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hydrospanners · 4 years

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when a problem comes along, you must whip it

when an explosion rocks the palace where they're staying in the night, jedi siblings rhese and rea handle the situation with their usual grace and efficiency. this is a very serious fic. swtor act two. genfic; f!jedi knight x doc mentioned. no spoilers. 2700 words. ao3.

Crack that whip Give the past the slip Step on a crack Break your momma's back When a problem comes along You must whip it Before the cream sits out too long You must whip it When something's going wrong You must whip it

-- whip it by devo

In the end, Rea does more property damage than the bomb.

A year ago he might have let himself shoulder some blame for that, but now--Now Rhese is older. Rhese is wiser. And Rhese knows that his sister would’ve found her way to bringing the place down whether he’d done what he did or not. He has no bearing on Rea’s destructive inevitability, and he sleeps better at night now that he’s made his peace with it.

He doubts if the Duke will ever get a good night’s sleep again. Not everyone is used to being stirred from sleep by explosions in their rotundas.

Rhese can’t remember the last time he went more than a week or two without having his sleep interrupted by an explosion of one kind or another. He isn’t sure what that says about his life except that Rea is back in it.

The building was still trembling from the blast when his feet hit the floor, and he barely took the time to slide his lounge pants on before he went chasing after that familiar pulse in the Force, the powerful thrum of Rea’s presence, knowing she would already be wherever the trouble was.

He has regrets about that now. You’d think he’d know by now to never go anywhere Rea is without his lightsaber. You’d think he’d know to at least put on some underwear. But he was sleeping deeply and he’s always been a little slow to wake up. It’s the only defense he has for himself, for running into a clusterfuck like that half-dressed and unarmed.

When he found Rea in the great hall, he could see she wasn’t any better prepared than him. She was messy-haired, empty-handed, and naked from the waist down, wearing nothing but a shirt too clean and too tight in the shoulders to be her own. It was pretty clear what she’d been up to; Rhese just hoped her evening’s entertainment didn’t rush down with as little consideration for appearances as she had. The situation was bad enough without trying to avoid eye contact with Doc’s erection.

A dozen or so mercs and their assault cannons filled the hall with blaster fire like a driving rain, forcing them both to cover on opposite sides of the room, tucked behind the huge pillars that dotted the room. Normally a pair of Jedi wouldn’t even be inconvenienced by some hired muscle and a bit of blaster fire, but normally Jedi had lightsabers and plastoid armor.

“Rhese!” He could hardly hear Rea’s voice over the torrent of blaster bolts screaming through the hall between them. She started pointing at him. “Rhese! Behind you!”

He looked over his shoulder, muscles tensed for a fight, but no one was there. Nothing was there except the display case on the wall. The display case with the--the hilt of a--

Shit. She couldn’t be serious.

“I don’t know how to use that!” He shouted back.

Even through the haze of red, he could see her rolling her eyes. He could feel her rolling her eyes, somewhere deep in his soul. “Throw it to me, dumbass!”

Of course she was fucking serious.

“You don’t know how to use that either!” He shouted.

“Rhese!”

Stars fucking dammit. He looked at the case then back to Rea, hoping he had somehow misunderstood what she wanted, but she was just gesturing for him to hurry it up. Because of course she was. Of course this was her actual, entire plan. Of course this was going to happen.

Was one night of peace in a large, comfortable bed really so much to ask for?

“Don’t look!” Rhese shouted, then dropped his pants.

He wrapped the fabric around his fist, cursing himself for forgetting underwear, and crept toward the case in a crouch. He didn’t see any obvious security measures and there wasn’t time for a more thorough check. The mercs were closing in. There was nothing to do but take the gamble and hope the Duke hadn’t installed anything more serious than a burglary alarm.

Rhese punched the glass.

It shattered, exploding in every direction, lashing his skin, leaving tiny cuts across his face and his arms and his chest and his legs. His fist burned as shards of it buried themselves deep under his skin, even with the fabric of his pants to protect it.

He ignored the pain, too high on adrenaline and annoyance to care. The hilt of Rea’s No Good Very Bad Idea came free from its mount with a tug.

It seemed to quake under his touch. There was something stirring inside it, something wild and alive. The feel of it coursed up his arm, racing across his skin like electricity, calling to something inside of him, to some dormant part of his--

Fuck.

Rhese tossed the thing like it burned him. The hilt hardly left his hand before he felt the tug of the Force pulling it away from him, drawing it into Rea’s waiting palm. Part of him wanted to pull it back, to feel the cool, unyielding metal against his skin, to be the one with his thumb on the switch.

He smothered that part with a feather down pillow. Let her have it, he thought, a tremor running down his spine. I’m not the crazy one in this family.

Maybe he should have warned her. Maybe he could have saved the Duke a few million credits and all of them a lot of grief if he’d just mentioned what he felt.

But probably not.

Rea’s never let things like total ignorance of what she’s dealing with or the threat of possession by a potentially evil incorporeal entity stop her before, and he doubts she would have started today. He doubts anything would have kept her hands off that thing once she realized she had an excuse to try it out. He remembers how she’d looked at it on their tour, with that hungry glint in her eye, the gears of her scheming little brain turning so fast you could almost see the smoke pouring from her ears.

Things would’ve turned out the same, no matter what Rhese did or didn’t do. It was already too late for them the moment Rea laid her eyes on that thing.

She barely closed her fingers around the hilt before the blade was igniting in a shower of sparks.

If you could call it a blade.

It was a rope of electric blue light that fell from the hilt in long coils, graceful and deadly, crackling as it melted through the carpet and into the marble floor beneath.

Rhese had heard of lightwhips before, but never expected to see one with his own eyes, much less one that still worked. He hadn’t thought any still existed considering how badly the stories about them always end.

And now they have another story for the list.

Rea gave the thing an experimental crack, sending sparks flying as the thong streaked wildly through the air, a blur of electric blue that lashed across pillars and walls before snapping against a statue of the Duke’s great-grandmother, neatly severing the top half of her marble head. It shattered against the floor as the whip fell limp, leaving trails of lime scarring in the marble as it slid slowly to the ground.

The flow of blaster fire stuttered, some of the mercs evidently asking themselves what the streak of light scorching its way across the hall might mean for their plans. He doubted any of them were scholars of esoteric plasma weapons, but you don’t survive long as a mercenary without some sense of when the winds of fortune have turned against you.

Rhese ducked back behind his pillar before Rea made another crack. His night was bad enough without a firsthand lesson on the relative effectiveness of an ancient lightwhip against bare human flesh. He tried to shake the shattered glass from his crumpled pants, but it was no good. Tiny slivers were tucked so deep in the fabric he doubted he’d ever get them out.

He wondered if he shouldn’t just put them on anyway; he wondered if a little pain wouldn’t be worth sparing himself the humiliation of going hand-to-hand against a dozen armed and armored mercs while his dick flapped in the wind. Then he remembered whose hands would have to dig all that glass out of his balls later and thought better of it.

With another sharp crack, Rea brought the whip twisting back toward them, lashing wildly between walls and statues and--

“Fuck!” Rhese swore, rolling out of the way just in time as the tip of the thong sparked against the pillar where his head had been not even a second ago. “Can you maybe try not to kill me?” He shouted.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Rea laughed, then paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “Where are your panties?”

Rhese glared back, determinedly ignoring the blush creeping from his cheeks down to his chest. “You focus on the guys trying to blow us up. Let me worry about my panties.”

“You want my shirt?”

“No!” The only thing worse than going into a fight with his dick in the wind would be going into a fight with Doc’s shirt wrapped around him like a diaper.

Rea shrugged.

And then she was gone.

She soared through the air, bare-assed and gleeful, cackling as she spun the lightwhip into a whirlwind of a shield. Blaster bolts bounced off it in every direction, blue and red blurring together into a haze of purple light that surrounded Rea like a halo.

He’d had every intention of helping, of taking advantage of the distraction to drop some of their attackers as mercifully as possible, or at the very least without having to bisect them. But then Rea landed among them, whip lashing, and he watched in abject horror as it tore through their bodies and the walls as easily as if they were flimsi. He watched it snap and whirl and crack with abandon, striking like lightning at anything within twenty feet of his sister.

Before Rhese could decide if saving people who’d come here to kill him was worth the risk of Rea cutting something from his body he’d much rather have attached, a terrible crack echoed through the hall. A column, gouged and abused by the slashing of the whip, crashed to the floor between them.

The columns, as it turned out, were not entirely decorative.

The ceiling groaned where the column had stood just moments before, large cracks splintering out like a spider’s web from the place where the column broke away. Dust and debris poured from the crack, and the alarms finally began to wail as other cracks echoed through the hall, the other columns straining under the load.

Rea’s laughter and the sharp snap of the whip grew distant as the columns crumbled, and Rhese knew what was left of the mercenaries had tried to run. He knew she was giving chase.

He dodged chunks of marble and bits of gilded metal as he scrambled through the collapsing room, columns and pieces of ceiling smashing against the floor in turn. His nakedness was forgotten, and he hardly even felt the shards of glass and broken rock buried deep in the soles of his bleeding feet.

The nakedness is the thing he’ll regret most later, when he sees himself in the holos, dusty and bleeding and wearing nothing but a too-small censor bar over his genitals.

He follows the path of destruction, hardly noticing the household staff and other guests scrambling past him to escape the building. Definitely not noticing the way they were noticing him, running through the halls with his wang in the wind, screaming bloody murder at his sister.

It is not one of his finest moments.

He thought it wasn’t one of Rea’s either. As he was running through the halls, deflecting crumbling chunks of stone and durasteel with the Force, he was so sure she’d been possessed by the sweet pull of chaos he’d felt inside that lightwhip. He was sure that this time, she needed to be saved.

As usual, he’d been wrong.

Rhese heard a second explosion just moments before he spilled out into the palace’s rear garden, where the mercs and all their reinforcements were trying to clamber past each other through a hole in the outer wall that had not been there that morning. Rea was there too, strolling toward them almost lazily, snapping her whip in arcs so graceful she might’ve been making them her whole life.

It’s only then Rhese notices how there aren’t bodies and bits of bodies littering the yard. Only then that he realizes he hasn’t seen a single cut up corpse since the mercs she dropped at the very start of the attack.

It’s only then, standing in the courtyard ass naked and bleeding, with household guests and staff pouring in from every direction, their holocams live, that Rhese realizes what a complete and total dumbass he is.

Rea was never possessed by some dark force of chaos trapped inside a lightwhip. She wasn’t murdering mercenaries left and right in a fit of uncontrollable bloodlust. She was putting on a show. With her lightwhip and her crazed laughter and bare-assed acrobatics, she was just trying to scare them off.

And he fell for it.

“Fuck,” Rhese swore. Again.

Rea turned to him, a satisfied smile on her face as the lightwhip fell to the ground beside her in perfect coils “You okay?” She asked, the triumph in her eyes turning quickly to worry.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

A voice from the growing crowd shouted, “Yeah you are!”

Rhese felt another blush rising, setting his chest and the tips of his ears on fire. Laughter spread through the courtyard as he stood there, paralyzed by his own embarrassment.

Rea, taking pity on him for once in his life, stripped out of Doc’s shirt and tossed it to him. No one would ever laugh at her nakedness. He wasn’t sure what the difference was, but it probably had something to do with how she would never blush about it.

Rhese’s entire body was flaming red by the time he managed to cover what remained of his dignity.

And then, as they stood there together, filthy and bloodied and naked, the entire east wing of the Duke’s palace finally collapsed.

Rea watched it crumble with a smile on her face.

“You know,” Rhese observed, thinking of how gracefully she’d lashed the lightwhip back and forth when she was menacing the mercenaries out through the wall, “you didn’t have to destroy the whole thing.”

“Don’t you wonder why the mercenaries came to kill him in the first place?” She asked.

“To kill him?” Rhese stared. “I thought they were here for us.”

Rea rolled her eyes. “They would’ve brought bigger guns if they were here for us.”

That was probably true. Mercenaries didn’t stay mercenaries very long if they were stupid. “And you think they were after the Duke?”

He was a foolish, frivolous sort of man who was easy to dislike, but Rhese had difficulty imagining what he might have done that would be worth killing over. He didn’t even have much of value to steal outside of the palace the mercenaries had clearly planned to destroy anyway. That and the lightwhip they likely hadn’t even known about.

“You remember what he said this morning on the tour? About his family owning this place for centuries?”

The Duke had bragged about that quite a lot, and the fact that he’d doubled the palace in size during his time at the head of the family. Rhese nodded.

“He’s selling slaves,” Rea said, watching the Duke stare at his wrecked home in abject horror. “He used his own product to build the east wing. But our friend there’s not a very good salesman, and his supplier isn’t happy with him. This is what a negative performance review looks like in the slaving industry.”

Rhese thought for a moment, frowning. “We were never here to negotiate for a listening base on his land were we?”

Rea just grinned.

#swtor #swtorfic #jedi knight #nirea velaran #rhese velaran #the velaran legacy #hydrostuff #hydroswstuff #hydrofic #hydroswfic

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anubislover · 5 years

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Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 6: Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

“The Grand Ballroom” was certainly an apt description. The marble dancefloor was inlaid with veins of gold and sparkling quartz, its flat surface so polished it hurt to look at. Plush, wine red carpet lined the perimeter, perfectly matching the cushions of elaborately carved loveseats and couches. Six-foot tall, solid gold candelabras were scattered throughout the room, the flickering flames dancing as gracefully as the guests. Enormous, stained-glass windows depicting hedonistic scenes stretched from floor to ceiling, the colored glass obscuring the view of the outside world. Burgundy velvet drapes trimmed in gold were artfully hung throughout the room, their heavy material casting deep shadows in private nooks perfect for illicit rendezvous.

To the side was a massive buffet, the tables straining under trays of assorted meats, exotic fruits, decadent pastries, tartlets, brie, beef wellingtons, deviled eggs, and more. A literal fountain of wine stood at the center of the smorgasbord, cherubs pouring the intoxicating liquid out of decanters into the guests’ crystal glasses.

The ceiling was the most impressive aspect, though. Above the crowd hung eight massive, golden chandeliers in the shape of octopi, each winding tentacle clutching a light the size of a human head. Multi-faceted crystals dripped off their bulbous bodies like drops of water, making it appear they’d just emerged from the sea and casting shards of light and prismatic rainbows dancing about the walls and floor.

Not to be outdone, the guests that milled about wore their finest costumes, with ballgowns, doublets, tailcoats, hats, capes, masks, and jewelry made from silks, satins, chiffon, precious gems, and exotic furs and feathers. Maids clad in short, tight, copper uniforms wove through the crowd, offering drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and petit fours. A small orchestra was set up in the far corner of the room, filling the air with their slow, elegant music.

It was exactly the kind of party that had Nami salivating. Rich men with thick wallets and wealthy women wearing expensive jewelry were laid out more temptingly than the food.

Still, the décor did bring up a few questions. “If the Baron hates seafood so much, why all the octopi?” she asked curiously, studying the ceiling.

Behind the mask, Law looked thoughtful. “I’d assume it’s a vanity thing; according to my intel, he was touted as ‘The Golden Octopus’ during his time in the Navy.”

“Why?”

“Probably a reference to the number of organizations he was involved in, though there were also rumors about him having an octopus-related Devil Fruit. That seems unlikely, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No Devil Fruit user would keep his important files in a Seastone safe. Just touching the damn thing would drain his energy. Besides, don’t you think the World Government would have made that common knowledge to strike fear into pirates? They’ve never exactly been shy about bragging about their officers’ powers.”

Nervously checking her cat mask to ensure it was tightly secured, she said lowly, “You’d better be right; if it turns out he can turn into an octopus or something I’m charging you for shitty intel.”

Casually, the pair meandered through the crowd, giving polite greetings and sizing up potential prey. The Cat Thief had already picked out a few marks; men who’d cast her salacious leers, despite her being on another’s arm. They’d be easily distracted by her cleavage and flattery and wouldn’t even notice their pockets getting progressively lighter. Even better, Law’s presence would also give her the ideal excuse to turn down their inevitable, unwanted advances. Nothing fended off creeps like a jealous boyfriend, after all, and in high society, you never wanted to risk causing a scene. She’d just have to make sure he knew when to step in.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Law murmured in her ear, “I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight, so if you need me, adjust your hairpins and I’ll come to your rescue.”

“‘Rescue’ is a strong word, but I appreciate it,” she responded, tone dripping with false affection as she straightened his lapels, acting as the ever-attentive beau. “Tell me, Adrian, are you the type to tolerate other men flirting with your girlfriend?”

“Of course not. What’s mine is mine, and men challenge that claim at their own peril.” His reply was smooth as polished obsidian, one hand possessively resting on her waist as he steered them over to the side of the dance floor. The thick leather of the black glove shielded her from the heat of his palm, but the weight and press of his fingers into her delicate flesh made up for it.

Teasingly, she tapped the tip of his beak. “That doesn’t sound very doctor-like. Isn’t there a Hippocratic Oath you’re supposed to be following?”

“There are exceptions to every rule.” Long fingers gently lifted her chin so he could gaze deeply into her eyes. “There’s no oath I wouldn’t break to keep my woman at my side.”

Damn, that line should not be so hot, she thought, the faint blush painting her cheeks visible just beneath the bottom of her mask. It was surprising how easily Law managed to turn on the charm and hide the far creepier meaning of his words. If she were an average woman with no knowledge of his criminal activities or identity as one of the most feared up-and-coming pirates of the current generation, she might swoon a little bit.

Nami really needed more practice dealing with handsome men flirting with her. She was far too used to friendly, harmless perverts like Brook and Sanji, or disgusting lechers like Absalom. Besides being physically attractive, Law’s flirtations were harder to brush off because she completely believed him when he said he was pickier about his women than the rest of his crew. Perhaps that was why he got her so flustered; he didn’t wear his desires on his sleeve, so his attention felt more…focused, like sunlight through a magnifying glass, burning away her defenses.

“And what about you?” he coaxed, lifting her hand to delicately press the tips of her fingers to his lips as his eyes bore into hers. Electric shocks tingled up her hand as heat coiled within her belly. It was way too easy to imagine him giving her that look in a dark bedroom as he slowly stripped off her clothes. “Are you the type to play with a man’s heart? The type to stray? Or are you just so naturally charming you don’t realize the kind of thoughts you put in men’s minds?”

It took her a moment to realize he was asking for the sake of the cover; to establish his reaction when he barged in on her flirtations with other men.

His interest and sensual actions were solely for the sake of the cover. For business, not pleasure. None of it was real, and she grasped that fact like a lifeline. It was so much easier to remain in control if she remembered that it wasn’t Law that was flirting with her, but Dr. Goodheart Adrian, Chaton Bellemere’s surgeon lover. Hell, he was wearing a mask—she could easily pretend that he wasn’t her dangerously attractive temporary captain, but another mark she could tease and deceive with no consequences.

Lips quirking in a saucy, mischievous grin, she leaned in close, breath ghosting across his throat as she replied, “I’d never cheat, but I am the kind of woman who likes to see if she can get her boyfriend jealous. There’s something so arousing about seeing such a normally composed doctor so worked up over little old me.”

Her response made Law pause, blinking owlishly in surprise before his grip on her hand tightened ever-so-slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “How jealous do you want?” he rasped, giving the pad of her middle finger a light nip. “I’m happy to break a few jaws before I carry you off.”

A tiny hiss of pleasure escaped between her teeth before she regained control. Pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his sharp jaw, just below his ear, she murmured, “I’m sure these men don’t want any trouble; just come up with an excuse to lead me away. A little decorum goes a long way, after all.”

She’d planned on flouncing away and getting to work mingling and stealing, but her whole body froze as she caught a familiar scent.

Tobacco smoke, thick and sweet wafted up her nose, and as her heart stuttered in her chest, Nami slowly turned her head to the side, following the grey trail to a large, imposing figure glowering at the crowd as if he’d like to arrest half the people in the room. His formal suit was as white as his hair, his forest green tie and matching domino mask the only pop of color. With the long scar down his face and signature cigar, the mask did nothing to hide his identity.

“What the hell is he doing here?” she squeaked, panicked and already trying to figure out the best way to escape.

