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allelitesmut · 1 year

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Palate Cleanser - A Prequel - Chapter 3

With Jonah's party raging at her house, Riley finds herself in a battle to maintain her self control.

Pairing: MJF x Actress!Childhood Friend!OFC

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Smut (minors dni), Cheating!!, Like lots of cheating, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Fingering, Public Sex Acts, Oral (m receiving), Face fucking, Spanking, Choking, Daddy Kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degradation, Hair Pulling, Biting and Scratching, Spitting, Slapping

Find the original story here

Find earlier chapters of the prequel here: Chap 1, Chap 2

Smoothing out the front of her dress, Riley surveyed the party. It was in full swing now, her house bustling with people she didn't recognize. Jonah had disappeared a while ago, schmoozing with every man in a nice suit he could find. She snagged a glass of wine off the tray of a roaming waiter with an apologetic smile. Taking a slow sip, her eyes ended up back on the doorway, looking for the one person she actually wanted to see at this sorry party.

On the opposite side of the room, Max had already spotted her, wrapped in an absolute bombshell of a red dress, clearly looking for him, and a grin stretched across his face. She'd taken his advice. The quick boost to his ego was almost enough to wipe the nervous jitters from his gut, but fuck, she knocked the air out of his chest. Taking a deep breath and swallowing back the last of his nerves, he cut a path through the crowd straight to her. Her attention was firmly positioned at the door as he came up on her other side.

"Looking for someone?" His question made Riley jump, spinning towards his voice, barely managing to keep her drink from splashing across the well tailored suit he was in. As she realized who he was, she shuttered a sigh before smacking his chest.

"Jackass. Where have you been?" Shaking her head, she pulled him into a one armed hug, her glass in hand over his shoulder. But as she pulled back, she spotted the spectacularly hot woman that was flanking him. "Oh...sorry, I..." She trailed off, eyes flicking back to Max, looking all too smug, then back to the girl, who suddenly made her feel a little self conscious in her dress that had previously been making her feel incredible. Her stomach turned and she ignored the implication.

"Sorry, Samantha and I lost track of time." He enjoyed her quiet seething, her brow twitching almost imperceptible, if he weren't actively looking for the tick that meant his plan was playing out well from the start. But she donned a polite smile in Samantha's direction.

"Hi, I'm Riley." She offered and Samantha nodded a greeting. Riley squirmed, unsure what to say but unwilling to let Max see how well he was succeeding at getting under her skin. She had a boyfriend; she didn't need to be jealous. More importantly, she didn't get to be jealous. But Samantha just looked back to Max.

"I'm gonna get a drink." She said blandly before wandering away without another word. Max's eyes followed after her for a moment before returning to take in Riley's dress from closer up. In spite of himself, he gave a pained smile.

"I should probably go with her. I hear there's pervy Wall Street execs to watch out for at this party." He chuckled but Riley just grimaced. Jonah had already cornered her with Harry Randall once tonight and it was all but promised that it wouldn't be the last time she had to see them. Max took a few steps away from her before pausing and twisting back to look at her, eyes appraising for a few beats longer than necessary, blistering and threatening to burn her to the ground. "You look fucking spectacular, by the way. Most beautiful girl in a clear mile."

He winked and was gone before she could respond but the heat that dusted her cheeks lingered much longer. Her eyes fell to the floor, hiding the tiny smile she couldn't suppress.

Max nodded, plainly disinterested as Samantha talked at him, his eyes trained on Riley, across the room, finally tucked back under her idiot's arm. Based on the way Jonah was tripping over himself, trying to impress the bald man beside them, he assumed he was finally weaseling his way in with the big wig he wanted to hook. His jaw clenched hard watching how the guy openly ogled her. She was worth ogling but, fuck, Jonah was practically serving her up on a platter.

“Yeah, that’s cool, hun. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t bother to wait for her to stop talking, setting his cup down on a table. She huffed but he was already wandering away.

Wading through the crowd, he watched as Randall skimmed a knuckle down her forearm. Max nearly toppled someone trying to plow through faster than the seas would part. He wanted to seem casual as he stumbled upon them but the way he burst through the throng, that dream was shattered.

