talented. Which is perfect, seeing as those are the qualities I always dreamed my future wife would possess. Well, those, along with a tight—
Selena clears her throat, interrupting my train of thought. Fuck.
“Winning over means that we can be in the same room together without ripping each other’s throats out.”
I nod. “Okay, we’ll be civilized about it.”
“Fine,” she says. “And we should figure out what the hell we have in common.”
I think we already know what we have in common—and to my understanding, it’s a long list. But I’ll go by whatever definition she wants. I’ll win no matter what it is.
“Seeing as we have to put on a show, I agree. I should know a bit about my future fiancée,” I say. “For instance, your favorite sexual position . . .”
She coughs and sputters, choking on the olive in her drink. For a minute there, I think I’m going to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver, until she swallows the damn thing and glares at me.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she croaks out, her voice still hoarse.
I chuckle. “Settle down. I just want to know how to please my future wife, is all.”
“You can please me by buckling down and getting to work at the office instead of taking those three-martini lunches you favor.”
“Darling?” I blink at her. Since I’ve been told by more than one ex-girlfriend that my eyelashes are enviable, I’m hoping it has the exaggerated effect I’m going for. “We were supposed to be discussing what we have in common.”
“Right. Well . . .” She begins listing items on her fingers. “Summering in the Hamptons. Working at Tate & Cane, obviously. Our families are friends.”
“We both lost our mothers,” I point out.
Her gaze drops to the table in front of her, but I don’t feel bad. It’s just a fact of life, one we’ve discussed before, and I’d rather skip the superficial bullshit and get down to a real level.
“Yes. What else?” She drums her fingers on the table.
“I, for one, like anal. You?”
Damn it. Again with the choking. I stand and pat my future fiancée’s back until her airway clears.
“Another drink?” I ask, noticing that hers is now empty.
She looks flustered that she downed it so quickly, but signals to the waitress for another round.
“I know what I’m getting myself into, Justin. Besides, my focus is going to be on saving this company, not pretending to be the happy little wife to my fake husband.”
“Correction.” I lean closer. “Soon to be real husband. I’ll win you over, Snowflake. This will happen.”
Chapter Four
Selena
Win me over, Justin says. Real husband.
There’s nothing real about this. He can call this trial period “dating” if he wants, but all I’m after is reassurance that we’ll mesh as co-CEOs. No need to confuse the issue with love or sex, no matter how dangerously attractive he is. I just have questions that need answers.
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