“Hina, what the fuck am I doing here?!” Smoker growled, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Beside him, a beautiful woman with long, sakura pink hair and a cigarette dangling from her full, red lips sighed. She was dressed in a stunning, form-fitting silver gown embroidered with fluttering blackbirds, the silk flowing down her figure like mercury. Her mask, also silver but with a black feathered plume, hung absently from her fingers. “Because you owe me. After all the strings I’ve pulled over the years to keep you from getting demoted back down to Chore Boy, this is the least you can do.”

“Look, Hina, I know I owe you, but you could have asked me to do your paperwork for a month or something. Fancy crap with stuffed shirts isn’t my thing, especially when it means playing nice with that bastard. Why couldn’t you take someone Fullbody or Django? They’d be happy to shower you with attention and ask you to waltz and that other gentlemanly shit.”

Shoulders tense as she carefully observed the crowd, she stated, “Precisely because this isn’t your thing. I need you to stand next to me looking grumpy and miserable to keep stupid ass-kissers and perverted old octopi from asking me to dance. Hina hates that old creep.”

Though his teeth ground against his cigar, the corner of his mouth lifted into the barest hint of a smile. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I am the perfect man for the job.”

“Did you know they were going to be here?�� Nami asked under her breath, pressing close to her partner. Smoker was only about fifteen feet away, but the din of the crowd and orchestral music helped mask her voice. Her every instinct screamed for her to run, but she knew any sudden movement around the pirate hunter would capture his undivided attention, like a rabbit trying to escape a wolf. Inwardly, she seethed; if Uni had managed to modify the guest list, surely he would have known a certain Marine was coming, right? Why didn’t anyone warn her? Everybody knew there was nothing Smoker would like better than to capture and imprison the Straw Hats.

Her anger ebbed slightly as Law pulled her a bit closer, doing his best to shield her with his body. Though his poker face was still in place, she could feel the tension coiled in his muscles. “I knew Black Cage was invited, but her RSVP was a ‘no.’ I’d assumed she was cleaning up the mess of the war or helping track down the prisoners Mugiwara released from Impel Down. White Chase was definitely not on the guest list.”

“What do we do?”

“Keep calm. It’s a big party, and it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid them. Even if they notice us, our disguises should allay suspicion, and there’s no way they’d expect the two of us together.”

He was right; even if they did somehow recognize Law, they’d never expect the navigator of a rival crew on his arm, meaning she might be able to make a break for it. She wasn’t too worried about his safety; he was a strong fighter and could teleport himself to the other side of the island in a heartbeat. She was the one who would be screwed if she caught a Marine’s eye.

Surreptitiously, Nami peeked around Law’s chest to watch the pair, hoping for some sign they’d move on to another part of the ballroom, but soon found herself staring at the beautiful captain. Bad as her experiences with the World Government were, she couldn’t help but admire a strong Marine woman. And though the hairstyle was different, the color and cigarette briefly brought visions of her adoptive mother, and she wondered if Hina had heard of Bellemere. There weren’t too many female officers in the Marines; had she been renowned enough for someone like Hina to look up to? Or was her decision to give up military life to raise two orphaned girls treated as a disgrace? The Navy hadn’t offered any financial assistance or seemed to care when she’d been murdered by pirates, so the latter seemed more likely.

Of course, a trained soldier would sense she was being watched, and Hina inclined her head towards the incognito couple. “You’ve been staring at me. Why?” she asked suspiciously, taking a long drag of her cigarette as her dark eyes narrowed.

Luckily, years of swindling, being a member of Arlong’s crew, and generally always needing to get herself out of trouble had made Nami a pretty good actress, even under pressure. “I was just admiring your dress. It’s absolutely gorgeous!” she gushed, making her voice as airheaded and overexcited as she could under the Marine’s scrutiny. “Wherever did you get it?”

Apparently, her ruse worked, as she gave a small but pleased smile. “Thank you. There’s a shop in Alabasta that carries beautiful silks. I stumbled across it while on a mission and decided to treat myself. When I learned I’d be attending this…party, a dressmaker on Sabaody made them into a custom gown for me.”

“Alabasta! How exotic! Oh, darling, can we go there on our next holiday?” she asked, looking up at Law, wide brown eyes begging him to play along. “I simply must have a dress like that!”

Catching on, the doctor once more pulled her close, dropping a kiss to her hair. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Nothing’s too good for you, sweetheart.”

She gave him a dazzling grin, wrapping her arms around his waist in an enthusiastic hug. “Really?! Oh, thank you, cuddle bear!”

Internally, Nami cheered in victory as his jaw tightened and blue tint came to his cheeks. She might not get to kick his ass, but she could still make his night hell in all the little ways. “You’re…welcome,” he ground out.

“Hina-chan!” a loud, overly cheerful voice called out from the crowd, and an older, obese man strode over. His tuxedo was gold silk and embroidered with scarlet octopi, a long, crimson cape trailing behind him. His grey hair was thin, braided into eight little rattails, and slicked back with so much oil it gleamed like grease on the water. A gold octopus mask hung from his neck, the tentacles a writhing mass and encrusted with rubies for suckers. “How marvelous! You were able to make it after all!”

Both Marines noticeably stiffened at his approach. “Well, after your call, my superiors were convinced that attending your party was more important than attending to my duties,” she said, tone so frosty it made Drum Island seem like a tropical paradise.

“Oh, don’t be that way, Hina-chan,” Baron Harpin chuckled, giving her an appreciative leer. The way the captain tensed further made it clear the feeling wasn’t mutual. “Always so serious, even back when you were a trainee. Really, you should be grateful I pushed so hard to get you a night off—it pains me to think of such a beautiful flower wilting on the battlefield. I swear I’ll never forgive Sengoku for denying my request to have you as my personal secretary.”

“Hina’s too damn good a soldier to waste on some pathetic desk job,” Smoker’s deep, rough voice cut in, muscular arms crossed tightly over his massive chest. “And she ain’t wilting—she thrives out there.”

The Baron regarded him with undisguised disdain. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

“I’m Hina’s plus-one, or did you not notice that on the RSVP? Pretty sloppy for the head of Navy Intelligence. Sorry—ex-head of Navy Intelligence.”

The pirate hunter’s biting comment struck a nerve, as disregard turned into outright hatred. “Careful, Smoker; I may be retired, but I’ve still got plenty of pull with the Admirals, plus several other organizations. One word from me and your career is over.”

A threatening step forward was all Smoker was able to take before Hina held him back. “He’s not worth it,” she murmured before insistently leading him away.

“Just one moment, Hina-chan,” their host sing-songed. When the woman in question acknowledged him over her shoulder, he gave a haughty grin. “I know I permitted you a plus-one, but that’s because I’d assumed you’d bring along someone with more…class. I surround myself with only the finest things, after all. I’m rather inclined to have him escorted out for the sake of my invited guests; trash like him tends to ruin the ambiance.”

Turning fully towards him, though still keeping a restraining hand on Smoker’s bicep, she stated, “What do you want?”

His returning leer was as greasy as his hair. “A smile. Surely such a rare and radiant thing will counteract your…date’s foul appearance.”

“Oh, that fuckin—” Smoker growled, but Hina’s silent glare stopped him. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, the Marine captain plastered on a bland, completely hollow smile for their former superior before dragging her old friend out to the gardens to smoke in peace.

“Be sure to save me a dance, Hina-chan!” he called after them, entirely too gleeful to have the last word. As he beamed at his guests, his black, watery eyes fell on Nami, and she swore she could feel his gaze creep over her like a writhing mass of tentacles.

Not wanting to hang around lest Harpin decided to come over and introduce himself, she gave Law’s elbow a slight tug, and he willingly let her lead him away towards one of the little alcoves. “Well, he seems…yeah, he’s a total creep.”

“I feel like I need a chemical shower just being in his presence,” Law conferred lowly, grabbing them both a glass of champagne before ducking behind the curtains. The drapes mostly hid them from view, but he strategically positioned himself so his shoulder blocked the slight gap in the heavy velvet, yet still allowed him to notice anyone approaching. “Pity Black Cage didn’t deck him in the jaw.”

“I was hoping Smoker would make him eat his own mask.” She swiftly changed the subject, unwilling to risk one of their fellow guests overhearing them badmouth their host. “I was not expecting those two. I mean, not just here—do you think they’re dating?”

Law rubbed his chin in consideration. “I hope not. Any progeny they might produce would be an absolute nightmare to pirates the world over. The tobacco industry would be thrilled, though.”

Unbidden, a giggle escaped her as an image of a tiny Marine with Smoker’s scowl and Hina’s pink hair popped into her head, an oversized cigar comically protruding from the child’s mouth.

“Of course, that’s assuming they don’t both die of lung cancer before then,” he added absently, sipping his drink. Grey eyes swept the room over his shoulder, noting that most of the guests had the tact to look away from the alcoves, especially those occupied by couples engaged in private moments. A long arm wrapped around Nami’s tiny waist, pulling the gorgeous woman against his hip so he could murmur in her ear, “But enough about that. What else should I know about my lovely Bellemere? How did we meet?”

Playing along, she ran the tips of her fingers along his chest beneath his jacket. They should have discussed this earlier, but in the craziness of the mission prep, it had fallen by the wayside. “At an auction, of course,” she supplied easily. “There was a wonderful mermaid piece that I had taken an interest in.”

A low chuckle caressed her as he wound a lock of purple hair around his finger. The easiest lies to keep up were ones based on truth, and there was no hiding his amusement at how she’d spun the debacle at Sabaody. “Of course. You and your companions got separated, and I graciously offered to keep you company until you could be reunited. Not long after, I performed life-saving surgery on your friend, and you’ve been at my side ever since.”

His arrogant tone made her roll her eyes. “Does Dr. Goodheart have any notable achievements to his name? I can’t imagine I’d be interested in a mediocre doctor, and you must have gotten your medical license somewhere.”

“Gotten a what now?”

When she stared at him in open horror, jaw dropping to the floor, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I reattached a girl’s leg during my first year at Serenity Hospital in the North Blue,” he stated with a grin. “I was accepted into med school at fifteen and finished my surgical residency in only three years, and I also have several published papers on the effects of lead poisoning in children.”

“Really?” she replied, skepticism dripping from her lips.

“Of course. I could only learn so much through books and practicing on my friends, so I took on the identity of Goodheart Adrian so I could perfect my skills. ‘Trafalgar Law’ was a name I didn’t want gaining notoriety until I had the power and skills to protect myself.”

Well, that was quite the revelation. Frankly, she’d always figured he was only a doctor in the back-alley sense, since no hospital would be crazy enough to give him an actual license. But to have had a second identity for so long…

“Why?”

Grey eyes narrowed behind his mask at her inquiry. “Focus on questions relevant to our current situation, sweetheart.”

Cheeks puffed out indignantly, she let the topic drop, mostly out of irritation that he was right. Besides, she didn’t want to get to know the real Law, did she? “Fine. Where’d you take me on our first date? I’m sure a doctor’s salary could afford a fancy dinner, at least.”

As if a switch had been flipped, his charming persona returned. She knew it was all for show, especially given how the alcove didn’t completely hide them if someone really felt like being a voyeur, but did he have to rub those distracting little circles against her spine? “Since you have such expensive tastes, we went to the En L’iar Rose restaurant on Chardonnay Island. It’s known for its exquisite wines and decadent foods. You ordered the Pane Caldo while I had the stuffed mushrooms, and we shared a plate of assorted artisan cheeses, fruits, and chocolates for dessert.”

“That’s…an acceptable choice, I suppose.” A small, irrational coil of envy tightened in her belly. She wasn’t mad that Law had probably taken some other woman on such a romantic outing—just that no guy had put that much effort into a date with her.

His smirk was decidedly wicked. “You were such a tease with that fruit, eating it so seductively I nearly lost my mind. It took all my willpower not to pin you down and have my way with you.”

Memories of how she’d teased him with the mikans made her thighs clench, as she was suddenly all too aware that she’d been playing with fire that day. He’d definitely enjoyed her attentions and it so easily could have been turned on her. The tips of her ears turned pink as she instinctively tried to push him away, but his muscular arm kept her anchored to his side. “Too bad I’m a classy lady who doesn’t just give it up to a guy because he bought her a fancy dinner,” she snapped quietly.

“Of course you’re not; I wouldn’t have taken interest in you if you were,” he assured, tilting her face to the right and pressing a kiss to her masked cheek to hide her pissed expression. “I’m a man who likes a challenge—a woman easily seduced would bore me. And it’s intriguing how you’re so flirtatious one moment, yet easily flustered the next; makes me wonder what you’ll be like once I finally do get you in my bed.”

Face flushing to match her ears, Nami wasn’t sure if it was due to anger or embarrassment. She also wasn’t sure if he was speaking as Adrian or Law, and it was playing havoc with her sense of control. “Well, you’ll be wondering for quite some time—at the very least until you’ve gotten me a 300-carat diamond.”

A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest as he released her. “I think we’ve got enough of the basics down to pass as a new couple. Ready to get to work?”

It took a moment and a few deep breaths to regain her composure. Her heart was beating too quickly for her liking, and she desperately needed some distance. “Hell yes. Time is money, and right now, I don’t have nearly enough of either.”

XXX

Over an hour later, Nami was immensely pleased with her haul. She’d swiped the wallets of six dance partners, along with a gold wristwatch, emerald-studded cufflinks, and some rings. She’d been extremely careful not to steal more than one thing from each target, and plenty of her dance partners had left unscathed; after all, if every man she came in contact with found their wallets missing, she’d be the prime suspect.

Finding dance partners and wealthy marks alike had been easier than getting Sanji to bring her tea. Men had practically swarmed her the moment she’d broken away from Law, and though she could feel his piercing gaze on her back, he stayed out of her way so she could work her magic.

So far, he’d only had to step in once, when a man with a face like a horse and a unicorn mask to match had gotten a little too handsy, swooping in like a bird of prey and sending her victim scurrying off with nothing more than a sharp glare and a couple cutting remarks. Still, the way he’d clutched his cane told her he’d wanted to do a lot more, reminding her that the Surgeon of Death was not a man to be messed with. While a jealous boyfriend was a great creep deterrent, too much could put off her potential marks. For the sake of that evening’s profits, she vowed to only call him in as a last resort.

She would swear until her dying breath it had nothing to do with the thrill she got at hearing Law defend her honor in his deep voice or the way she could feel the muscles beneath his suit flex when he clutched her to him possessively.

It was nearly nine-thirty when a skinny man in an elaborate peacock mask and flamboyant suit to match lead her onto the dancefloor. He’d approached swinging an emerald and sapphire-encrusted pocket watch like a pendulum, strutting about in a way that instantly practically begged her to rob him. Only men with more money than brains walked like that.

“So, Ms. Chaton,” Kujakumaru began as he pulled her close, “what do you do for a living?”

As easily as Zoro drew a sword, she turned on the charm. “Oh, I’ve done a little modeling,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. “Mostly swimsuits and the like.”

“Really? You?”

She blinked, brows furrowing behind her mask in confusion and mild annoyance. “Yes. Not in any big magazines, but I’ve only just started, after all.”

“Ah, no wonder I hadn’t heard of you,” he stated, looking her up and down, eyes lingering on the swell of her chest. “I’ve dated quite a few models, actually. I suppose when you surround yourself with the most gorgeous women in the world, you don’t notice those who are less than a perfect ten.”

An annoyed tic formed on her forehead, thankfully hidden by the cat mask. Sure, he couldn’t see her face, but the way his eyes were practically glued to her cleavage proved he didn’t find her hideous. And what right did he have to call her less than a ten? Her bounty poster was ogled by pirates all over the Grand Line! “Well, sorry I’m not up to your usual standards, Mr. Kujakumaru,” she ground out as politely as she could.

At the brief display of temper, he quickly backtracked, “Oh, I never said that! Of course you’re beautiful, but I’d only rank you less than a ten because you’ve still got a few more years to go before you’ve fully bloomed!” he insisted, gaze flickering between her face and breasts pointedly.

Oh, nice save, she thought sarcastically. It was all too easy to catch onto this idiot’s game; he was trying to bring down her confidence in hopes preying on any insecurities. Women who knew their worth were much harder to lure into bed, after all. “Well, my boyfriend hasn’t had any complaints,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I’m sure he hasn’t; after all, looks aren’t everything.” When her hazelnut eyes narrowed, he continued, “You misunderstand me; I mean that modeling is just as much about who you know as what you look like. Making friends with the right people and whatnot.”

“Of course.” It was almost funny; the whole night, she’d put up with men looking to get into her pants without so much as blinking, yet this guy was making her lose her cool. Then again, none of the others had tried negging her. People like that deserved a very special place in hell as far as she was concerned. If they’d been in a bar instead of some fancy party, he’d be unconscious on the floor for his comments.

“If you really want to be a model, I have some connections to the West Blue’s top agencies. Of course, I only pass along the names of people I’m personally close to.”

Though she plastered on a smile, inwardly she rolled her eyes. He was the third man that night offering to help her “modeling career” with his “connections,” but they’d at least done their best to stroke her ego first. He hadn’t even waited for her response before slipping his hand off her waist to slide across her rear.

That little grope just cost him eighty million belli, she thought, using his moment of distraction to carefully undo the chain of his pocket watch from his doublet. To disguise the action, she pushed him back slightly, looking away coyly. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you! Unfortunately, it’s more of a hobby than anything else; if I became some big star, I wouldn’t have as much freedom. I love traveling and shopping too much to waste my time in some studio.”

“Sounds like an expensive lifestyle,” he pressed, undeterred by her refusal, just like she’d anticipated. Nami was plenty familiar with men like him; born with a silver spoon in his mouth, raised to believe that he was entitled to anything he wanted and when a woman rebuffed him, she didn’t really mean it.

He was the kind of guy she would love to have Sanji kick into the sun.

Lacking the chivalrous love-cook, however, Nami settled for her current bodyguard. “It is, but Dr. Goodheart has been an excellent provider. His research takes him to so many interesting places, and he’s been adamant about bringing me along. He gets lonely without me.”

“Then I’m surprised he’s letting you dance with another man.”

A mischievous smirk touched the corner of her lips. “We have an arrangement—he doesn’t like to dance, but I simply can’t get enough of it. So, he lets me have as many partners as I please, so long as I never dance with anyone more than once.” As the last notes of the waltz floated through the air, she knew now was the time to make her getaway. Pushing up onto her tip-toes, she murmured in his ear as she carefully lifted the watch from his pocket, slipping it into the tight cuff of her billowy sleeve, “Otherwise, he gets terribly jealous. Normally, he’s so cool and collected, but he’s got a dark temper. It’s hot, if I’m perfectly honest.”

She felt Kujakumaru shudder against her as her hot breath caressed his skin. “Is dancing the only thing he gets jealous about?” he croaked, staring at her with obvious desire, hands impotently grasping at empty air as she stepped out of his reach. “Perhaps we could find a nice, quiet corner and continue our discussion about your modeling career; a beauty like you deserves to be shared, not hoarded away for one man to enjoy.”

Relieved that she could finally turn around and roll her eyes, she strolled towards the wine fountain, calling back over her shoulder, “I appreciate the thought, but I really must get back to Adrian.”

She halted as a thin, sweaty hand wrapped around her wrist. “At a party like this, a man’s never lonely for long. I’m sure he’s found some pretty young thing to keep him company, so why not do the same for me?”

Lifting up her free arm, she allowed the cold metal of the stolen watch to slide down her sleeve into her bodice, grateful that he’d grabbed her left wrist. It would have been disastrous if he’d stumbled upon the payment she’d taken for putting up with his bullshit. Absently, she played with the shimmering barrettes in her hair, making sure they caught the light like an emergency beacon. Surely Law would be there any moment; this was definitely serious enough to get him involved. “Adrian’s quite adamant that I’m the only woman for him, so I doubt it. And if a man’s not lonely for long, I’m sure you’ll find yourself in pleasant enough company soon enough.”

“I want your company. Your little boyfriend can wait until I’m finished with you.”

“He’s hardly ‘little.’”

“He must be if he can’t satisfy a woman as obsessed with ‘dancing’ as you. In fact, how about I invite a few friends to join us?’ You said he doesn’t care how many ‘dance partners’ you have, right?”

Brown eyes darted about nervously, desperately trying to catch sight of her raven companion. She was certain she’d left him by the window next to the fountain, so he should have been at her side already. What, had he wandered off to take a leak? If he didn’t show himself in the next five seconds, she was going to have to do something drastic, like pluck the peacock’s feathers herself.