“Hey! Maximillion, buddy!” Jonah threw his hands up and Max didn’t miss the way he slurred. Already had a strong start. “Where's the super hot date Riley was telling me about?” The smug smile that rose to Max’s face was one that made her mildly murderous.

“Oh she’s around here somewhere.” His hand gestured aimlessly behind him but his eyes didn't leave Riley. Her skin prickled with the heat he was throwing off.

"Mr. Randall," Riley pulled his attention politely since Jonah was too preoccupied to, "this is my best friend, Maxwell." The bite in her voice was probably only noticeable to Max but his stomach turned. She sounded like she was trying to send a message - an angry one. The bald man offered a firm hand to him and he shook it, trying to match the enthusiasm.

"Please, I keep trying to tell this pretty thing here to call me Harry. We're all friends here, aren't we?" His voice was slick and his knuckles grazed across Riley's cheek that time. Max's hands clenched at his side, watching the way her entire body froze up. But then Harry was gesturing behind Max with a devious grin. "Ahh, this must be your date." Max ground his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment before turning back to see that Samantha had, in fact, followed him over. He roped an arm around her and pulled her into the group, determined to make it worth the interruption.

“Oh, that’s her alright.” He beamed, eyes falling heavily on Riley.

“Well shit, she wasn’t kidding.” Jonah elbowed Harry, their eyes hungrily crawling up every inch of exposed skin they could see.

“Boys, this is my date, Samantha Walker.” Max showed her off to them and she gave a bored half smile. “You might recognize her from the billboard in Times Square.” The boys tittered excitedly but his gaze was squarely on Riley, her eyes narrowed at him.

“Of course. Gorgeous work.” Harry held a delicate hand out to her and she laid hers in it for him to pull to his lips for a kiss before letting her pull away. “You’re a welcome sight at any party.”

“You should see the magazine spread that’s coming next month.” She kept a tight smile, head cocked at Harry, who had a nauseating grin on, before turning to Max.

“Boy, as long as you’ve got her around, you’ve got a standing job offer with me.” Max let out a smug laugh, delighting in the way Jonah’s smile fell but quickly recovered.

“I might just take you up on that. Maybe investment banking is my lost calling.” He nudged Jonah with a taunting grin but it was repaid with a sneer.

"Oh gotta be careful with Maxie, here, you know he's professional wrestler? Never know when he might crack you with a chair shot to the head." Jonah chuckled condescendingly and Harry took an appraising look over Max. Riley glared at Jonah, smacking his stomach.

"Is that right?" Harry lodged the question at Max but Jonah cut him off.

"Yup, wrestling for rave crowds of twenty people in high school gymnasiums across New England." Jonah snickered, eyes darting between Harry and Samantha.

"He's an incredible athlete," Riley inserted herself and Max's eyes shot to her with a grin that rivaled the irritation on Jonah's face. "A generational talent that is getting the chance to make history, wrestling for over ten thousand people in Chicago this fall." She only let herself send a pointed look to Jonah, not daring to connect with what she was sure was an insufferable face that Max was making. As much as she was annoyed with Max, no one got to talk about him like that - not even her drunk ass boyfriend.

"That is fascinating, you know, maybe the next time the circus comes to town, we could all get box seats at your gymnasium." Harry clapped his back with a patronizing grin and Max matched his insincerity. "As long as you bring Sam, here."

"Oh, fantastic. Sounds like a plan." He squeezed Samantha to his side and Riley shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Then Riley might finally get some competition for hottest person in the crowd for once." His eyes drifted back to hers with a sharp smile that made her skin prickle. She chewed at her lip, trying not to let him get to her but the pit in her stomach fueled itself. Her jaw clenched. "Huh, Ry? We can take some of the pressure off you. Samantha's already used to being the hottest in any room."

“What are you doing with Max, anyway?” Jonah aimed at Samantha and she giggled. “You’re so far out of his league, it should be illegal.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Max shot back and Harry slapped his back with a loud laugh.