“What was that you were saying about him not looking at other women?” Kujakumaru crowed, roughly turning her towards the dancefloor.

Her jaw dropped. His height made him easy to spot on the dancefloor, casually leading Black Cage Hina in a foxtrot.

That absolute bastard! Nami thought, rage bubbling up inside of her. He abandoned his partner to deal with some clingy creep so he could dance with a Marine? Was he trying to get them caught?!

“Well, since your boyfriend is otherwise occupied,” the man beside her sniggered, pulling her against him, “what say you and I go someplace private—”

The hard point of a cane slammed into his foot, causing him to yelp ungracefully and release Nami from his clutches. Gratefully, she turned to her liberator, hoping Law had abandoned Hina to finally come save her, only to find herself face-to-face with a rotund, yet rather elegant-looking gentleman dressed as a knight, complete with silver shoulder pads, royal blue cape, and plumed helmet. The faceplate was up to reveal piercing black eyes and a disapproving frown made even more exaggerated by his bushy grey mustache.

“I believe this young lady made it quite clear that your time with her is over, nephew,” he said sternly.

Kujakumaru looked like he wanted to argue, but when he reached for Nami again, the knight brandished his cane like a sword. “Oh, please, do try. Beatrix may spoil you rotten, but I’m certainly not above turning you over my knee right here and now.”

That threat was all it took to send the peacock flying off into the crowd, managing nothing more than, “I’m telling mother!” over his shoulder before he disappeared.

Relieved to finally be free of such sweaty clutches, the Cat Thief studied her wrist to ensure no perspiration had leaked into the luxurious fabric of her sleeve. A handkerchief entered her field of vision, and she smiled thankfully.

“So, did you pick your costume intending to go about rescuing young ladies, or was that just a happy accident?” she asked, wiping off her hand.

He savior’s hard frown morphed into a smile as he offered her his arm. “I had hoped such services would be unnecessary, but it never hurts to come prepared, especially with my family is involved. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She allowed him to lead her away from the whispering crowd. If she gathered too much attention, it’d be harder for her to sneak away once the plan was in motion, and until Law finished his little dance with Hina, she’d rather not risk being confronted by more creeps who couldn’t take a hint.

Her natural suspicion only briefly entertained the thought that her hero could turn out to be just as bad. Whether it was his protective aura or his mustache, he reminded her of Genzo, and that would always earn a man the benefit of the doubt. “I’m fine. I suppose I should have been clearer that I wasn’t interested.”

“From what I overheard, you made yourself plenty clear,” he huffed. “That boy’s never learned a speck of respect. My sister spoils him, and he takes entirely too much after my brother.”

“Eh, men like him are hardly rare. I appreciate you scaring him off, though.”

“Happy to be of assistance. I hope you don’t mind if I linger a bit? I’d rather avoid the inevitable argument Beatrix and I will have for a little while longer, and I think I should have a talk with your boyfriend about leaving his lady undefended.”

“Oh, no need for that,” she growled, clenching her fist as a murderous flame crackled in her eyes. “I’m happy to do it myself.”

Surprised, the knight let out a full-bellied laugh. “I’m starting to think my rescue was unneeded; you seem plenty capable of handling yourself!”

“Damn right I can!” she snarled before remembering herself. Swiftly plastering on an innocent smile, she amended, “I mean, I wish I could, but a delicate thing like me wouldn’t stand a chance without a big, strong man looking after her.”

Laugh simmering down to a chuckle, he waved off her excuse. “Relax; a lady with spirit is a great thing. You remind me of my granddaughter, actually!” With a deep, proper bow, he introduced himself. “Harpin Reginald, at your service.”

“Harpin?” she asked, suddenly nervous. “Are you related to our host?” If he was, she was in so much trouble. Puzzle pieces began to connect in her head, and the picture they were forming was not pretty.

His massive mustache waggled side-to-side in distaste. “Alas, he’s my elder brother. I don’t particularly like either of my siblings, but our mother asked us on her deathbed to try to get along, so he’s bound to invite me, and I’m obligated to attend. The rest of the time, I put as much of the Grand Line between the three of us as possible.”

“So, was that the Baron’s son?”

“No, my sister’s, though Gerald was the one to teach him such wonderful manners.” He glared disdainfully across the room to where their host was casually groping one of the maids. “I swear, he threw a masked ball simply because he knows how much I detest these things.”

“What, you don’t enjoy the opportunity to dress up as a white knight?” she managed to tease. Her heart was still quaking at the revelation that she’d inadvertently pissed off a former Navy Intelligence officer’s nephew—when she found Law, she’d have to warn him that she’d earned some problematic attention.

After she kicked his ass for abandoning her, of course.

Whether her was ignoring her nervousness or simply failed to pick up on it, Reginald chuckled at her comment. “Well, that I don’t mind, but you’ve seen how outrageous these people get when they have anonymity—Kujakumaru is a perfect example. I doubt you��re the first woman he’s tried to coerce tonight.”

“You have a point, but I’m starting to think every high-class party is a masquerade in its own way.”

A grey eyebrow raised inquisitively. “How so?”

She shrugged, adjusting her cat mask so it rested more securely on her face. “Everyone’s still putting on a disguise; pretending to be more important than they really are, acting like they don’t despise each other with fake smiles and forced politeness, putting up with some creep’s innuendos because if they slap him like they really want to, the illusion’s broken and everyone will hate them for it.”

Reginald rubbed his chin, but a small, approving smile curled his lips. “You sound like you don’t enjoy these kinds of affairs.”

“Honestly, I always thought I would, but I guess I’m a simple girl at heart. I like expensive things, but this,” she pointed at the ballroom, “is disgusting. How much of the buffet is going to go straight in the trash? My friend’s a cook, and he’d have an aneurism over so much food waste.”

“I agree. I wish Gerald would at least send the leftovers to the town; every year, I swear those people look worse and worse. I tell you, I’d much rather be at one of the shindigs my wife’s family throws. Everyone comes for miles to sing and dance and share food, and it doesn’t matter what your status is; you’re welcomed with open arms.”

Nami smiled wistfully. “Yeah. I wish I was back with my friends—Brook’s music is way better than some stuffy orchestra, and Franky would show off some bizarre new move or hairstyle, and Lu—” she caught herself, realizing that she was getting too close to outing her identity as a Straw Hat, “—cy would make up ridiculous games and do stupid impressions, and we’d drink and laugh until dawn.”

“That sounds a hundred times more fun than any affair my siblings have thrown. Perhaps next year I’ll claim to have a prior engagement and seek out your friends’ party,” he joked.

She grinned, elbowing him playfully. “If you can find us, you’re welcome anytime. Heck, you can even say we kidnapped you if you need a better excuse. Consider it my thanks for the daring rescue.”

The playful glint faded from his black eyes. “Speaking of excuses, you’ll probably want to come up with one to leave—even if Kujakumaru doesn’t go crying to his mother, by midnight, this place will be nothing short of an orgy.”

She nearly choked on her own spit. From his dry tone, she doubted he was exaggerating. “Good thing my boyfriend and I already planned to be out by then.”

“See that you do. Why the Navy ever employed a hedonist like my brother, I’ll never know, much less as head of Intelligence.”

From what she’d seen that night, she couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. “Well, you don’t get rich enough to own your own island by not having connections; maybe the Navy felt they were useful enough to excuse his…lifestyle.”

With a huff, he nodded. “Probably, though I also have no doubt that’s why he was eventually convinced to ‘retire.’ He never would have left on his own volition; they would have had to pry it from his sticky, greedy grasp. Gerald’s always hated giving anything up, even if he doesn’t really want it.”

Nami wanted to pry further—this was a goldmine of intel on the man she was about to rob—but she was distracted by a certain man in a raven mask approaching.

Rage once more bubbling up like a geyser, she whirled on Law. “Oh, have you finished dancing already?” she asked sarcastically. “Good thing I didn’t need your help fending off some creep!”

Behind the mask, she could see an array of expressions cross his face; surprise, annoyance, guilt, anger, before finally settling on mildly apologetic. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, reaching out to gently run his fingers across her cheek. When she jerked back, glaring harshly, he sighed, “I saw another lady in need of rescuing and got distracted.”

“Yeah, sure, because Black Cage Hina would ever need to be rescued,” she scoffed.

“Actually,” Reginald said from beside her, “if it’s from my brother, then yes, she would. He’s always had a…thing for her, ever since she was a recruit.”

Law nodded, though he did give the older man a suspicious glance. “I was simply helping her avoid the Baron. But I truly am sorry,” he murmured, hooking Nami’s fingers with his own and carefully drawing her to his side, brushing a kiss across the corner of her mask. “I should have made sure you weren’t in harm’s way, first; you’re always my top priority, and I promise not to leave you alone again.”

Nami really wanted to stay mad at him, but for the sake of both their cover and the job, Bellemere had to forgive her boyfriend’s chivalrous stupidity. The Cat Thief didn’t, though, and she vowed to give him an earful once they were alone. So, she forced herself to wrap her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze as she grumbled into his vest, “Apology accepted, but only because I was lucky enough to have a knight in shining armor to rescue me.”

“I guess so. Care to introduce me?”

Gratefully pulling away from Law’s heated body, she turned to her new friend. “Adrian, this is Harpin Reginald. Reginald, this is Dr. Goodheart Adrian.”

“Goodheart?” the old gentleman asked, eyes lighting up in recognition. “From Serenity Hospital?”

“Yes?” the surgeon replied, immediately on guard. He’d made the connection to their host even more quickly than she had, and the fact that her new friend could identify him didn’t bode well.

“You were the one who reattached my granddaughter’s leg!”

Law blinked in surprise. “Melody-ya was your granddaughter?”

Nami’s eyes widened at both the connection and the way the surgeon’s accent slipped. Even when it was just the two of them, he hadn’t added -ya to anyone’s name since they’d arrived.

Grasping Law’s hand in both of his own, Reginald shook it enthusiastically, tears of joy practically streaming down his face. “Indeed! I honestly can’t thank you enough!” He turned to Nami, smile shining brighter than his armor. “You have no idea how much I owe this man. Melody was involved in a terrible accident that tore off her right leg. The doctors were able to stabilize her, but they said she’d need a prosthetic replacement, and possibly never be able to walk again. But Dr. Goodheart was able to reattach her leg so perfectly, there wasn’t even a scar when they removed her stitches! It was practically a miracle!”

If you count the powers of a Devil Fruit as a “miracle,” she thought wryly, though she found it hard to stay cynical. As unlikely as it seemed that Law would meet the grandfather of one of his former patients here, she’d learned that fate had a funny way of bringing people together. She’d never expected to meet Brook, Laboon’s long-missing friend, on Thriller Bark, and yet he was now a member of her crew, sailing with them to the end of the Grand Line to fulfill his promise.

“I simply did what I could to the best of my ability with the tools I had at my disposal,” Law insisted, though his lips did lift in a slight smile. It was strange to see him acting humble, and somehow, it felt authentic. “How has she been? Any problems with the leg?”

“She’s well on her way to becoming a marathon runner, I can tell you,” Reginald said proudly. “Quick as the wind and eager to see the world! And it’s all thanks to you!”

“Any surgeon would have done the same in my position. I’m just glad she’s made such an excellent recovery; it’s the greatest reward any doctor could ask for.”

Reginald looked like he wanted to sing “Dr. Goodheart’s” praises further, but there was a sudden screech of “WHERE’S THAT WORTHLESS LITTLE BROTHER OF MINE” from the other side of the room, and the knight went rigid.

“Ah, it seems I can’t delay my argument with Beatrix any longer. Keep your heads down while I try to lead her off. Better yet, hide until some other drama occurs—maybe then you could sneak out more easily.”

Law frowned while Nami gave an appreciative smile. She was more than happy to run rather than get pulled into some family spat. “Thanks again for your help, Reginald. Best of luck with your sister.”

Pulling her partner deep into the crowd, the thief refused to stop until they were safe at the far end of the ballroom, the sound of the orchestra covering up their conversation.

“So, exactly what kind of trouble did you get yourself into while I was gone?” Law asked.

“Long story short—the Baron’s nephew propositioned me and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, so Reginald put him in his place.”

Anger flashed in the Dark Doctor’s gaze before simmering down to annoyance. “Of all the people you had to piss off…”

“Well excuse me for being a loyal girlfriend,” she snapped. “Unlike you! Why were you really dancing with Hina?” she whispered harshly, poking his chest.

He raised a black eyebrow, and Nami blushed as she realized just how jealous she sounded. “You’re the one who thinks acts of kindness are a weakness,” she insisted, “so there’s no way you helped her out for chivalry’s sake. If it affects the plan, I deserve to know!”

“White Chase had to take a piss, and I noticed our beloved host making a bee-line for her. In the interest of the night not suddenly going to hell ahead of schedule, I figured I’d offer her a temporary escape. Entertaining as it would be, my plan doesn’t factor in the Baron getting murdered this early in the evening.”

“What if she had recognized you?”

“Worried about me, sweetheart?” he teased, stroking a gloved finger down the smooth side of her mask. “I’m sure you’d be able to make an easy getaway in the confusion.”

“If anything happened to you, your crew would be heartbroken and I’d be roped into breaking your ass out of Impel Down,” she argued half-heartedly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not some powerhouse with more luck than brains like Luffy. You shouldn’t have taken such a risk!”

“Then I promise not to dance with another woman for the rest of the night,” he replied, pulling her close, hands resting gently on the small of her back, rubbing those distracting little circles along her spine. Leaning down, he whispered, “Seriously, I was doing it for our sake; Black Cage apparently has a rather unpleasant history with Harpin, so I dropped a few hints that she and White Chase should call it an early night. Things will go much easier with them out of the way.”

It was funny; despite the knowledge that Law was a sadistic, dangerous pirate and potentially one of Luffy’s greatest rivals to become Pirate King, being in his arms was beginning to feel…not comfortable, but almost normal. If anything, she should be more eager to escape his clutches than any of the handsy men she’d endured that night; at least they were weak enough to clobber if they got her alone. But she didn’t feel gross when Law touched her.

It dawned on her that, despite playing the role of her lover, his touches throughout the night had been relatively innocent. His hand went nowhere more inappropriate than her waist. His eyes stayed locked on her own instead of falling to the plunging neckline of her dress. Even though he’d kissed her several times, for the most part it had been to her wig or mask.

Deep down, she’d expected him to take advantage of their situation; to grope and kiss and tease her, using their cover as a couple as an excuse, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Why the hell did Nami feel so disappointed that he didn’t?

Shaking herself free of such confusing thoughts, she replied, “How much longer until phase two?”

Taking a glance at his pocket watch, he said, “It’s currently 9:40pm. Shachi’s team will act at 10:25pm, Ikkaku’s at 10:31pm, and Penguin’s at 10:37pm. Be ready to move no later than 10:15pm.”

“So we’ll just waltz into Harpin’s study?” She’d been sure to memorize the mansion’s blueprints, so she knew it was three floors above the ballroom. No matter what route they took, getting there would take time, and Law seemed fairly against using his powers unless strictly necessary.

“When we leave the ballroom, head towards the foyer but take the first right; about fifteen feet down that hallway, behind the red drapes between the painting of Dionysus and the statue of Venus is a hidden door the servants use. Those passageways lead all throughout the house, so we should be able to get around more easily. I’m sure there are guards or at least servants positioned to deter guests from wandering into certain parts of the mansion, but once our little distractions hit, it’s unlikely to be a problem.”

Even with his reassurance, Nami couldn’t help but be nervous. So many things could go horribly wrong, and even if Smoker and Hina left, she doubted they’d ignore the “distractions” Law had in mind.

Either he could see the tension in her shoulders or feel it in her spine, because he immediately set to taking her mind off such concerns. “We still have over a half-hour; I bet you can’t steal ten more wallets before showtime.”

Eyes flashing with greed and pride, she replied, “What’s the prize?”

“Me and the crew always have a party to celebrate a successful job, but I also take the time to treat myself to a nice dinner as a personal reward. Since you’ve been so instrumental to my plan, I was thinking about inviting you along.”

Immediately, she knew what he was proposing. “Loser pays for dinner?”

“Damn right.”

“You’re on.”

To the Dark Doctor’s surprise, she didn’t run off to find a new dance partner; instead, they milled about, wandering past small groups of guests, Nami occasionally stopping to apologize for bumping into someone or to compliment a particularly elaborate costume. By the time they reached the other side of the ballroom ten minutes later, she pulled him towards one of the stained-glass windows, turning them away from the party under the pretense of studying the elaborate scene of a satyr ravishing a forest nymph.

Reaching into the slit of her dress, the Cat Thief pulled out her haul, fanning herself haughtily with the wallets. “Seven down; three to go.”

Impressed at how quickly and subtly she worked, he smirked, patting his pocket to be sure she hadn’t added his to the collection. “Saying this now; my wallet doesn’t count.”

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Fine, but only because I already know how easily I could take it.”

“Careful, Nami-ya, or you’re going to find out how easily I can take everything you’ve stolen tonight.”

A strange, pleasant shiver ran up her spine as his dark baritone caressed each syllable of her name. Had he always said it like that? Or was she just noticing now because he’d been calling her “Bellemere” and “sweetheart” all night?

None of that mattered at the moment, as a shrill, angry shriek from behind them quickly soured the mood.

“You! You’re the wretch who insulted my precious Kujakumaru!”

Nami barely had time to slip the wallets back into her gown before five long, sharp, acrylic nails buried themselves into her clavicle. She let out a yelp of pain as she was aggressively spun around, coming face-to-throat with a tall, thin woman with a severe frown, red cheeks, and the same black, watery eyes as the Baron. She was dressed in a chartreuse silk gown, her hair done up in a tight updo, and she clutched a domino mask adorned with yellow and green sequins. But Nami barely noticed that, as her eye was immediately drawn to her necklace; three rows of small, exquisitely cut white diamonds hung around her neck like a collar, framing a heart-shaped yellow diamond the size of a peach stone.

The sharp sting of yellow-painted talons scratching the skin of her collarbone brought the thief’s attention back up to the woman’s face. “I’m sorry; I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Nami ground out through the pain.

“That’s because trash like you doesn’t even belong in my presence! You should be honored my perfect son even glanced your way you harlot!” Looking the younger woman up and down, she scoffed. “I mean, look at the way you’re dressed. Kujakumaru, did you ask this girl to dance out of pity? Such cheap, ugly jewelry for a cheap, ugly girl!”

“Yes mother,” the man in the peacock mask sneered, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, a look of righteous glee in his eyes. “It was an act of charity, and when I refused her advances, she made uncle Reggie beat me!”

Furious at both the insult and the blatant lies, Nami struggled to pull away, but that only made the claws sink in deeper. “Your son’s the one who came onto me,” she snapped, “and maybe if you’d bothered to teach him to respect women, he wouldn’t get so butthurt over a girl rejecting him.”

“How dare you?!”

The woman looked as if she might continue to berate her, but she shrieked in surprise as Law wrenched her hand from Nami’s shoulder, his large fist clenched around her scrawny wrist so tightly she could hear the leather creak. Or maybe it was the bones.

“Lady Beatrix, I presume?” the Surgeon of Death asked, voice cold as chipped ice as he glared with murderous intent. “Regardless of however your son was insulted, I’d appreciate it if you kept your damn hands off my woman.”

As the Baron’s sister trembled under Law’s scrutiny, Nami inspected her shoulder, dismayed to find that the psychotic bitch had drawn blood. No wonder he’d stepped in; regardless of whether or not the Cat Thief could handle herself, he’d paid for her dress, and it already stood to get ruined. Bloodstains were not easy to get out of gold satin, after all.

“U-unhand me, you brute!” Beatrix screeched, writhing about like an eel. “My brother—”

“—would only care if I got your blood on his million-belli carpet. If he actually did give a shit about you or your worthless son, he’d be confronting me himself.” With predatory intent, Law’s eyes swept over the small crowd that had gathered, landing squarely on the man in the peacock mask. “Speaking of, I’m not exactly pleased that he propositioned my lover. She did tell you she was already spoken for, right?”

Smug triumph melted off his face like candle wax, and Kujakumaru looked ready to piss himself. “Sh-she said you had an arrangement! That you didn’t mind her having as many partners as she wanted!”

“Dance partners!” Nami insisted, frowning at Law’s raised eyebrow. “I specifically said ‘dance partners;’ he’s the idiot who took it the wrong way!”

Nodding in understanding, he turned back to the trembling man. “Even if I was the type to share, a lady has every right to refuse a man’s advances. Either you don’t know how to handle rejection, or you’re so pathetic that you couldn’t even pay a woman to sleep with you. I’d put my money on the latter.”

Nami shrieked as Beatrix’s claw-like free hand lashed out at him, but Law managed to catch it mere inches from his face, his cane dropping to the floor with a dull thud. The look in his eye turned sadistically amused at the attempted assault, and Nami had the feeling that if she didn’t put an end to this now, their cover would be blown as the Surgeon of Death decided to find out if the mother and son really did have blue blood.

Grabbing his arm, she yanked as hard as she could, forcing him to release Beatrix’s left wrist. “Darling, that’s enough!” she insisted. “It’s not worth it!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replied calmly, thought the dark aura failed to dissipate.

More people were gathering to watch, and Nami knew she needed to do something drastic before they managed to catch the Baron’s, or even Smoker and Hina’s, attention. Grabbing his chin, she yanked his face down to her level, cutting off his protests with a desperate kiss.

Law’s lips were softer than she’d expected. Life on the sea was rough, the salty air and burning sun resulting in chapped lips for almost everyone, but perhaps he was one of the few men smart enough to use lip balm. On top of that, they were dry and warm, the smooth skin pliant beneath her own. The man himself didn’t move for a moment, completely caught off-guard by her actions, but after a few agonizing seconds, he tilted his head to better slant his mouth over hers.

It was clear her plan worked when she felt both his hands cup her shoulders, and the harsh click of Beatrix’s heels as she scurried away, not wasting the opportunity to put some distance between herself and the man who dared threaten her.

Part of Nami was tempted to drag the kiss out, especially when she felt Law’s blunt teeth nibble at her bottom lip, requesting entrance. Heat pooled in her belly as his tongue swept over the seam of her mouth, but the sound of the clock striking ten doused it in ice water as she remembered they didn’t have time to waste.

Drawing on every shred of acting ability in her repertoire, she forced tears to well up in her eyes as she shoved him away. “I thought you were different, Adrian!” she sobbed. “You know how much I hate violence!”

“Wha—”

“I can’t believe you’d even consider harming someone, especially a defenseless old woman! I—I never should have come out tonight. I wish we had just stayed home!”

Tears streaming out of her eyes, she gathered up her skirts and sprinted away, weaving through the crowds, effortlessly dodging the concerned hands that reached out for her. Behind her, she heard another shriek, followed by exclamations of “Fire! Put that curtain out you fools!” and in the chaos, she managed to escape into the hall, guests and servants alike paying her no mind in favor of the ruckus that broke out. Nami chanced a glance over her shoulder, bright eyes widening as she saw not one, but at least four fires of varying sizes had sprung up throughout the ballroom, candelabras apparently having been knocked over by the panicked guests.

Not one to look the gift horse in the mouth, she dashed into to the hallway Law had spoken of, eyes quickly locking onto the curtain hiding the servant’s entrance. Hopefully, she’d be able to hide in there and wait for her companion. Not that she was particularly looking forward to being alone with him now; god, what had she been thinking, pulling him into a kiss? A slap would have been better, or maybe a swift kick to the shin!

Hand trembling with fear and adrenaline, she grabbed the corner of the drape, only to be halted by an arm coming out of nowhere to wrap tightly around her waist. Another hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her startled scream.

“You didn’t think you’d escape me that easily, did you?” came a dark voice at her ear.

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reprobateubeg4 · 4 years

Text

“Got a pocketful of four leaf clovers

Sittin' on a grave that has no name

Just wake me up when it's all over

Cause I don't wanna fade away”

https://open.spotify.com/track/2qgwFqJrGbajUQOfaL37Wz?si=1RxYopimQa2wuyzK1pQJYg

[[I sat rocking with my knees curled into my chest. “That’s not cute.” My eyes barely blinking as I looked to the version of me my sleep deprived brain seemed to work up for me to talk to.]]

Shut up. What do you know?

[[“I know what you know.” I gripped my head as I tried to hide my face behind my knees. “You haven’t slept, you haven’t eaten, you’re sitting here wasting away. For what? Some douche that stood you up.” I jerked my head up and let out a growled groan.]]

First off, fuck you. Secondly, there’s a fucking virus out in the world that’s keeping us all indoors. The doors are closed. What do you suggest I do? I’ve cleaned this apartment so much.

[[“You could do what you used to do when you were bored and lonely with a mix of sad and pathetic.” My eye twitched at the voice of my mother. I slowly turned my head to look in the doorway. “May this time you’ll do it right.” She tilted her head towards my nightstand where my switchblade rested. I reached for it throw it at the vision of her talking to me.]]

Get the fuck out! No invited you here! No one fucking asked you!

[[I moved to the bathroom to wash my face and decided to shower instead. I lathered up the shaving cream over my legs and worked the razor up slowly, carefully, with multiple strokes to make sure the hair was cleared before moving on to the next section. “Seems dangerous time for you to have a razor with the shape of your mental health right now.”]]

Shut it. Leave me alone!

[[Breaking my focus I looked up at the vision. I smoothed my hand over the spot and looked down to see a trail of blood dripping down my shin. I stared at the cut for a moment. “It’s not the same is it?” I took a deep breath and finished up the shaving routine with less detailed attention and focus to clear every inch.]]

No, it’s not. I-I didn’t even feel it.

[[I shampooed, washed, and rinsed off before wrapping a towel around me and grabbing a second to wrap my hair into. “At least in Vegas you were guaranteed some pain, then you had the club where you could find someone to provide if needed. How many times did you wonder how much Cricket’s bite would hurt with them razors she’s got? You thought having Brody around would normalize your desire to feel. It just increased it, didn’t it.” I groaned and punched the mirror. Glass shattered and shards buried themselves into my knuckles. I looked down at my hand and just stared as I slowly plucked the shards out of my fingers.]]

Shut. Up! Leave me alone! Why do you care?!

[[What was I even talking about? Why was I continuing to talk to myself?! Why didn’t I feel the pain of the glass in my hand? I moved to rinse and clean out the cuts from the glass before wrapping my hand in gauze and medical tape. I flexed my fingers to make sure I still had movement. I dressed quickly and grabbed my keys and phone before walking out of the apartment. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” The echoed voice of my mom and whatever else was creeping my apartment sounded out.]]

Out. Isn’t that what most ghosts want, the living to fuck off? That’s what I’m doing. Don’t fuck with my shit.

[[I made my way to the graveyard and opened the gate to the Bodhi family site and sat cross legged on the empty plot meant for me as I leaned against the tombstone.]]

Grandmama, I am fucking losing it… I.. what do I do? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I don’t feel like I should be guilty… why am I being haunted?!

[[“You have demons you haven’t dealt with.” I didn’t question hearing the voice as she spoke to me. I gave a chuckle that broke into a laugh.]]

I’ve fucking lost it…

[[“Watch your mouth!” I jumped and snapped out of the laughing fit and straightened up. “You need to pull yourself together. Sleep. Eat. Do something. Your mind is what’s haunting you. The devil is taunting your parents.” I nodded but didn’t move. Just didn’t have the energy. “Yo, thought I’d find you here, short stuff.” I looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Well, checked your apartment first.” I held out a hand to stop him from walking inside the gate.]]

Detective Dick? The f… Are you real? I mean… what are you doing here? Why are you looking for me? Come to question me some more. Clearly, I didn’t leave town.

[[“A psychic told me I could find you here. Thought you’d like to know, you’ve been cleared from the suspect list. And…” Detective Dick jingled the car keys in his hands. “I was able to get your car back and verify it being in your possession now.” I climbed up to my feet and looked at the Detective in front of me.]]

The last time you mentioned a psychic, it was my aunt. How’d she know where to find me, been years since I’ve talked to her. Wasn’t even sure she was still alive to be honest. What’s the catch?

[[“No catch. Just told you I would see what I could do to get it back to you. Your aunt reminded me of a saying you used to say back in school ‘The best places to think are crowded but silent, the places people die to stay in.’ Or something like that. I rolled my eyes.]]

Yeah, you definitely went to my aunt. That’s a family code. I was told it’s the best place to go to get my mind right, or whatever.

[[I carefully climbed over the gate and felt a knee buckle beneath me. Detective Dick caught me and helped me upright. “Whoa, ya good?” I jerked back from him and straightened my shirt. My stomach growled loudly in the awkward silence. “Hungry? Let’s grab some lunch. Hit a drive thru on the way to dropping me off at the station.” My mind wanted to protest but my body was eating at the insides for nutrients.]]

Fine let’s go.

[[I made it to the car and tripped the sides before I could even open the door. “You okay?” I shook my head and raised my hands to my head as if it would help stabilize the spinning.]]

My head is spinning. I’m fine. I just.. need to eat.

[[“Right, so I’ll drive. You just sit and relax.” I moved to the passenger side after handing off the keys. When we reached the drive thru I ordered two burgers and a bunch of fries and the biggest mint Oreo milkshake they could give. Detective Dick chuckled and ordered a burger for himself with fries and coke. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” I shrugged as I popped the seatbelt against my chest.]]

Few days or so.. depends on your definition of eating. Snacks here and there but meal wise days.. I don’t want to talk about it. What made you change your mind about me being on the suspect list?

[[Detective Dick to a long pause, which partially made me think he was setting a trap, seeing what questions I asked to answer his questions about me. He parked and wrapped his burger before answering. “Eat and then I’ll tell you.” groaned and took big bites out of my first burger, moaning at the taste as I washed it down with milkshake and fries. I move to the second and just stuffed fries between each bite like I was in a food competition. “Damn. Slow down before you choke yourself now.” I washed down the final bite with milkshake and looked at him as I waited for his answer to my question.]]

I ate.

[[“Right, so, your aunt helped piece together somethings. Your dad was doing some shady money dealings with a pimp in Vegas. Seems your mom got herself wrapped up in some debt and partnered with your dad. The pimp hired your dad on to help with the prostitution ring in Vegas. He was said to be the front man, organizing and collecting girls.” I gripped my stomach and cupped my other hand over my mouth as I fought to step out of the car.]]

I think... I’m gonna be sick…

[[I bent over and puked by a nearby tree in the lot. “Yeah, your file from Vegas came in and your Aunt led us to your Dad’s files. Details and some pretty upsetting things in there.” I leaned up and against the car. “But in the file, your personality was listed as ‘weak, submissive, and easy to control.” My neck cracked as I felt rage try to surface at the offense but the thought that this could be Detective Dick looking for a trigger kept me from reacting.]]

Wow, someone really believed in me, huh? Great to know.

[[“Yeah, so, you’re aunt said even though there’s potential motive, you wouldn’t have known about your Dad, your mom wanted you dead and you’re running away probably opened up the business since they didn’t have to worry about an informant in their midst. She provided us with some other leads that are looking pretty good. Family had to be ruled out first.” I nodded and made a mental note that I needed to visit. Something was off, she was legitimately clairvoyant but the words he was spouting sounded like she Gypsied fortune told him to cover my ass. “Your aunt also talked about your childhood and how she tried to take you from your parents through court.” I rolled my shoulders as the memory moved through my thoughts I crossed my arms over my chest.]]

Yeah, she tried. Mom moves me all around to avoid investigation. The only time she would’ve got me, my mom refused and I got pulled in a tug of war between them and my bad shoulder that was beaten on the night before, dislocated on my aunt’s side and she was deemed unfit and my mom claimed she was the one protecting me from my aunt. I haven’t seen her since. I probably should go see her though being an adult now.

[[“Yeah. You okay?” I nodded and got back in the car and buckled up.]]

Yeah, yeah, sorry you just hit me with all the information and it just surprised me is all. Take me home? I’ll order a cab for you when we get there. I'm just… I haven’t slept and the exhaustion is setting in.

[[Detective Dick nodded and started the engine before backing out. I didn’t remember getting home, the roads, my head rested against the door and my eyes closed before we reached the main road. I woke slightly to the feeling of bouncing as he carried me up a flight of stairs. When my arms felt the soft sheets of my blankets, I instantly curled into them. I felt the weight of the end of the bed lift and the door shut with a low squeal as he left. I gave into the sleep that had eluded me for so long. Maybe tomorrow I would be able to think without the hallucinations of my mind.]]

#Spotify

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thekrazykeke · 6 years

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I love this man. To be honest, I’ma hoe for all of them men in Black Panther, so it’s whatever. Every single one of them can get it, and I don’t even know who I want to take me first, Erik or T’Challa? ....Hm, both. Both is good. This chapter is potentially, likely, triggering for some people. Please read this with caution and know that my inbox and IM is always open, for anyone, at any time.

You’re not bothering me. Never think you are bothering me.

Continued from here, boo.

The minute the apartment door swung open, your eyes snap to Nadia’s face, and you see it, the bruise the size of a fist swelling up her right eye.

“Where is he?”

“Let’s talk inside.” Nadia’s hand on yours is firm as she tugged you in, using her hair to shield the bruise from view; the motion too familiar, practiced. The organ in your chest throbbed with pain and you think you’re about to have a panic attack or something.

"Where is that nigga, is he here?” Your hands clench then unclench, and you can’t focus on one thing, eyes darting around the room, categorizing how the living room is trashed; broken glass shards sprinkled everywhere, TV broken, a hole or two punched in the walls.

It’s a mess.

“Calm down, Y/N.” Nadia says, voice entirely too calm, nonchalant.

“Is. That. Nigga. Here?” You enunciate each word forcefully, eyes widened and crazed, angry.

“He not here. Simmer down already, shit.” Exhausted already by the conversation, she flopped down on the couch. “I called you because I needed your advice.”

“Waterboard that no good ass nigga.” You immediately suggest, taking a seat beside her.

“What, no. That’s,” she laughs, “That’s crazy. Y/N, stop it. Be serious.”

You aren’t laughing. “I’m deadass. I know somebody who know somebody. They’ll snatch that bitch nigga up off the street, rough his punk ass up, and--”

Nadia couldn’t listen anymore. “I’m the one who started it by spitting in his face!”

“...The fuck. Why would you do that?” Almost always joking, Nadia wasn’t somebody who deliberately provoked people, or at least, she didn’t start something she couldn’t slick-talk her way out of. “Spitting on people is nasty, yo.”

“He dared me to do it. And I was just...” Sighing explosively, she ran her fingers through her hair. “...I found a pregnancy test in the bathroom trash, and I know it ain’t yours. You barely here, for one, and I can’t see you or Erik being that careless.”

And you had an IUD, but still. Making a motion for her to continue, "So the muthafucka got his side bitch pregnant, and you got pissed.”

For the next half hour, you listen to her with a sympathetic ear as she told you that for a long time, things had been rocky between Travis and herself. He had not intentions of settling down -- with her, though he loved to lead her on with a carrot-stick maneuver and saying he might, he might, he might, while fucking around on her. He knew about the hookup she’d had with Erik and all the other times, with other people, while they’d been on a break. According to Nadia, the guy even made fun of her naivety in thinking he’d marry ‘a woman whose legs were always wide open’. The hypocritical dipshit.

That’s why she spat on him.

Couldn’t really blame her for that, not really.

“The girl he got pregnant, she’s only twenty one, Y/N. Twenty one...”, Shaking her head, Nadia laughed.

“Hey, hey, hey.” As tears stung her eyelashes and her voice wobbled, you reached out, pulling her towards you for a half hug. “It’s okay. Fuck that dude, aigh’t? I know people say it all the time, but you are going to find someone and be happy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You are a phenomenal woman and someone is going to recognize you for your worth. Don’t let some idiot take that away from you. You hear me?” Hot tears warmed your shirt and you rocked her gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise.”

“I ain’t got nobody no more...”

“It’s okay...”

Honestly, after that whole experience, you were drained. The thought of going out and being sociable, it made the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. Nadia wasn’t hearing that though.

“B i t c h! This is an important milestone in your relationship. Meeting a family member?” Shaking her head, an ice pack over the swollen area, she gave you a thumbs up and painfully sincere smile, “Girl, if I was you, I wouldn’t have even brought my thick ass over here to deal with my bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Nadia.” You interjected, for the fiftieth time. “You my friend and you needed me. Case closed.”

“Whatever. I’m good. I’m gonna sit here and try and figure out who I can pay off to try and fix these damages before the landlord see this shit.” Tilting her head back, she sank more comfortably into the couch. “Forreal, you should go. See what’s good wit Erik and this mystery family member, actually find out what Erik does for a living. I’m betting it’s something physical. His arms hella strong.”

“Bitch.” You elbow her gently.

“What? I’ma single pringle now, so I can look,” Nadia said defensively. “It’s not like he would notice me anyway. The nigga got eyes for you only. It’s cute as fuck, keeping it one hunned.” Although you didn’t want to leave Nadia alone, she took your cellphone and texted Erik to come get you.

When he came to pick you up, she all but shoved you out the door.

“You still gon do this wit me, right? Meeting my cuz?” Erik could tell what was up immediately. “I can reschedule, it ain’t nothing.”

And he would, you realized, he cared for your personal comfort more than what his cousin would think. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands finding the nape of his neck, you tilt your head up and he took the hint, kissing you. “You don’t have to reschedule. So, where is this dinner taking place?”

Turns out that it’s the Queen’s Cove, the most expensive hotel in the area. Some of the most important political figures and celebrities stayed there. Fuck, even Obama and Michelle had spent two nights there! You were internally spazzing out, mind going one hundred miles an hour, wondering exactly who Erik’s cousin was, who Erik was--

‘I’ll find out tonight. To-night. OMG. That’s not enough time! Holy fucking shit! Oh. mah. Gawd. Chill, Y/N. Just. chill.’

Calling up every ounce of zen in your body that you had, you manage to smile at Erik who’s eyeing you warily, probably catching the goofy, weird expressions you’d made while wigging out.

"Clothes, we both need new clothes.” You say decisively.

“I don’t really--”

“Nigga, bring ya ass on!”

“Aigh’t already, damn!”

After an exhausting rest of the afternoon spent looking for the perfect outfit, Erik dropped you off at your favorite salon to get your hair and nails done. It was a last minute walk in appointment and Chantay wasn’t the happiest seeing you -- until she saw the amount of money you were paying her. While she worked her magic, you and Breanna texted back and forth, with y’all going through potential jobs and reasons for all this mystery and secrecy that Erik was doing.

Bre also promised that she would send Dre to put Travis in check asap. Then the topic changed once again when she sent you the link to an article about the Wakandan king, T’Challa.

Apparently he was slated for a press conference tomorrow morning?

‘She so dumb, but I love her silly ass.’ Smiling faintly, you replied that yes, the king was pretty fione, but he was a little too lean for your tastes. You ain’t want a man that didn’t know how to handle all your thickness. You cracked up laughing when she sent you a poop emoji, murmuring an apology when Chantay told you to keep still.

Once that appointment is concluded, the two of y’all took note of the limo waiting outside.

The. Limo.

GSLKDHFSKFLJSD!!!

“Y/N?” Neither of y’all utter a word. So he tries again, “Y/N Y/L/N? Is that you, ma’am?” The driver asked, professional and relaxed, unruffled, by the fact that he’s being gaped at.

“That’s me.” You reply weakly. He opened the door for you.

“I got the license plate number in case you go missing.” Chantay whispered out the corner of her mouth. Placing a hand over your heart, you throw up a peace sign and she waved, removing a cigarette from behind her ear and lit it.

Question after question flew through your brain. You wanted to touch everything but at the same time, it was important to show some class. He drops you off at the apartment where you quickly shower, moisturize, and change (Nadia is gone but where you don’t know and have no time to find out), and when you come back out, the few people lingering around eye you with appreciation, curiousity and lust.

The drive to the Queen’s Cove is completely silent but you don’t care. This feels like some straight up black Cinderella-out-the-hood type stuff.

The next time the car pulls to a stop and the door opens, it’s Erik who’s reaching a hand out to you. Without hesitation, you take his hand and he helps you out of the limo, appraising you with hungry eyes. Although your inner mantra is that you’re in public and this is indecent, especially for a place this fancy, you give him a once over too.

“Damn baby, you lookin’ like a whole snack.”

Cracking a smile, because regardless, Erik gon be Erik, you let him kiss the corner of your mouth, so close to your lips. “Mmhm, you look handsome too, baby. Let’s go meet your cousin.”