When he glanced back across the circle, though, he just barely caught it as Riley was slipping back out of the group. He waited for anyone else in the circle to notice but the sound of Harry’s booming laugh confirmed it was only him. He went to draw attention back on her but Harry was already blabbing.

“See, this is just what I want in a team!”

But Riley was out of sight now and Max was left wondering what the hell he was doing with these people.

Watching with a rotten face, Max rolled his eyes as Jonah poured a drink for a giggling Samantha across the room. He was nearly regretting bringing her now; Riley may have been jealous but she was also barely speaking to him, and, as he was finding out, Samantha was not the greatest conversationalist. Not the issue he thought he was going to have.

But before he could stew about it, his elbow was yanked from its spot, forcing him away from the table. He recognized the back of Riley’s head, dragging him towards the back door but should have known it was her from the way his skin burned at the touch. She barely stopped, throwing open the door to her back deck and pulling him out after her. The sound of her slamming the door closed was met with an abrupt silence, only the thumping of the music inside seeping through. She all but tossed him against the back wall of her house.

"What the hell are you doing, huh?" She demanded and Max sat back, startled by her outburst. He knew he was getting under her skin but this was possibly the most worked up he'd ever seen her.

"I'm trying to enjoy a party...was I doing it wrong?" He was smug. If she was going to confront him this angrily, he was going to extract a little joy out of it first.

"I mean with Malibu Barbie." She said as if it should have been obvious, but she didn't like the way his lips curled around.

"Jonah told me to bring a date. I'm just following directions." He held up his hands innocently and she scoffed, pacing away from him then back.

"Okay but no one told you to bring someone that outrageously hot. I'm supposed to be making some gross impression on Jonah's stupid, pervy boss but I can't even do that because you're parading around here with a fucking Playboy Bunny and she makes me look like an unpolished turd." Her words were breathless and halfway through she took back up her pacing, unable to meet his eye. She was spinning out and couldn't reign herself back in. This entire night was making her neurotic and she couldn't even decide what was causing the worst of it. But she knew that being disappointed because some pervy old man stopped ogling her wasn't helping.

"Okay well first of all," He held up a finger and Riley blew out a breath, glaring at him in advance of whatever he was going to inevitably say to annoy her. "You’re a fucking smoke show, Miss Red Dress." Her cheeks burned with the insinuation, his eyes raking over every inch of her. "Don't ever let me hear you talk about yourself like that again." His voice made it clear it was a threat, though she wasn’t sure she could stand to know what it was threatened against. “Second of all, call me crazy but maybe the party - that is supposed to be an apology to you - shouldn’t be all about using you as sexual harassment bait.” He shrugged with pursed lips and Riley blew out a breath. “Maybe, just maybe, you deserve better than that.” His tongue traced the inside of his teeth as he tried to keep his voice under control, eyes locked with hers. She let her body fall back but he stepped closer to her and his voice dropped an octave, devilish smile sneaking onto his face as he tilted his head. “And lastly, you are sounding awfully jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” She gaped, crossing her arms over her chest, blowing past everything else he had said. That was the only part she knew how to refute.

“Right so you won’t mind, then, if I remind you that Samantha isn’t a Playboy Bunny, she’s a Victoria's Secret Angel.” He had been fortunate that Samantha’s brother owed him a favor. And he felt even more fortunate, watching Riley’s face scrunch up, tiny fists squeezed at her sides and color rising to her cheeks.

“You’re a jackass.”

“And you’re jealous.” It wasn't a question or a presumption this time; it was a matter of fact, but she glared at him none-the-less.

"Well you only even brought her to make me jealous." The words hissed through her teeth were placating the growing pit in her stomach and fueled by an ill-advised tequila shot. Max scoffed with a laugh, his whole body swaying back with it.

"You've got a boyfriend, sweetheart. Me bringing a hot chick shouldn’t make you jealous." He said and heat raced to her face. Her eyes darted inside at the party that wouldn't even notice she was missing, then back at Max. Words mulled around her mouth, fumbling to produce a sentence that wouldn't make a fool of her.