“You right, you right.” There’s a distracted air about him and he can’t stop looking at you.

Admittedly, that swells your ego. That floaty feeling carries you through what might have been an epic freak out and meltdown because again, there were celebrities and politicians milling about, everything looked expensive.

Fuck, even the air smelled rich!

The maitre d’ led y’all to a private booth/sitting area in the far back, not easily noticed by other people. And there, already seated... Is the King of Wakanda. T’Challa Udaku.

“Cousin! There’s bobotie on the menu!” Eyebrows raising, you glanced at Erik pointedly, but he merely pulled out the chair for you. The whole ass king, T’Challa, put down the menu only to smile at you brightly, “Oh! I am so rude. Hello. You are Erik’s woman, yes?”

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” You said primly, about to raise up and possibly mangle an attempt at a curtsey, but Erik’s hand on the nape of your neck keeps you seated, the gesture effortlessly casual, but intimate.

“Please, there are no need for titles. Did you not tell her that, cousin?” Erik sat down too. “...Oh, Bast, he did not tell you that.” T’Challa, the king of an African nation, frowned. “N’Jadaka...”

“N-who?” Your brows furrowed.

T’Challa sighed and Erik eyeballed him, expression annoyed. “Bruh, don’t come at me like that! What with yo bitch ass Council putting that gag order on a nigga, what could I tell her but the kiddy shit?”

“Um...” You try to speak up.

“The conference is tomorrow, cousin. You could have informed her at least two weeks in advance.”

“You think I’m slow or some shit? Like I can’t read, muthafucka? Of course I know it’s tomorrow! I brought her down her to meet yo cornball ass, but we can bounce if you gon be on some other--”

THUMP!

Slamming your fist into the table, ignoring the throbbing pain searing through the appendage, you glared at them both. “If both y’all grown ass men don’t start actin’ like y’all mofos got some sense and recognize we in public, right now...” You say through gritted teeth.

“Sorry, baby.” Erik mumbled.

“My apologies, Y/N.”

After that, the tension faded away. The dinner felt relaxed and normal, like you were eating out with ya man and another brother or something. During that dinner though, Erik explained that he was a prince, third in line for the throne to Wakanda. The two of them made some questionable quips and remarks that bordered on being too dark, and you were most certainly going to be talking to Erik about that later.

Erik, that wasn’t even his real name.

It’s N’Jadaka Udaku.

There’s something beautiful about the way the vowels rolled off your tongue and N’Jadaka, likes when you use it. Oh, yeah, he definitely liked the way you say his name, if his hand on your thigh underneath the table is any indication, the slow circles he’s rubbing into the satin smooth brown skin, teasing you.

“Hi! I’m Mitchell and this is Cassandra, and we--”

Oh. No.

It feels like the bottom of your stomach has fallen out. You are half afraid to even look up and see if they’re as close as you fear, but when you flick your eyes to the right, yes. Yes they are, right here.

Waiters.

Ha!

Right now, they’re pestering T’Challa, asking if he wants a refill of his drink, and you glance at ya man, trying to non-verbally signal to him that we had to get the fuck outta dodge before they noticed us. And either he was just horny or he got the message, probably the former, but he was about to get up when Cassandra turned and finally noticed us.

Shit!

“Y/N! Hi! Oh, goodness. This is such a coincidence, running into you and your beau again. I told Mitchell that I saw you at my other job and he didn’t believe me at all.”

Somehow, you manage to smile, “Such a...small world.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “Erik! Hi, hello!” Again, she offered her hand for a shake.

He ignored her outstretched hand. “This is a private dinner. Family only.”

Mitchell snorted, his handsome features twisting into a sneer. “Family? Y/N? No way. I grew up with the girl, that’s straight ghetto--”

Cassandra elbowed her hubby abruptly. “Honey.”

“Nah, let him finish his sentence.” Erik took a swallow of wine, finishing off the glass. “‘Straight ghetto’, what?”

“I was going to say that Y/N and her family are an...unscrupulous bunch.” Lying through his teeth, Mitchell plastered a smile onto his lips, though his eyes are bitter, cruel. Jealous. “It’s very unfit for her to be sitting next to, and dining with, royalty.”

T’Challa raised a finger, “Forgive me for sounding uncultured in this. English is not my first language and I have not been to America often,” It’s clear, if only to you and Erik, that he’s downplaying his own intellect, he’d talked circles around you about a lot of topics and explained things without making you feel stupid. “But I believe you are insulting not only myself, and by extension, all of Wakanda, you are also insulting my own cousin, a prince, and his choice of female companion? Y/N is quite a lovely and intelligent, funny, woman, after all.”

“I agree! I so agree!” Cassandra nodded her head vigorously. “Y/N and I, we were friends once upon a time ago in college.”

Unable to stand all this double talking and hypocrisy, your mouth opened, “Bitch, when?” You sounded so done at the moment. “Is it after you caught a case of jungle fever and decided that you were finished fucking Tim, who went on to become a famous country singer by the way, and chose this light bright nigga to be your Negro husband? I bet you were very disappointed that the rumor of all black men having big dicks isn’t true.”

Cassandra paled, standing there, gaping at you. Mitchell, however, absolutely exploded. “You ghetto ass dirty hoodrat bi--”

One right hook and an uppercut and Mitchell hit the floor with a pained grunt. Erik put his foot on his chest, keeping him in place. “I’m from Oakland, California, straight up out the hood, my nigga. Erik Stevens, ask about me.” Grinding his heel into his chest for a few more seconds, he stepped over him, “Let’s get the fuck up outta here.”

“Yoink.” You grab the bottle of wine, patting Cassandra’s shoulder ‘comfortingly’. “I’ll just take this for the road. Since we such good friends, you got me, right? Right. I’ll holla at you on Facebook, boo boo.” With a wave of your fingers, you accept Erik’s hand, smiling big and pretty, especially when he adjusted his grip so that his arm is around your waist, headed for the exit.

“Bill me for any damages, yes?” Smiling a camera ready smile, T’Challa dipped his head in farewell to Cassandra, accidentally stepping on Mitchell’s hand and followed after his wayward cousin and date.

Once y’all are outside, embarrassment overtakes you and you’re about to apologize to T’Challa but he only wagged a finger and smiled. “It was very good fun tonight. I almost thought you were too timid for my cousin but you have such a vibrant personality, Y/N.”

You look at the ground then away from him, unable to keep eye contact at the sincerity in his tone. “Careful, nigga, or you and me gon go round three for you flirting with my girl.” Erik joked, tilting your chin up a little to kiss your forehead.

T’Challa shook his head and chuckled, “Take care of each other and stay out of trouble, eh.”

Then y’all go y’all’s separate ways. Erik and you get in the limo, while a fierce, bald lady opens the door to a sleek sports car, and T’Challa gets in that. Both vehicles take off in opposite directions. You reach for Erik’s hand and he holds your hand in his lap, his thumb tracing circles around the pulse point, a pensive expression on his face. You want to know what’s up but you also are afraid to know what’s bothering him, secretly figuring that it’s you and the drama that follows you around like a bad smell.

When the limo drops y’all off at his crib, he immediately strips of the outfit, carelessly dropping the items of clothing onto the floor and elsewhere, motions agitated. You follow after him silently, carefully following his lead. The two of you shower together but he doesn’t touch you, or make any lewd comments. He gives you some clothes to sleep in and you think that y’all aren’t going to talk about the elephant in the room when he turns his back to you, and reluctantly, you turn so that you’re facing away from him too.

Only twenty minutes of this and you think you’re going crazy.

You’re about to get the fuck outta dodge when he speaks, “I need...I need to tell you somethin’.” Heart sinking in your chest, you try to turn around but he holds you in place, apparently not wanting you to look at him while he tells you...whatever he needs to tell you.

Pretty sure you were prepared for anything than what he told you about his life before he and you started sleeping together and became a couple. The uncensored version of who Erik Steven is...or rather, who he had been.

Killmonger.

All of it.

You’d like to think you were a tough as nails type of bitch, but that story had you crying hard as shit. Whether for N’Jobu, N’Jadaka, or T’Challa and his father. Or Erik’s victims...it’s a mystery.

You just hurt.

“I couldn’t...couldn’t keep hiding what I done. I mean, I could, but tonight, if anything, proved that all that shit tends to come out one way or the other. And I wanted you to hear it from me, not nobody else.” He swallowed. “I ain’t gon be mad or, or, stop you if you choose to leave me. I understand.”

The next time you attempted to turn around, he didn’t stop you. Legs on either side of his chest, hands resting on his abdomen, you stared down at him with red and puffy eyes. “If I got up right now to leave, would you choke me out, smack me, or shoot me in the head?”

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly, eyes suspiciously bright, “No.”

“Do you have any plans to cheat on me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Couples fight, they argue. That shit is normal. I might get mad and say some hurtful things, or you might be the one to do all that. We might yell at each other. That is normal. What I won’t accept is being made into Boo-Boo the Fool when you get mad and feel you have to prove what a man you are, then cheat on me with another bitch.

I won’t be your punching bag or doormat. I am your woman, more than that, I’m somebody daughter, they sister.

I’ve got too much respect for myself to let any of that foolishness go on. I will drop yo ass wit the quickness and cross the street to avoid speaking to you for years, if necessary.” Pausing, you take a breath, letting your words sink in.

“Do you understand?”

Erik’s cautiously rests his hands on your hips. “I understand that, and I respect it. But I’m asking you to please, don’t throw that shit I told you in my face if you get mad. Ion care bout nun else but don’t do me dirty like that, Y/N. I’m tryin’ my best, baby girl.”

Baby girl. Oooh fuck, that nickname did things to you. You needed to get your hormones under control, bih, this is a serious moment! “’Kay.” You say, voice quiet, and you bite your bottom lip.

He seemed to sense the turn in your attitude because he soon leaned up and kissed you open mouthed and nasty, squeezing your ass cheeks, the boy shorts you wore offering little to no protection from Erik’s groping hands, “You gon let me fuck you now, ain’tchu, baby girl?”

Oh, this bastard. Moaning yessssss, you don’t resist when he yanks off the shirt you wore, accidentally tearing it a little before flinging it away, then yanked off the booty shorts, shoving his boxers down just enough to free his cock, teasing your wet pussy folds before pushing in alllll the way inside you.

“You mines, you my baby girl, you gon stay wit me.” The words are quietly delivered every time he fucks up into you, and your eyes screw shut, breaths coming quick. “Say it.” A particularly hard roll of his hips punches the breath out of you, “I can stay like this all night.”

And you know he can, he would, tease you, the both of you, until he gets what he wants. “I’m yours, your baby g-girl,” Erik sucked at your throat, intent on leaving a hickie. “I’m not gon leave you.”

It’s like your words flipped a switch or something because he’s switching positions so that you’re beneath him and he’s fucking you nice and slow. Then again, this doesn’t really feel like fucking. It’s not rough or quick, with spankings or some choking. Whatever it is, it’s intense, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he kisses your shoulder, murmuring how good your pussy feels, and other sweet, perverse things, eventually sends you over the edge. You don’t deny it when he mutters, “You my baby girl...” Right in your ear just before he pushes inside you as far as he can go, filling you with his cum.

After all, it’s not like he’s wrong; you are his.

#mcu #erik killmonger #mcu imagine #erik killmonger imagine #black reader #black panther #marvel #black panther imagine #marvel imagine #erik killmonger x reader #thekrazykeke

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xennariel · 7 years

Note

you could totally do a fake married au for royai, if you wanted......??? then again if that isn't your thing maybe something about flowers and royai.... like, maybe the language of flowers. (I'm looking at flowers which is why that just occurred to me, run with it i guess?? or do whatever you want lol. good luck getting outta that funk!)

Thank you for reminding me of the several ideas I’ve had stewing about fake relationship fics for royai. This one is pretty quick and wasn’t even the first one I thought of, but it’s the one I was in the mood to write because I love jealous Roy. The other idea I have is a jealous Riza, but I thought I’d save that for another time. Thank you so much for sending a prompt!

——–

Roy’s hand at Riza’s waist was warm as he held her close. The satin, high necked dress clung to her curves and it was a wonder no one had noticed the gun strapped to her thigh. Roy’s heady cologne wafted past her nose and she leaned closer to him, her painted lips stretched in a bright smile. He looked dashing in his three piece suit. It was no surprise that the attention of most of the ladies was focused on him.

Riza couldn’t remember the last time they’d been in such close proximity to each other, if ever. Being so close to him was making her dizzy. Or perhaps it was the glass of champagne she’d downed earlier to try to prepare herself for the rest of the evening. Being among Drachman Mafia royalty was unnerving enough. Pretending to be Roy’s fiance added a layer of sensitivity she definitely didn’t need. She’d have to have a word with her grandfather for suggesting their undercover identities.

Roy on the other hand, though nervous, was enjoying being so close to Riza. He fell into the act of ‘loving fiance’ easily and it felt natural to him to hold her and flirt with her. Their relationship for the mission might have been fake, but the feelings behind it were all too real. She was gorgeous in her dress and his eyes visibly softened whenever he drank her in.

He could feel her stiffness next to him and he wished he could make the situation more comfortable for her. She wasn’t used to her feelings being on full display in public. Though she acted her part quite well, the rigidness in her spine and the brisk way she moved was evidence that she was not relaxed. She was draped over Roy’s arm, close enough that he could smell her flowery perfume. Her smile and words were flirty and loving, but Roy knew her well enough. He could tell just how much she wanted to get this whole ordeal over with.

As the night dragged on, a man approached them. He had a slight wobble to his stride, a bottle of beer in one hand, and the most obnoxious grin. Roy sighed and plastered a smile on his face. Riza did the same.

Roy gripped her waist just a little tighter when the man’s eyes fell on her.

“Hey, sweeheart,” the man said, voice slurred. “Want to ditch this loser and spend some time with a real man?”

Riza cringed for a few moments before she was able to fake a smile again. She couldn’t help herself. Roy’s grip on her tightened more and he pulled her closer, possessively, wanting so badly to punch the man.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Riza replied in a voice that was much too fake and high pitched. It almost made Roy wince. “But I’m already taken.”

“She’s my fiance,” Roy added, with a bit more force than necessary.

The man grunted and huffed a laugh.

“Fiance? Frankly, she doesn’t seem all that into you.” Roy bristled, but the man continued before he could argue. “I assure you, I’m a much better choice, sweetheart. You two don’t seem very affectionate. I bet I could satisfy you more.”

The man’s grin widened and he winked. Riza was disgusted, but the realization that her nervousness was potentially jeopardizing their cover sobered her. Roy took a breath, like he was ready to speak, but Riza cut him off.

“I seriously doubt that,” she said before turning to Roy, his hand coming to rest further down on her waist from the sudden movement.

Riza placed one hand on the side of Roy’s face and the other behind his head and brought her lips up to his before her rationality told her it was not a good idea. Roy’s eyes widened momentarily, but his surprise didn’t last long. He returned her kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She was warm and soft and she seemed to melt into him as their kiss lingered longer than intended. Her lips moved gently beneath his and Roy felt her relax in his arms as her uncertainty about her actions all but evaporated at his touch. It was a moment Roy had only dreamed of sharing with her and his mind reeled now that it was actually happening. If only he knew what was going through her mind. Was this just for the sake of their act? Did it have any meaning behind it?

The man gaped at them and threw his beer thus breaking the spell that had taken over the colonel and his lieutenant. They broke apart and flinched as beer and shards of glass showered their feet.

“Do you know who I am?” The man growled. “My brother is Dario Stuvac, head of the family business, leader of the largest Drachman Mafia syndicate this side of Amestris!”

Roy almost laughed. In his drunken rage, the man had incriminated himself and his brother. It was all they needed to hear. Behind them, the doors to the mansion burst open and the reinforcements that had been waiting on standby strode into the room, having heard Stuvac’s outburst from the radio Roy had hidden in his suit.

“Thank you, Mr. Stuvac, that’s all we needed to know.” Roy grinned and stepped aside for one of the members of his backup team to handcuff Stuvac. “You’ve been quite helpful. I was beginning to think we’d never be able to wrap this up.”

The man blubbered and stuttered, his face red. Roy swore he could see a vein popping out of the man’s forehead. Roy chuckled as he was taken away.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”

“I suppose.”

Riza’s response was quiet and he noted she was looking at everything but him, averting her eyes when he stepped closer to her. Roy cleared his throat, mind drifting to what she had done just minutes earlier.

“I, um, would like to talk about what happened, if that’s all right with you? In private, I mean.”

Riza’s eyes widened and a light blush covered her cheeks when she finally met his gaze.

“I… Of course.”

Roy grinned and extended his hand.

“Shall we?” Riza nodded and placed her hand in his. He closed his fingers gently around hers and brought his lips close to her ear to whisper, “You look beautiful tonight.”

The blush on Riza’s cheeks grew deeper and she smiled softly at Roy as he led them out of the mansion and into the cool evening.

#royai #fma #fmab #fanfiction #royai fanfiction

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rhegar · 7 years

Text

Ice Dragon (Part 1): Why Jon Snow Will Ride Wight!Viserion

A few things before I start...

1. All credits go to @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly and @joannalannister for coming up with the theory that Jon will ride Viserion. It’s a really interesting and convincing theory that you can read here. This theory is just a buildup on that theory in light of the recent development in which Viserion turned into a wight.

2. For reasons that I will clarify, I think that this theory doesn’t just go for the show, but for the books as well (in fact, seeing as the books are more likely to follow logic and continuity, I feel like it goes for the books more as it feels more complicated than something the showmakers would think of.)

Obviously, if you continue, you’re in for spoilers of anything and everything that has happened on the books and show so far.

1. The Ice Dragon. (or, how does this theory play out in the books?)

Well, in the books, we have too many references to an ice dragon for it to be a coincidence. For instance, there’s a constellation actually named the Ice Dragon. It is mentioned on many occasions, especially in POVs of northern characters.

"Osha," Bran asked as they crossed the yard. "Do you know the way north? To the Wall and . . . and even past?"

"The way's easy. Look for the Ice Dragon, and chase the blue star in the rider's eye." She backed through a door and started up the winding steps.

"And there are still giants there, and . . . the rest . . . the Others, and the children of the forest too?" - A Clash of Kings, Bran V

An Ice Dragon also plays into the stories of Old Nan (the majority of which we know shed some light on events from the past and foreshadow the possible future.

A sudden gust of wind set Edd's cloak to flapping noisily. "Best go down, m'lord. This wind's like to push us off the Wall, and I never did learn the knack of flying.

"They rode the winch lift back to the ground. The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy. The heavy cage was swaying. From time to time it scraped against the Wall, starting small crystalline showers of ice that sparkled in the sunlight as they fell, like shards of broken glass. - A Dance with Dragons, Jon VII

Not only that, but some characters also happen to think of ice dragons a lot, making a lot of similes related to ice dragons. In particular, Jon.

Jon nodded weakly. The door swung open. Pyp led them in, followed by Clydas and the lantern. It was all Jon could do to keep up with Maester Aemon. The ice pressed close around them, and he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the weight of the Wall above his head. It felt like walking down the gullet of an ice dragon. The tunnel took a twist, and then another. Pyp unlocked a second iron gate. They walked farther, turned again, and saw light ahead, faint and pale through the ice. That's bad, Jon knew at once. That's very bad. - A Storm of Swords, Jon VIII

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. Dolorous Edd led them through with a torch in hand. Mully had the keys for the three gates, where bars of black iron as thick as a man's arm closed off the passage. Spearmen at each gate knuckled their foreheads at Jon Snow but stared openly at Val and her garron. - A Dance with Dragons, Jon VIII

Isn’t an ice dragon a strange thing to constantly be in the subconscious of the people like that? That’s like naming a constellation The Swimming Bird, or The Vegetarian Lion. It’s a strange contradiction; a paradox. To me, the phrase “ice dragon” is comparable to a “blue flower grew from a chunk in a wall of ice”... it’s not something that sounds regular in the flow of speech; it’s put there for a purpose. Why would such a thing be constantly suggested if it’s not foreshadowing something in the future?

Some have theorized that said ice dragon is actually the wall itself. Personally, I find that interesting, but logistically challenging and difficult to take place. If the entire wall was a dragon, that thing would be hopeless to defeat. It would be hundreds of times the size of Balerion himself. What I personally think is that it’s inevitable that one of Daenerys’ dragons will meet its demise in the books; it’s just inevitable plot-wise. No one and nothing is unbeatable, and to show us that, George will have to take out some people and creatures that we thought of as higher-than-life, i.e. the dragons.

Yes, this is one of the cases (like R+L=J, or the wall eventually coming down) where I think the showmakers stuck to the scenario that they know will happen in the books. A dragon will eventually be killed in the books, and my money’s on Viserion (for reasons that will become clear later, but even now, I feel like just changing the dragon that dies from Viserion to Rhaegal isn’t a change that the showmakers would make. It doesn’t make that big of a difference for them.)

However, because of the whole “three heads of the dragon” thing, I personally don’t believe that said dragon will stay dead. I believe it will be turned into the “dark side” either by Euron (who now serves the others) using the Horn of Joramun, or the Night King himself, therefore becoming the Ice Dragon; a dragon that, if not literally made of ice, it fights on the side of ice, thus going against what it inherently is: A dragon; fire-made flesh.

2. Fire-Made Flesh

From the very beginning, the magical aspect of the story revolved around the conflict between two magical forces in the universe: Ice and Fire. One of them is portrayed as inherently bad (ice) and the other is portrayed as potentially good, but also volatile and can be quite destructive depending on who’s in control of it (fire.) And this makes sense; ice brings the cold and death and nothing else (please don’t send me asks about refrigerators) but fire can bring warmth and safety (if you think about it in a more primal sense that makes sense in ASOIAF, you can use fire to scare away predators) but needless to say, fire can also be highly destructive.

When it comes to dragons vs. white walkers, each of them belongs exclusively to one of those two forces. Dragons are described as “fire-made flesh”; they are able, against all laws of physics, to breathe fire. And allegedly, fire cannot kill a dragon.

White walkers bring the cold, frost, death, and they reanimate the dead to do their bidding; however, the only thing that kills them is fire. So, we see that each of the two factors does something exclusive to it and magical; fire magic, and ice magic.

Now; the question is: Can a dragon turn into an undead being animated by ice magic? Wouldn’t that be inherently against its nature?

Again, like previously expressed in the previous point, an “ice dragon” is a paradox. It’s the same thing as an other that breathes fire. And yes, you can kill a dragon and turn it into a wight, technically, and you can’t make an other breathe fire, but because of how that state is contradictory to the dragon’s very existence... would it be a complete state?

The reason why the wights are what they are is because they’re unintelligent. They lose their mind, personality, sense, and become nothing but zombies animated by ice. But a dragon... does it get to keep its intelligence as a wight and serve (whoever) as an independent force that decides what to do? Yes it changes “side”, but does it completely lose its conscious?

AsoIaF dragons are intelligent. - George R. R. Martin (source)

Personally, I believe that a dragon can never fully become what a wight is. It will never only obey the Night King, especially not above its chosen rider. Because before being a wight, it is first and foremost a dragon. So, for the time being, I want you not to think of Viserion as an undead wight that has no control of what it’s doing, but as an Other!dragon; a monster moved by ice that still has a will and intelligence, and that still gets to choose who its rider will be. And I believe that, because Viserion still has his free will, this rider can be a living human.

For the time being, Viserion will do the night king’s bidding, perhaps destroying the wall and killing a bunch of people... until he finds his true rider.

3. The Wolf

So... what would make a person Viserion’s chosen rider?

Let’s ask this question in another way. If being the prince that was promised was simply the matter of being the third child of Rhaegar Targaryen, why would he have it by way of running away with the daughter of a paramount lord who’s also the fiancee of another paramount lord, while he himself is married with two children, plunging the realm into war? He could have had a third child with a washerwoman or servant girl on Dragonstone. Or, if he’s super elitist and picky, he could have had it with a noblewoman from a lesser house who’s not engaged. He’s the crown prince, and noblemen in Westeros had their flings and no one held it against them (even when it became excessive, like in the cases of Brandon or Robert.)

So... why Lyanna? Is there anything special about Stark blood that gives its holder certain power? Why must there always be a Stark in Winterfell? Why don’t we ever hear that there must always be a Lannister in Casterly Rock, or an Arryn in the Eyrie? Is it just family tradition, or the sealing of a protective spell? Old Nan says that the first Night King (a legendary figure that has no relation to the current night king, but we don’t know if it’s truly legendary or if it’s one of *those* legends) was a Stark of Winterfell. We know the wall itself was built by a Stark of Winterfell (and not just any Stark, he founded the house.) Most (if not all) of the current generation of Starks are wargs; warging, skinchanging etc. seem to be magical abilities that come from the children of the forest... the children created the Others and lost control of their creation, and tried to destroy them (something not confirmed in the books yet.) But again... why were those abilities granted mostly to Starks? (they show up in Euron who is Ironborn and Brynden Rivers/Three Eyed Raven whose mother was from the Riverlands though from a house descended from the First Men... but again, most of those who possess those powers happen to be Starks.)

There is definitely a tie between the Starks and the Others. We don’t know the nature of this tie, whether the others were originally Starks/some of them were Starks, whether there was a pact between the Starks and the Others to keep them away from Westeros that was sealed with blood magic (i.e. the magic wardings on the Wall; probably sealed with Bran the Builder’s blood) and though we don’t know what this tie is, it definitely exists. Ice magic (to a lesser degree) has a relation to the Starks. And while I don’t think they can reanimate the dead any more than the Targaryens can breathe fire, having such a relation to a potent type of magic definitely affects you and makes you capable of connecting to it.

So, back to Jon Snow... (or did we ever start talking about him?)

Jon has the magical formula of balance between ice and fire. He has the blood of the kings of winter, of Bran the Builder, of the first men, and the blood of the dragonlords of Valyria. He has the potential to ride a dragon, and the potential to have a link to the others that enables him to make peace with them. And with... an intelligent wight?

But making peace with the others isn’t what we’re discussing here... what we’re discussing is the fact that Jon has ice magic AND fire magic in his blood.

Jon is undead; a “wight animated by fire” as Martin has said recently. And Viserion is undead; a dragon animated by ice. They are both ice dragons; one figurative, the other literal. Add to this all the evidence in the theory by joannalannister and nobodysuspectsthebutterfly that was linked above, and Jon is the perfect rider for Viserion.

4. Conclusion

ِAs much as you can never freeze fire, you can never turn a dragon into a wight and expect it to be completely in service of The Great Other. The two things are as paradoxical as ice and fire themselves. And if a living human being in the ASOIAF universe has the potential to tame an ice dragon and ride it, it can only be Jon Snow; a figurative ice dragon himself, who has magical ties to the others and magical ties to the dragons.

Whew... so, this turned out way longer than I expected. A second part is coming in which I try to further explore the relation between Stark blood and the others, and what Jon’s endgame might be.

#jon snow #viserion #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #got spoilers #got

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Note

OMG you have to write about Effie surprising Haymitch with eatable lingerie. Please please please. I loved today's prompt.

It took a while but here it is! [X]

Sugar Rush

Haymitch was used to the Capitol’s crazy trendsbut this one took the cake – literally.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he scoffed,forgetting to even grumble about her wake up call. Effie Trinket hiking all theway to his house on Reaping Day wasn’t unheard of, not to say it was more orless the rule. She didn’t trust him not to show up in his pajamas – and he did have something of a track record onthat front. Tossing drops of water on his face really wasn’t the worst she haddone to wake him up either so he simply grabbed the towel she had readied andstared at her some more because…

She looked like a giant cake.

A giant pink cake complete with white frosting,colorful sprinkles and the occasional sugar rose. And she smelt like a cake too. The sweet flagrance of pastry was almostoverwhelming in the dumpster he lived in.

She must have thought so too because shewrinkled her nose and headed straight for the window. It resisted but shepushed until it finally gave and fresh air blissfully came in.

“Go shower.” she ordered, regarding the messthat was his bedroom with obvious disgust.

“You’re not the boss of me, Trinket.” he growled,gathering the sheet around his hips because he had been too drunk to care aboutpants last night. Not that it really mattered because she had seen every partof him up close at this point but she was annoying him. He spotted the pressedsuit hanging on the door and he groaned. Trust her to force him intouncomfortable clothes.

“Please, go take a shower, Haymitch, so I cantrim the heap of hay on your head into something resembling a haircut.” sheamended sweetly with a bright fake smile. Her blue eyes were twinkling inamusement though and it was the only reason he didn’t fight her further. Whatwas the point when he would end upforced to go to that Reaping andready to her expectations, no less?

He trudged out of bed, stopping just longenough to press a kiss on her lips that had her wrinkling her nose again at hismorning breath.

“Smartass.”he accused.

“And I am certainyour toothbrush would love to getreacquainted with your mouth!” she called after him.

He waved his hand at her without bothering toturn back. “I know something thatwants to get reacquainted with your mouth.”

There was a huff in answer and he chuckled tohimself as he turned the water on in the shower, brushing his teeth while hewaited for it to get warm. By the time he was done in the bathroom and cameback to the bedroom with only a towel around his hips, she had clearly gone towork. Trust Effie to put order to his chaos, he mused, as he took in theoverflowing clothes hamper and the floorboards that had previously been coveredwith dirty laundry. She had also undressed the bed but hadn’t gone as far as tomake it again – possibly because he didn’t have any more clean sheets.

“You need a housekeeper.” she declared when sheheard him come into the kitchen.

There too marks of her passage were visible.Dirty dishes had been gathered and left to soak and she had sprayed some sortof perfume in the air that was pungent but not enough to really cover the smellof rot, the window and the back door were both open too.

Fresh coffee was waiting for him on the tableand he made a beeline for it, dropping on a chair and resolutely not eyeing thecomb, hairbrush and scissors she had readied. He hated that part but he wouldrather have her cutting his hair that submitting to a prep team.

“What’s with the cake outfit?” he asked,leaning to snatch a bottle of liquor from the counter. She clucked her tonguein disapproval when he generously spiked his coffee but he ignored her. If hewas going to survive the day, he needed it.

She tugged on his hair with the comb as shetold him all about the latest rage in the city being a cooking show and how everything was about food right now… Hegroaned and rolled his eyes, too aware of the amount of wasted food the Capitolwent through every day. To make it a fashion accessory though… That was new.

“So it’s edible?” he asked curiously, reachingfor one of the delicately chiseled sugar roses on her waist.

She batted his hand away with her lips pursedand her eyes narrowed in warning. Nomessing with the outfit before the show. He got it loud and clear. The factthat she had scissors right next to his ear wasn’t lost on him either and he wiselykept his hands to himself. Her features immediately cheered up and she beamed,a slow secret smile stretching her lips.

“Why, Haymitch… Everything I am wearing right now is edible.” she purred. “Thedress is just… the appetizer.”

If that dress was meant to be sexy, she neededto think again.

But what she was saying was enticing though…

What did she have underneath? “You know I’vegot a sweet tooth.”

A sweet tooth that hadn’t seen a candy inalmost a whole year. And he was hungry. Very, very hungry. There was only somuch relief he could find with his own hand.

“A shame this house in so unsanitary.” shedeadpanned. “Head my words: hire someone.” She ran her fingers in his hair,contemplating. She must have been satisfied with her work because she startedpacking her tools. “Put on the suit I laid out for you. And, please, let’s not start arguing aboutties so soon. We both know you will wear it in the end so do not be difficult.”

“I’m curious…” He stood up slowly, very much inher personal space. What perfume had she spread herself with? Cotton candy? It was too strong, sostrong it made him a bit nauseous. “You want me to hire a young bird to bearound me all day?”

“I never specified she should be young.” Effiereplied, lifting a challenging eyebrow. “An old woman would do just as well ifnot better and she could probably use the wages. Or a man, even.”

“But so less easy on the eyes…” he taunted,smirking hard. “Might not be such a bad idea… Wouldn’t mind a pretty girl tolook at.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I think you areconfusing the role of a housekeeper with a whore’s. If you are so desperate, goto a brothel. And do not try to tellme there aren’t any in Twelve. I am fairlycertain you know all the secret addresses of houses of ill-repute.”

They were a few but he had never been there andhe would never start. It felt too much like exploiting human misery and it wastoo reminiscent of what the Capitol had had him do on occasions.

She was pursing her lips tight and openlyglaring at him and the sight was far too enticing. He leaned in and kissed her,insisting until her unyielding mouth gave under his and she responded in kind. Hishands found her waist and he nudged her against the table, distracting her withhis lips so she wouldn’t get what he was up to until she was too caught up init to care. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging hard to guide hishead the way she wanted it… At some point, her nails ran down the side of hisneck, scratching more than stroking and he groaned against her mouth, juttinghis hips forward by reflex…

He was hard already and was it that surprising?It had been months since the lasttime. Months. Winter had dragged on andon and it was completely sick that hewas becoming impatient for spring and Reaping day just so he could get laid. Itmade him sick to the stomach to think that way, to let his brain be dictated byhis dick. And yet… There he was, desperate to get his way because…

“Oh! No, no, no!” she protested when he tried to lift her up on the table. Shehad cleaned it, she couldn’t object to it, yeah? Granted, he knew his housewas… Well, he knew it was disgusting and really not the best place for thiskind of stuff. For one thing, he tended to break bottles, glasses and platesand to carelessly brush the pieces aside and getting naked in this mess could potentially end up with shards inawkward places – and that was without even talking about the fact he hadn’tbothered cleaning in years. But shehad cleaned the table to lay out her haircutting tools and… “This dress is delicate, Haymitch. And it is reallymeant to be worn once, I cannot take it off.”

He took that in stride, his fingers tighteningon her waist. “Fine, then keep it on.”

He could work around that. He had worked aroundthat before. It wasn’t like they always bothered getting undressed when theyhad an itch to scratch.

“It is too fragile.” she insisted, coiling herhands around his wrists and pushing them away. “I am sorry but it will look awfulif the sugar roses break.”

He blinked at her. “You’re serious?”

She pressed herself against him and that was cruel because there was no way she couldn’t feel his erectionpoking her in the stomach. She pecked his lips, looking apologetic. “After theReaping.”

He shook his head at her, irritated and too hotand bothered to care that he was acting like a pressuring jerk. “I’ll see youat the Square.”

“Haymitch…” she sighed.

He didn’t bother answering her, storming out tohis bedroom where he immediately took matters in his own hands.

He was late and very much not caring when hemade his way to the Justice Building later on – missing a tie that had mysteriously ended up in the trash hehad finally decided to take out. Effie and the Mayor were already on stage and,useless to say, she didn’t look very happy with the way he looked. She cluckedher tongue as soon as he had climbed the stairs and started smoothing wrinklesoff his suit and trying to fix his hair. He grumbled and struggled against herhands but she was determined and stubborn. And annoyed by the lack of tie.

The Reaping put an end to their bickering. Hewasn’t in any mood to banter or fuck by the time it was done. The kids shereaped were too young, too scrawny and too visibly terrified. Effie did herbest but the boy started crying and Haymitch wrote him off right there and thenbecause to the Careers he would be an easy target and for the sponsors he wouldonly be pitiful. The girl wasn’t faring much better.

He left her the task of escorting the childrenby herself. Tired and angry by the whole ordeal, he preferred to head to thetrain instead of waiting for the goodbyes to be over. He knew there was littlechance on finding peace on board, that he would enjoy a few glasses at mostbefore she came to fetch him so he could be introduced to their tributes. If hewas lucky and he hid well, he would be buzzed by the time that happened.

He wasn’t,in fact, buzzed because his idea to hide in the dining room car had been a badone. She passed through it on the way to the bar car and she dragged him backto their new tributes with a lot of theatrics he could have done without. Thenext minutes were awkward on many levels. The kids were afraid of them both,that was plain to see, and if they were afraid of them…

He exchanged a look with Effie at some point,not surprised to find her smile strained.

By the time dinner rolled around and after theywere done sitting through an endless silent meal with only Effie’s pointlesschatter as a soundtrack, Haymitch had decided the best Twelve could hope forthis year was a quick death.

He disappeared right after they were done,leaving it to Effie to guide the kids back to the living-room car so they couldwatch the Reaping recaps. He didn’t need to see what the other tributes lookedlike. One look at his had been enough to know there was no saving them.

It was late and he was deep in his bottle bythe time his bedroom door opened. He was drunk but not wasted and he watched asEffie studied him and tried to determine how much exactly he had swallowed.

“Still too sober for this shit.” he told her eventually because she was just standing there,watching him.

She took that as her cue and closed the doorbehind her, hastily picking up the jacket, shirt and pants he had discardedearlier to place them on a chair. “Can’t you last at least an hour before making a mess of a room?”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s our biggest problem right now.” he scoffed, taking anotherswing of his bottle. It was getting difficult to get wasted nowadays. Histolerance threshold was high and… Effie snatched the bottle from his hand andhe scowled. “Don’t you fucking darenag when…” He fell silent when she brought it to her lips, making a face as thetaste of tequila touched her tongue. She took two slow mouthfuls and placed iton the bedside table before straddling his thighs. He sighed. “Not in the moodanymore.”

Not now that he had put faces on the tributeshe was going to lose this year.

She plucked a sugar rose from her dress insilence and broke a petal that she ate silently, her eyes cast down. “Theywon’t last five minutes.”

That she was willing to admit that much aloudsurprised him because she was usually the one who kept up the pretense up tothe last seconds. She convinced the children they could win, she tried toconvince him that if he just mentoredthem right they might have a chance, she convinced herself that this year was theyear they would make it…

He never gave the kids false hopes.Never. He kept it realistic. But her cheerful optimism compensated that nicelybecause it gave them hope. They needed the balance between the two of them.That was how they mentored. That was how they worked.

“Gloomy isn’t a good look on you.” he said.

It earned him a sad smile but she still kept onmunching on her sugar rose.

“I am getting so tired of this…” she confessedin a whisper.

And he got it, really. She had been workingwith him for ten years by now. Nine years of failure. And he doubted they weregoing to win the Seventy-second Hunger Games so… It made it ten lost Games,really.

“You’re gonna quit?” he asked straight out. Italways got to that point. Escorts tended to come and go, only a few remainedfor the long ride, either because they wanted to be promoted to a betterDistrict or because they had developed a twisted sense of duty. Effie was inthe last category. However, they always came to a point when it was too muchand they were desperate to get out and forget. He didn’t blame them. If he hadbeen allowed, he would have given up a long time ago.

“No.” she sighed. “I will stay as long as theywill let me but you should know I am not sure how long that will be. I am wellpast thirty now and while Seneca is happy to have me on the staff, I am suresomeone will petition to have me replaced with a younger woman soon enough.”She waved her hand and ate another sugary petal. “I will stay with you as longas I can, though.”

The fact that they would soon replace her was areality he tried not to think about. Escorts rarely remained on board beyondthirty and it was unheard of to have one past thirty-five. The drones came withan expiratory date, it seemed. He wasn’t sure he would now how to do thiswithout her with him. She had made herself essential. She was his ally, hispartner… He had stopped minding being the only mentor in Twelve because… Well,she filled that role nicely. They were a team.

Those weren’t joyful thoughts and it didn’thelp his mood any.

He stole the sugar rose and plopped it in hismouth, chewing on it loudly, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. “Manners!”

“Gloomy reallyisn’t a good look on you.” he insisted, his mouth still full of sugar.

She huffed but placed her hand on his stomach,her thumbnail not quite poking him in his bellybutton. “Perhaps you should puta better look on my face, then.”

“Can’t, sweetheart.” he denied, pluckinganother sugar rose from her waist. “I’m having dessert.”

“And who is stopping you?” she challenged,reaching on her side for the hidden row of tiny little buttons. He lifted hiseyebrows and enjoyed the show. She had been right before, the dress reallywasn’t meant to be worn twice. His bed was covered with coppers of sugar,broken roses and sprinkles by the time she had slipped it over her head andtossed it to the floor. She inspected the mess with a pout and eventuallyshrugged. “You can sleep in my room tonight.”

He had more urgent preoccupations than where hewas going to sleep.

He licked the sugar off his thumb, eyeing theweird piece of lingerie she had on. The bra was barely more than small candieson a string with two pink thin pieces of… Was it fabric or something else? Hecould hardly say because it seemed to have melt on her skin in some places.Whatever it was, it covered her breasts. The panties were very much the same.The outlines were all candies and the covering parts were that weird material.

It couldn’t have been very comfortable.

Her poutdeepened when she glanced down at herself. “It melted. It wasn’t supposed tomelt.”

“That’s edible?” he asked, propping himself onhis elbows, very much interested.

“I told you.” she grinned. “Everything I amwearing is edible.”

His mouth immediately closed on her breast andshe gasped. The weird pink thing immediately melted on his tongue. It wasstrawberry flavored. He ate it all and then moved on to the other breast. Shewas short of breath by the time he was done with that.

“I’m gonna have a sugar rush.” he snorted,rolling them over so she would be flat on her back and he could focus on thestrawberry flavored panties. He realized quickly that it covered everything but the interesting part. She mumbledsomething about sugar not having any place being down there but she was a bittoo busy wriggling under his tongue to be coherent.

She was a sight once all was left was thecandies outlines but she whined when he started capturing them between histeeth one after the other.

“You do not have to eat them all!” she complained.

That made him chuckle and he kept his hand busybetween her legs while he did justthat, making sure to never apply enough pressure to get her off. She was sofrustrated by the time he was done with her bra that he thought she was readyto murder him.

It wasfun though.

“You know I hate wasting food.” he smirked ashe moved on to the candies neatly lined at her waist.

“I hate you.” she claimed, letting her headheavily flop down on her pillow. “I am never wearing this sort of things again.Oh.”

She bundled the sheets in her fists and archedher back when his tongue found a sweet spot.

“Sure about that?” he challenged.

He was a bit mad with lust himself in the endand he spread her legs apart without much care to bury himself inside her,almost breathing out in relief at the familiar warmth of her. No wonder hishand was a poor substitute.

They did move to her bedroom after they weredone, mainly because his bed was full of sugary crumbs and pieces of candy. Hegrumbled about being forced to share her bed but let her snuggle close to himall the same, trailing his fingers up and down her side.

He was bone-deep exhausted now, the good kindof exhaustion, but it wasn’t enough for his mind to stop running in circles.

Clearly, she was on the same line of thoughtsbecause she let out a long sigh against his neck.

“One day, we will win.” she promised.

He wasn’t sure he believed her.

But it was a nice enough idea.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #games time #coconuts #crack #angst #coconuts friends

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reesesxxpieces-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter Fifteen : Blood on their hands

Spence “Johnny!” A scream from the top of the staircase came out loud and clear from another who had just emerged from a room below, having heard the exchange of the women to draw them from the room. “Johnny! Get the fuck out here!” The man’s words were called down the stairs before he would cross the space towards Spencer and the blonde in an attempt to pull the blonde from John’s wife’s throat.

Once. “Johnny!” Twice. Two times Spencer laid the blade of the knife into the woman. She had let go of her throat, yet Spencer stabbed her again, showing no hope of stopping. What had easily been slotted as self defense on the first wound was no longer such. With each stab into the woman’s side, the blood rained outward, covering Spencer’s hand and arm until the woman fell to the ground. Spencer went down with her, repeating the same action against the woman’s chest until the sound of boots running towards her would cause her to stop. It was then that it all became too clear to Spencer that which she had done.

Beside a pool of coffee, Spencer sat straddled over the woman, knife still in her hand. Trembling, she dropped the knife against the floor. Attempting to get a word out, Spencer was left with no words as she sat, staring down at the corpse she had taken the life from. The man stopped in his tracks towards her the second she dropped the knife as two others emerged from the hallway before John could make his way up. Three people stood in shock as the detective sat in the pool of the woman’s blood, trembling overtop of her with a knife against the floor at her side. Blood spatter covered Spencer’s hands, top, face, and neck. She could feel the eyes on her in that moment, yet she’d make no attempt to move from that place, reality having set in on the woman that she had taken another’s life for the first time.

John As he hit the door frame from a full run, he entered the room and took a step back. The room utterly filled now with not only witnesses but in disbelief witnesses. He didn't know what was worse. His hands instantly went to his head. This was it. This was the end for him. He had to feeling of anticipation coursing through him for months now that something, somewhere was going to catch up on him. That he'd see bars because of it. This would be it. It had to be. He exhaled deep before something other than himself willed his body forward. The inner protector. The Papa Bear. Stepping in front of her where he leaned down. Pulling the knife from her hands as he pulled the still warm body from her. Guiding the petite form of his wife back before he glanced over the blonde. A reach to the jugular just to assure him of what he already knew. No pulse. "Wha-why...what did...what happened?" He finally managed.

Spence With the knife relinquished to John, there was a blank look across her face. She was in shock as she looked down at the woman on the floor once John had brought her to her feet and backed her away. She was unable to speak or move on her own accord at the moment, just entranced by the body that laid against the floor. The blood spattered all over her own arms and legs, face and neck, was not her own, yet she made no attempt to wipe it away. As John asked the question, she heard him, yet she couldn’t quite manage words to come forth from her. Still trembling, she took a half step back, a slow shake to her head. It couldn’t be happening. She might’ve been a dirty cop before, but this was an entirely different thing. The only true witness to the event had been the man who had screamed for John. He had seen the blonde pinning Spencer to the bar. He had seen the knife as it penetrated the woman’s side. He was the one and only one who could attest to the self defense, and yet Spencer had taken it further than necessary. “I’m sorry,” she finally mouthed against her lips, the words not making any audible sound. Nothing more than a formation as she repeated the mouthed words again and again, now without ceasing.

John Watching her, he knew she was too far gone to get anything from and he was just about stunned on what all to do as he attempted to pull her to her feet. "Come here..." he instructed, his first impulse being to get her to the shower as he glanced over towards one of his brothers. "She came after her, Johnny...but we'll worry about this after, I-" "grab a tarp out from the backroom. Get her wrapped up. I'm going to have to call Judas..." he stated simply, focusing on getting his wife out of that room and cleaned up as he walked her back to the bedroom bathroom. "I need to get you cleaned up, alright?"

Spence As directions were given, it was as if she were watching it through someone else's eyes. She was not capable of such an act, and yet she had done it. Repeatedly. When John came to her, guiding her back down the stairs to the room they shared, she was still steadily mouthing the apology. A series of words that would undo nothing. His question to her was met with another "I'm sorry" at her lips as she remained oblivious to the fact she was covered in blood. All at once, she was freezing cold, turning into him with no regard to the blood that would transfer from her clothing and body to his. Her arms tightly folded at her chest, her face against his chest, those words falling from her in a hushed tone.

John Feeling her pull into him, his goal was to get her clean. He had known originally he'd need to shower her but with that transfer, his clothing would need to be burned as well. They had no time for practicalities as he reached for her shirt. Abandoning it briefly before he unbuttoned her bottoms. Guiding those down as well as her panties just in the case there had been a seeping bit of blood before he was at her shirt. "Alright, Spence." He instructed, just needing to get through this before the breakdown.

Spence As her clothes came off, she made no attempt to move, derail him, stop him in any form at all. There was no moment that the removal of her clothes would ignite something within her. The light that normally reflected in her hues was all dim, hazed over. Going through the motions as he rid her of her clothing completely, the same words falling from her lips over and over again. A step forward and then another, she walked to the bathroom with him, until all of a sudden she stopped. The red streaks against her skin revealed back to her in the mirror of the bathroom. Staring at her own reflection, her own skin tone hard to find through the marks of blood that had splattered against her flesh. The words fell from her no longer as she simply stared at the image in the mirror. The image of a murderer. The image of a woman who had taken a life. A person she couldn’t even recognize. The trembling that had subsided minutes before began again. Slowly so before it was unmistakably there, consuming her, blurring her image in the mirror before her.

John Watching her stop upon those marks on her own flesh, he was felt with the realization that he would have killed the bitch twice if possible for laying hands on his wife. Much less a pregnant one. Say what you will about bikers, outlaws. They rebelled against structure and their rules weren't many but the ones they did have were held sacred. Possible harm to a child or unborn baby was up there and for what? A potential notch on the bedpost and the totem pole. John was no prize. Anyone who knew his family knew the rumors. The child of Delia James and her cousin. No one else wanted Johnny the way Spence did. He'd pay that loyalty in loyalty as he withdrew his phone. Shooting a quick text to Judas asking him to pick Spence up from the clubhouse and keep her safe as he did some cleaning up at the shop, needing the key to that as well. Putting his phone down, he ran the shower water before stripping himself.

Spence As John managed the text and then stripped, Spencer stood staring at her reflection in that mirror. It was not her. The mirror was betraying her. The trembling in her body had finally erupted as her fist came forward to the mirror, shattering the glass to rain down against the sink and floor, needing to make it just disappear. Improperly so, as it just left that same splattered red flesh to reflect to her now in shards of glass remaining in the frame of the mirror, the same image over and over again. Backing away from it, she leaned back against the wall, her hands coming up over her face, frantically wiping away at the blood she wore. She had felt the shock and still was living through it, but now she would feel the intense remorse at her actions. “I killed her.” She whispered, then again and again. The phrase replacing the one she had relied upon before, now on repeat as she felt her chest tightening. “I killed her.” Another confession. One after another. Her hands clenched together, busted knuckles from when she had pounded the girl’s face were now cut with shards of glass. Grasping her hands firmly together, tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

John "What the fuck, Spence!" He roared as she hit that mirror. Not able to take much more from her this morning as she rapidly made this day more difficult and giving him one job after another as he heard her confession as his hands gripped her wrists. Standing in front of her as he inspected her knuckles. The need for stitches most likely now. "You need to fucking stop spiraling. Yeah, you killed her. You set my days plans for me trying to keep you and I out of jail. I don't know how the fuck I'm going to pull this off but I don't have time for anymore breakdowns. You need to keep your shit together for this crisis because I can't fucking leave a body in the backroom because you need to get glass yanked out of your fucking hands!" He was overwhelmed. Not knowing where to start with the woman as he grabbed a towel. Applying pressure to the cut as he now stepped back. His brief attempt at coming up with a plan now demolished. "Don't do anything. Don't move. Don't even consider it." he instructed, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid as he pressed his face into his hands. Trying to figure out what the fuck to do here as his phone text alert came in from his brother. A steady inhale as he could barely read the text within. "I'll be right there." He shook his head, drawing up another quick text. Informing him that she had now hit the mirror and would require medical attention. A prompt text back cooled his head. "Wrap it and get her showered and changed." Slipping the phone to the side, he stood up and finished removing his own clothing. Drawing open the shower curtain for her.

Spence The moment John came in front of her, her eyes were blankly staring at his chest but she heard every word. He was angry with her. He should be angry with her. She deserved that and then some. She had ruined what was supposed to be a great day; the day they would find out the sex of their child at their long awaited appointment. As John stepped back from her, she remained where he demanded her to stay, not moving. The words no longer passed her lips as they only played on repeat now in her mind. The same three words over and over again. As the curtain was drawn back, she took the step towards the shower, stepping within those walls. Standing in the center of the shower, her eyes fell to the shower floor. John’s words mixing in with her own confessions, tears threatening her eyes to which she would fight back against. John couldn’t have her break down. She had ruined his day. He didn’t have time for her to lose it. Reminders to herself over and over would keep her from breaking into the meltdown they both knew was looming on the horizon. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, this time only once. “My throat. The bar. Fucked you. I killed her. No air. The mark.” Her words were incomplete, leaving large gaps between them, yet the story had been laid out to him of just what had happened.

John Hearing her ramble, he didn't attempt to make sense of it. He had no idea what she was going on about. He knew he'd be better off asking one of the Pagan members who had witnessed this though he still had no clue how he'd pull this off. This could effectively land him in jail. This could end all of his work with the Pagans. This could render him with nothing and he knew it. Blade would without a doubt be hearing about this slip-up. Spence shouldn't have even been in the clubhouse in the first place. This was all his fault. Stepping into the shower, he guided her in front of the shower head to begin to clean off.

Spence With no response from the man but to put her under the water, paired with the ‘talk’ he had given her moments before, left her feeling worse than she had in the first place. She could get through just about anything if John was at her side, on her side, but she was quickly beginning to feel like a royal fuck up. The previous image of perfection that donned the Texas girl, or at least what was left of it, was gone. She’d complicated John’s life. She’d ended a woman’s life. Instead of bothering to speak any further, she let the water wash over her, standing as still as she could as John began to cleanse her flesh of her sins. Meanwhile, her words projected through her mind again. The recap of the scene, proving she could not plead self defense or insanity as she recalled the events perfectly. Little did the man behind her realize what had driven her to it. He had been told by the man previously that the blonde had come after her, but he didn’t know the extent. He didn’t know how she had been pressed against the bar, her back bent, the back of her head to the shiny surface. He didn’t know how she had gasped for air under the blonde who wanted so badly to scare her away, who wanted John and John’s status enough to lay hands on the man’s wife. He didn’t know that first stab to the woman’s side was simply to gain airflow to her lungs again. Everything between them spoke to premeditation. She had joked the previous night about killing the woman. She had teased at how they would clean it up. He didn’t know the woman claimed to have fucked him, that she knew the markings on his flesh left by Spencer. He didn’t know that at that moment, Spencer stood before him not only in shock at her own crimes, but thinking the man she loved had turned to another, just as her former had. It wasn’t the same as it was with Chris, but in that moment, it was no different as she stood there. Knowing she was not enough. Knowing he wasn’t completed by her the way she was by him. Knowing that she was choked within an inch of her life by a woman who claimed to have partaken in the man. The man who assured her he wasn’t like the hype around the clubs. He was different. He loved her. She had fought against his mother when she warned Spencer that this would happen. She had stood by John, claiming to know him better, that he wouldn’t do this to them, and yet according to the corpse now being wrapped in a tarp, he had. The lines were blurring in her mind as to where her actions were based. The first stab of that knife was most certainly for her need to breathe. The second, third, forth, fifth, and so on were out of sheer rage at the woman’s claims. They were just claims, she tried to tell herself, but if they had been, if she had not been with her husband in that regard, how would she know of that mark? Spencer stood under the water, her thoughts swirling in her head until she leaned forward suddenly, vomit passing her lips down the drain of the shower as it all came to a head for her in that moment.

John Watching the woman suddenly draw forward, he supposed it wasn't a horrible place for it considering yet it all just kept getting better. Every step to stay out of jail was a literal roadblock and this would be no exception. He needed to do something. He'd either lose his shit all together or find an alternative. To cool her down. Summoning up every last ounce of patience in him to reach up. Drawing back her hair to help her with this task. "Breathe, Spence..." he instructed, already stepping out of the shower to flip open the toilet lid. Waiting for a brief reprieve to get her there as one hand remained within her hair.

Spence A woman who had yet to let John witness her suffering morning sickness along the way, who had never so much as allowed the man to see her use the bathroom, leaving it a mystery if she even did, was now on her knees, soaking wet, naked, with no way to fight him on holding back her hair for her. Both of her arms pressed to the bowl, her hands at her forehead as she attempted to keep herself balanced there, all the while knowing John had her. Twice more her body would revolt against her before she would lean her head to the side, resting her face against her upper arm as she drew in the breaths John had instructed of her. With everything coming to a peak there in the shower, she had faced each and every part of what had played out. It had been relived in her head. She recalled it all. Now was the point she would either give into it and ball up on the floor like she wanted to or grab a gun to end it all at the temple, or she would rise up and be the woman John spent his first night with. The woman who looked in the face of crisis and handled her shit and his. The woman who married him to keep the both of them out of prison. The woman who could look at a crime scene, analyze it, fix it to look like something else. The woman who was quick on her toes, sharp minded, and able to handle anything that came her way. A kick to her stomach would have her glancing up to John over her own shoulder. There before him was his wife. “Thank you,” she managed, her words in a hushed whisper as her voice had barely recovered from the night before, only further damaging her vocal chords with the events over the last five minutes. Pressing her palms to the seat of the toilet, she rose to her feet, drawing from within her every ounce of strength she had. Suppressing the words the blonde had spoken, though they would continue to eat away at her from the inside. She had fallen apart. But now it was time to rise up and let John take care of her for once instead of her trying to take care of him. Her role in this would be to do as he said and stay out of his way to let the man do so. A deep breath later and she was stepping back into the shower, her hands quick to the bottle of liquid soap, lathering it against her hands as she worked to scrub away the remaining blood that still painted her body.

John Helping the woman back into the shower, he watched her hellbent on scrubbing it all away on her own. However, she was missing spots. He could only begin to wonder what was going on in that head of hers as he slipped in once again behind her. Getting her back and the back of her arms in a firm scrub before he was getting himself. Unable to think that she was mad at him for something. Yet, what it was remained to be seen. Cleaning both of them up proved to be quite a task and before he knew it, his phone was going off. Judas had arrived. Stepping out, he went to the bedroom to grab them both a packed towel before he was laying out some of her clothes.

Spence As John worked at her back and arms, she stared down at her hands, gashed from both the assault she had given the woman’s face before stabbing her, as well as the mirror she had shattered minutes before. Drawing out every shard of glass she could, she flinched under the pain as she caught a glimpse of her protruding belly. One last apology would leave her lips, as another joke had started to look like a real possibility. Giving birth to this child in a prison medical ward. The only thing she knew for sure was that John was in the clear as far as the murder went. He wasn’t even present when it had occurred. He was alibied out by three onlookers and that would have to suffice. An accomplice after the fact, but not the murderer. But even all of that would only come to pass if John was unsuccessful at disposing of the body. If he was successful, she was nothing more than a tramp that would not be missed by anyone. Once she was rather sure she had drawn most of the glass from her hand, she cut off the water, reaching out to find the towel. Drying off with it, her moves were now quick. There was no pause or delay in her movements or actions. Coming forth from the bathroom, her eyes went first to John, then to the clothing he had laid out from the bag she had brought from their apartment the night before. There were still police files scattered against the bed and floor, just as they had been left, a reminder to her of just who she was, just what she was supposed to be. None of that could be touched on at this moment as she reached out for her clothes, dressing as quickly and silently as possible. When her eyes met his, she would be reminded of the claims of the woman who was now dead, but quickly she would divert her eyes away from him as to not succumb to the questions she needed answered. For now, she’d keep on keeping on, because that was what she had to do. She couldn’t be any further of an inconvenience to the man, even if his supposed whore tried to kill her to get a shot at her ‘position’. Once her clothes were on, she towel dried her hair, adding the towel to the pile of soiled clothes that would need to be burned. Silence was not something Spencer often opted for. If so, it was because her voice was broken, such as the night before. But now, she was silent. A fact that was terrifying in and of itself, for if she was silent, she was thinking, and if she were thinking, she could easily turn and react in any way, shape, or form that she thought would benefit John. It had been proven before and should it come to pass again, an opportunity to present itself, even if she was in limbo at the moment on his loyalties to her, she’d still do what she had to do for the man because when she said she loved someone, it meant she loved them come hell or high water. In that moment, she had faced hell and was now facing high water.

John Meeting her eyes briefly before she was looking away, he couldn't quite make sense of it. Maybe realization was setting in. What this life of his had brought her to. What this all meant. The woman had the look to her as one about to run for the hills and he couldn't blame her. This had all gotten real very quickly. Between the bump of her stomach and the blood down the shower drain. As she dressed, he grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. His cut not far behind as it may just be his last day with it on. Reaching down to collect her files as well as her clothes to collect her bag. Stuffing them all within before he zipped it up. Launching it over his shoulder.

Spence “John, wait.” The words came forth from her lips before she even realized what she had said. It had been a thought, never meant to be said out loud, and yet there it was on her lips. The first words she had said aside from thanking him for holding her hair back. Her things were packed. It looked as though she had never been there if it weren’t for the messed up sheets on the bed and the clothing of hers in the burn pile. He was doing everything right, just as she would have done if she had been thinking clearly in those initial moments afterwards. Erasing her from the premises. Finding an alibi that would stick. Getting her out of there as soon as possible so a true alibi could be formed with just the time frame expanded. He was on point in every action, just as she had been in their cover up nearly a year before. As the words slipped through her lips, out there, unable to be tucked back into their box neatly, she stepped towards him, both battered hands taking to the sides of his face as she looked into his eyes. Deep within those hues before her where she knew truth resided. She needed to face it down before he shipped her off. She needed to know that even though the rest of the world was crumbling around them, uncertainty at every corner, she needed to know if that woman had lied to her. She needed to know, perhaps now more than ever, if John loved her. If he was true to her. It wasn’t the time, nor was it the place, but it didn’t matter as their lives hung in the balance. A silent moment there at his eyes was revered as it should be, before she drew in a full breath. “I love you.” She stated plainly. They had been over those words a million times before they had been exchanged. She knew he only said them if he meant them and meaning them would mean there was no possibility of the woman’s claims being valid. “I love you.” She repeated again, knowing he had heard her the first time, but needing just that moment with him before the whirlwind morning became a roller coaster of a day that would more than likely result in hours of separation. She needed him more than she had ever said out loud, and in that moment, it was resonating from her in volumes.

John Hearing her speak as he collected another item of clothing of hers he had missed, he laid it on the bed. Unzipping the bag to shove it in. Detecting almost uncertainty, he glanced back towards her. “I love you too…” he stated simply, not sure what had prompted it but the days events didn’t change anything between them. He was just in a mad scramble to clean it all up though a moment of uncertainty about how he could do this was inevitable. He still wasn’t quite sure. There were witnesses. He couldn’t kill them and he couldn’t bribe them. Or could he? To blackmail other brothers would be plain out dangerous. “Is there something you need to tell me? Or ask me because…I can’t help but to think that you are lookin’ at me like I did something and I’d like to know what I did..."

Spence With the words returned, they were more than enough to give her the confidence to move forward in what needed to be done. She wasn’t prepared for that which would come from him beyond that. He was in tune to her in ways that she wouldn’t always be aware of, but in that moment, he had proven this fact. “You didn’t do anything,” she assured. Moments before, she might have been back and forth on the issue at hand, but now, she knew. She knew John couldn’t look her in the eyes and utter words that sacred without them being the end all. There was no room for smiles or sentiments in this situation, and yet there would be a hint of it there at her lips. The woman had provoked her, manipulated her, and gotten exactly what she deserved in the end of things. Remorse was now gone from her as she had just shown just what John’s wife was capable of. It was not her intent to begin with, but it would be the aftermath. A woman could only take so much shit before she would snap and unfortunately for that blonde, it was then that she had snapped. It was almost a year of the same shit that would ultimately result in the woman’s death. “I just love you.” She offered, taking that step back from him so they could go. She might not have been privy to John’s plan, but she was playing her part in it. She was not bucking against him in the slightest. Allowing him to blindly lead her through this, she asked no questions. He had given her this same respect on the first night they spent together nearly a year before and she’d repay it to him now.

John "Tell me..." he demanded, taking a seat on the bed as another text went off from Judas. He needed to know what it was before they took a step further in this. What had prompted this? Did she just snap? This wasn't the woman he married. There had to be something that prompted something so visceral in response. He needed to figure this out as he grabbed a nearby trashbag to dispose of the old clothes after she had made him understand.

Spence When John wouldn’t let it rest, the flood gates would come open. As he sat on the edge of the bed, the rush to get out of the room seemed to go with it. She wasn’t losing it any longer. She was in a place that she could actually tell him what had happened without the fear of breakdown. Stepping over towards him, she sat down next to him, drawing one leg up against the bed as she sat facing him. “I went to get coffee. When I got back, she was there but I didn’t see her. She said something, but I didn’t realize at first that she was speaking to me. She said something about you. I stopped, turned around, but then turned back around. I wasn’t going to entertain her until she said something I couldn’t ignore. She said it was amazing how you could fuck and fuck and still have anything left over for me.” She drew in a full breath as she recalled the woman’s voice still in her mind. “I told her I didn’t know what game she was playing, but I wouldn’t be a part of it. I tried to walk away, but then she went on and on, telling me about how you would fuck her. I hit her. Repeatedly. Until she pinned me to the bar. When she had me there, it was then that she gave details. Details that she shouldn’t have known. Telling me how hard it was for her to keep her mouth to the marks you bear on your skin. She knew them. She knew the marks I had left below your boxers. She went on, and on, and she wouldn’t shut up about how you fuck her. The first time I stabbed her, it was to get her to let go. I was already blacking out from the hold she had on my throat. But once she let go… I couldn’t stop.” With the full version of the story out there before him, it might have seemed random for her to speak it now, so unprompted, but it would explain the answer to what he had asked her in the first place.

John Hearing her speak about his apparent sex habits, he rolled his eyes. Pressing his elbows to his knees. He knew the woman had been feeling herself and her own line of bullshit. But this? He brushed his fingers through his hair, shooting Judas a barely literate text. As a barely literate man, this can hardly be surprising. There were times he was tempted to ask her how to spell things. The words in those files of hers were unlike anything he'd ever seen. "She knew about the shit on my stomach because she came in when you were gone...I was napping a nap and my boxers were probably riding down. She gripped me up and I kicked her the fuck out." He explained simply, scratching his nails over the back of her neck. "You really think I can fuck three times a day and look for more? Pretty sure it ain't even physically possible."

Spence Feeling his nails to the back of her neck, she appreciated that contact as he put things into perspective for her. She had enough about her to have been able to know this herself, but when someone is standing there, telling you intimate details, marks on flesh, it makes it hard to think logically. He hadn’t told her the blonde had been in the room, or the fact that she had touched what was rightfully hers or the woman might’ve been dead twenty-four hours before. Spencer kept this thought to herself, knowing John knew what he was doing in not telling her in the first place. “I know,” she whispered, for she did. She knew she had nothing to worry about in this regard as it was one of the first things John had ever assured her of, but it hadn’t stopped her from losing it when the air was leaving her lungs. “I know how they look at me. All of them. I know they look at us and think there is no way that we work. Your family, your club, my parents. And maybe that was her game. Maybe she just wanted me to run so she’d have a shot with you. I don’t know. But when her hand was around my throat, I wasn’t able to put such things together. At first, I needed air. And then I needed her to shut up.” The truth was, after the realization that John hadn’t done the things the woman accused, she was glad she shut her up. She wouldn’t say such a thing, yet. But it was true. And if word spread throughout the club that John’s wife wouldn’t tolerate such shit, it might not be the worst thing to happen in the end, if John could manage to keep them out of prison. An apology burned at her tongue, yet she had said enough of them previously and her sorrow for her actions was dying a little more with each passing moment. Perhaps she was losing a piece of herself there or perhaps she was becoming exactly who she was meant to be. John’s wife who wouldn’t take any shit any more.

John He couldn't say he blamed her. He just wished it had been a better place. No witnesses. Easy discard. He exhaled slow. The wave of responsibility flush against his own windpipe. "Just.. I'm going to have Judas take you to your appointment. I don't know if I'll be able to make it but just go with him and let him do what he wants for you. He will anyway. He just wants to help...sometimes has a weird way showing it but he means well." Realizing he didn't need to prep her about his brothers character, she was after all a fan of him and knew his intricate character that was unashamed and loud where Johnny was not. He lived in his brothers shadow but it had never been intentional. The two were bound my blood, loyalty and the fact that they always protected one another. This would be no different. "I bet if you knew the price of murder was spending the day with the dimpled Brat prince himself you might have done it sooner, huh?" He added, attempting to tease.

Spence “J—“ The first sound of his name was already on her tongue before he went on, insisting she allow Judas to take her to the appointment. There was but a shake of her head as she lowered her gaze downward, hating the very thought of it. She’d find her way out of that one without bothering him with the details of it. John had enough on his plate at the moment, thanks to her, not to have to worry about the rest. She didn’t know how much of River’s pregnancy he had been involved in, but there was no way in hell she’d be finding out the sex of their child without him right there, holding her hand. Spencer and Judas’ relationship had always been a teasing one. They seemed to try to get the best of the other, poking and prodding figuratively. She couldn’t picture him being the one in that room. She couldn’t picture him at her side at all, in truth. She knew she needed the alibi and that she needed things to look as ordinary as possible, but John missing that appointment was going to look anything but customary. “It’s almost seven hours from now,” she reminded him, thinking that would be plenty of time for him to perhaps make it. Her hand found his thigh as she sat on the bed beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder as they took that slow moment before all hell would break loose again. Drawing in a deep breath, she cut her eyes at his little joke there, not finding it humorous at all as something to the same tune had been thrown around in accusation previously. “Not a chance. But if not for him, I wouldn’t have you,” she commented honestly as it had been that night of Judas’ show, followed by an after party, that she would first lay eyes on John James at the side of Gia. She almost managed a smile as she recalled that first night, being drawn to him physically before she even knew his name. Gia’s hand being the one that would urge her in that direction, a place Spence had yet to look back from. “If I realized she’d touched you, I would’ve done it sooner,” she confessed honestly.

John "I said I 'might' not. I'd rather tell you now just incase somethin' goes wrong. This ain't an easy process, Spence. It's time consuming." He stated honestly, not sure whether she knew the extent of detail this would take just to get rid of the body. Much less to work with witnesses. He inhaled sharply. Washing off that tightening effect. He heard her shrug off Judas but he knew better. He knew who her eyes had fallen upon that night but it was nothing new. It had always been Judas. It always would be. Johnny was just his brother. Standing to his feet, he collected her bag. "Alright, let's get shit rollin.'"

Spence As he rose from the bed, she lifted her head from where she had rested that moment at his shoulder. It had been fleeting, but a moment nonetheless. Standing a moment behind him, she offered a silent nod of her head as she faced the near future without him. She should be leaving for work, turning in her notice for desk duty, and yet she was slipping off as though she’d never been there. Gnawing at her lower lip, she had half a mind to stop him, to tell him just to let her take the fall for this, yet she knew it was of no use and would only serve to slow progress even further. The last thing she wanted from him was another tongue lashing. Instead, she would quietly slip her small hand within his, walking towards the door of the room, putting every ounce of trust she had in that man and his abilities to handle those details the way he had trusted her the first morning they woke up together to find themselves in a somewhat similar situation.

John Guiding the bag over his shoulder, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Guiding her out of the club and to the side door where a 68' Camaro sat idle. A black paint job with a deep purple racing stripe.the engine impatiently. As if the car wasn't distinct enough, the Beastie Boys pounding from within was further reminder. If one was at all necessary. Approaching the car, he thumped a particularly heavy hand to the trunk. The music was automatically haulted. A grunt within. "What you do with your wife ain't none of my business but don't you go smacking my woman's ass. She don't like it." Revving the engine as proof, he popped the trunk. Johnny rolled his eyes as he placed her bag within.

Spence The car was heard before it was seen, instantly causing Spencer to glance upwards towards John, pleading eyes asking for another way. If there was any optimism in the woman before this moment, it was now officially gone. She’d sooner spend the day with her own parents at this point. There had been a time that Spencer was drawn to Judas, along with most anyone else at any one of his given concerts, but now? Spencer was so far away from that time period it was almost as if it didn’t exist. Hearing John’s warning to Judas, she shook her head. “Won’t be a problem,” she assured. Not only for the band on her hand, the last name she bore, along with her waistline as it was, John still wouldn’t have had something to be concerned over, but all things considered, the woman was as much his as was humanly possible and fairly certain she couldn’t be any more unattractive at that point in time. If Chris Wilson’s monthly calls couldn’t draw her attention away from John, a morning of alibi solidification with Judas wouldn’t stand a chance. After her bag was in the car, she leaned against the car, eyes up to John’s. “Yeah.” She offered, adhering to the rules outside of the bedroom as they were, yet communicating three words to him without saying anything more.

John "He's just teasing." He reminded her, as he wasn't taking the comment too seriously as his brother slipped out of the car. Remarkably more natural than his usual hair bleached self. Stubbled beard standing in place of what once laid there. A few inches taller than him as he approached. Johnny closed the trunk as Judas was fishing his keys out of his jean pockets and handing it over. "Front door, supply closet and the hotbox. Just clean up when you are done." Johnny nodded at the instruction, knowing this routine well. "I got the guest bedroom set up for you and the lady. Come over when you are done and crash with me for a bit. Shit, I've been trying to get him to live with me permanently for years now but the motherfucker don't like me that much anymore." Judas teased, addressing Spence as Johnny knew he could have whatever he wanted from his brother but refused to ask. "I'll come by when I'm done. Thank you for all this, J..." Johnny managed, Judas smirking. "You don't gotta' thank me, you saved my ass from drownin' in my own soup time and time again. Don't worry about anything." The musician bided, causing Johnny to turn. Pressing a kiss to Spence's forehead before he was guiding her to the passenger side door.

Spence It had been some time since Spencer had seen any one of the James’ aside from John, much less to see two of them in the same place. As the two exchanged instruction and gratitude, Spencer simply remained quiet as there was not much place for her in any of this. She already knew she had cut the job out for John that day and ruined far more than a girl’s life. Feeling that kiss to her forehead, she closed her eyes as she felt his hand there guiding her into the vehicle and into Judas’ custody. Slipping down into the seat, her hand lifted, lingering at his for just a moment before she’d rest her hand against her own thigh without her ‘yeah’ returned verbally, the kiss would speak the sentiment for him. “I’ll see you later,” she whispered, as though it were the most casual of goodbyes instead of that which it truly was. That nervous bite to her lower lip was present as she bid her farewell to him, trying her best to treat it as any other morning she would leave for work, yet within her mind she knew it was anything but.

John Johnny didn’t mean to leave out his ‘yeah.’ He was just overwhelmed. Yet, if this all didn’t speak to his love for her then what would? Everyone saw it. Try as he might to hide it. People were catching on. Before long, it would be time to change things up. At least publicly, to give everyone the impression that it was all falling apart. He’d worry about that when he was sure they were pierced together. One breakdown at a time. “Yeah…” seizing the opportunity to make good on that, he met her eyes once she had slipped within the car. Closing the passenger side door for her.   “No stunts, J. Nothin’ crazy. Need this one alive.” he bid to his brother, already approaching the drivers side and ready to climb within. He exchanged a narrow of his eyes at the statement. “Crazy? When have you ever known me to be crazy?” Giving up a none too calming chuckle at the suggestion, Johnny knew he’d be on best behavior. There was something keeping the eldest James at ease now days. Even past probation. He wasn’t sure what was, but the break down everyone had expected had not happened. Yet.   Stepping back, he watched as the Camaro pulled from the back alley. Disappearing from his eyes. He took a moment to breath in this situation. Accidentally, the exhaust from the vintage muscle car. Not wasting a moment later as he slipped back into the clubhouse. Stopping at the supply closet where he gathered the essentials. A tarp, gloves and a box cutter for where he’d inevitably have to pull up the carpet. Knowing that this disposal of a body would come with the need to reinstall a new carpet. Else where, Judas was controlling the muscle car with all the expertise of a kid who had been stealing grandma’s car since he was 13. Turning down the music, side eyeing the woman beside him that was essentially a stranger. Judas didn’t like strangers. He liked being close to people, making them feel at home. Yet, this situation would be a tough one to break.  “You need to stop anywhere before we head back? I know Johnny kinda’ wants me to lock you under key and there will probably be a time for all that but…in the meantime, you need anything? Sh*t from your place, his place, food?” the musician suggested, brows furrowing in thought before side eyeing her once again as he stopped at a red-light headed onto Broad Street. The heart of the city. Just where he lived in a multi-million dollar penthouse atop the city skyline.   “I mean…even if you wanted to stop and grab a hooker real quick, I wouldn’t judge. I don’t judge nobody.” the man assured, attempting to make light with the constant exchange of eyes to assure he wasn’t upsetting her.

Spence There was a time Spencer sat in awe at the man beside her. Just merely sitting in his car, hearing him offer to stop off somewhere should she need or want to would have been something of a dream for her just a year or so prior. She could easily recall sitting on her bed in McKinney, Texas, listening to the man’s words in her ears as she brought the blade to her skin for the first time. She felt none of that now as she sat there, being whisked off by the man to a solid alibi while her husband handled the mess she had made. It was all weighing down on her, causing her mood to shift sporadically. Before she could answer his first question, barely letting it fully register within her mind, there was another. This one would draw a small grin from the tiny cop who would shake her head no.

“Nah, I’m good.” She stated, though it was far from the truth. She wasn’t good. She wasn’t comfortable. Yet she could sense he was trying, and thus she should too. But how could she do so when she knew what John was facing alone at the moment? At least the last time they went through something like this, they did so together. Perks of not knowing one another at that point. No one had to protect anyone but themselves. This time, she knew John was protecting her as much as he was protecting himself or the club. Maybe more.

As Judas drove, Spencer withdrew her phone from her pocket, composing a text message to Detective Ryan. Not feeling so well today. Let Serg know, please.’ The text was explanatory enough to those who knew her condition, one of which was her partner who would ensure the secret stayed under wraps, not knowing she was going to be slipping off to desk duty requests that day. Another day. Everything had to wait for another day. Next, her finger hovered over her doctor’s office’s number, prepared to call for a reschedule. There was no way she could let Judas take her, should John not be back in time. She just couldn’t. He might’ve been family, yet he still felt like a distant relative perhaps, but definitely a celebrity which she had nothing in common with.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this, but we probably need to get my story straight, should either of us be asked for it.” She stated, official as ever. Just as she had been in the previous murder case she was tied to with John, everything was in the details and making sure the details could not be changed by any member of the involvement along the way. “So, clearly I was never at the club. How’d I get to your place and why?” She asked, turning to look at the man fully for the first time since he got into the car beside her. “This is a fucking mess,” she confessed, shaking her head. The thought lingering there within her mind that it would be all too easy to just confess to this, fight on the stand of self defense, her badge and upstanding record speaking for itself. It would all be easier than this shit, and mostly true to boot.

Judas Hearing her apologize, Judas was instantly prone to a shake of his head. “Believe it or not, I’ve gotten worse calls…” he explained to her, knowing that might have been hard to believe. Hell, what was worse than having to get rid of a body? But he had. Life had not been easy for the James’ clan. Least of all the two oldest ones who had interchanged positions of leadership since the beginning. One picking up when the other one dropped off and vice versa. Just needing to keep it all together even if peace was just a semblance of it. Even if it was all tied together with paperclips and chewing gum. It was what they were used to. Hearing her officially get under police business, he nodded. He didn’t know much of the woman except for her occupation. Upon hearing his brother had married a cop, he had been initially shocked yet looked back at the man’s genius. They both should have married cops. Maybe she had a cop sister? Once upon a time, Judas and Johnny had vowed to never get married. Yet, with Johnny having broken his vow, Judas wasn’t truthfully kept to his.   “Okay…” he stated with ease, giving it a moment of thought as he echoed such in silence. A drum of his fingers against the wheel, a jump of his leg. Having a hard time thinking. Focusing. “What if you and Johnny got into a fight? He called me to come pick you up ‘cause he couldn’t take it anymore…sounds like something Johnny would do.” he remarked honestly under his breath, knowing she would agree. “I’m cool with my door guy. I can pass him a few dollars to go along with it all…he saw you at this time…you just gotta’ get that sh*t figured out for me and we’ll do it.” he stated honestly, flipping on a turn signal where he drove into an abrupt underground parking garage which had led under the crust of Broad Street where the Comcast Tower laid above.

Spence As Judas spoke, she was already finding reasons it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t sound right to anyone that knew her within the department. She couldn’t just be told to leave and leave. She couldn’t be called for. Gnawing at her lower lip as he drove into the underground lot, she was working things through as quickly as she could. “Wait.” She stated quickly, returning that bite to her lower lip as she closed her eyes, trying to see it through her own eyes as if it had truly happened. “We keep the part about the fight. It’s not far fetched that we would get into it. But if John told me to leave, I’d tell him he could. So it doesn’t work. I don’t do as I’m told…” It was a lie if they were talking about certain situations, but in this one, it was the truth. She wouldn’t leave if told to. There had to be something else.

“Option A: John and I got into a fight. I got pissed and left. I can’t call my parents because they hate John and thus hate me now… I called you. Needed somewhere to go because my apartment… Fuck. My apartment. Why wouldn’t I go there? Company. I didn’t want to be alone…” She wasn’t quite certain on the optics for that one, but it could still have a play. “Option B: You were there when it went down. John and I were fighting and you suggested we let John cool off. We left. I fell asleep at your place. In either scenario, when John arrives, it is for us to make up, then we go home together.”

Meeting his eyes with her own, she shrugged. She wasn’t on her game in the slightest, yet she was working through it all as quickly as she could. “Option C: I make the call. I did it. Self defense. I don’t let John deal with my own mess.” The irrational side of her had her phone still in hand, swiping out of the screen to call the ob/gyn and instead hovering over the name of her Sergeant. A slip of her finger would commit her to that call, yet she kept her hand just beneath the phone as she stared down at the easiest route through this. “Whataya think?”

-March 25, 2016

#bookofjames #chapterfifteen #tildeath #2016 #jkhrist

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