"I...just...this morning...I thought..." Abject failure. Crashed and burned. She swallowed hard and averted her eyes from what she was certain was his absolute delight. Max paused, studying the shame on her face, tracing it back to their conversation before he left this morning, and the light clicked in his head. A devious smile curled around his lips.

"Ohhh." He cooed, sliding into her line of sight with a pout. "What? You realized I was right this morning when I said I could have you any time I want?" She took a step back towards the door, suddenly regretting pushing this subject. "Or did you know I was right as soon as I said it? Were you hoping I was gonna flex my ability to get you naked right there on your kitchen counter?"

Riley's breathing faltered and swallowing back her nerves became next to impossible. Every hair on her arms was standing on end. She took a couple hurried steps towards the door, shaking her head, content to flee into the party and delay this conversation indefinitely. There was no way she could be trusted to be alone with him for another minute. But Max caught her wrist as she turned, drawing her in close. She skittered back against the wall of the house and he was quick to crowd her in. This was not how she intended for things to go when she pulled him out here.

"Riley," He drawled, "did you put on this pretty red dress, just like I like, hoping I would come and tempt you into some dark corner to take it off?" His hand skated up the curve of her waist, words hushed in the rustle of summer air, her hand on his chest the only stopper between them. She shook her head but the flush of shame she felt told a different story. His breathy laugh ghosted along her jaw before his lips settled by her ear. "No? So you weren’t hoping I would fuck you like a whore against this wall with your boyfriend right inside just to prove I can?"

“N-no…” her voice wavered unmistakably, her hand drifting, and Max tsked.

“Want to try again and see if you can make it sound like you mean it?” He said, and she could feel his smirk against her neck.

“Fuck you.” She shot back but it sounded a bit loftier than she intended. Max’s breath fanned across her skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down her back.

“Better but it would be more convincing if you weren’t literally trying to get into my pants right now.” He rubbed his thumb into her waist and she jolted as she realized the way her hand had moved down past his stomach, a finger absently hooking around the top of his slacks. Her hands flew up, away from all incrimination, and she pushed him back.

“That’s not….!” She shouted but couldn’t manage to conjure the end of her argument and Max raised a mocking brow.

“When are you gonna learn that you can’t lie to me, Ry?” His voice was still hushed but he kept the small distance she’d forced between them.

“I’m not lying.” She insisted with a petulant huff, in spite of the way her body was begging her to pull him back in against her. “I only took your suggestion for the dress because I needed to make a good impression for my actual boyfriend. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck you, you egomaniac.” She said with a bite, rolling her eyes. It almost sounded like she might have meant it that time but she didn’t like the taste it left in her mouth. Max tutted.

“See? This is exactly why we couldn’t live together.” He sniped, watching as fire roared to life behind her eyes. “You can’t handle it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She let her anger take full control of her voice, burying the sting she felt way down beneath it all. “That has nothing to do with this!”

“Please.” He scoffed. “I bring a date to one event, after I was told to do so, and you don’t last thirty minutes before dragging me out here to pick a fight.” Riley didn’t like the way her heart rate picked up. She was regretting this choice more and more with every second that it exposed her further. “And now you’re trying to throw your boyfriend in my face like it’s supposed to make me jealous…” He let out a dark laugh and stepped back into her. She held his gaze steadily, hoping a false confidence would keep him from seeing right through her. “I told you, you would have lost your mind if we lived together and I brought a girl home with me and its looking like I was right.” Riley scowled at him, an angry bile rising in her throat, a sickly feeling spreading through her body.

“Right, because of course that’s right where your mind went when I asked you to live with me.” The venom in her voice was involuntary, months buried emotions seeping through. She was fuming, chest heaving with her breath.

"Like you have room to talk." His eyes narrowed. "You fucking sprinted into this relationship after I said no."

"Yeah, almost like I was - " But she stopped short, swallowing back the words. That wasn't a sentence she could stand to finish. He didn't need any more ammunition against her. If he knew how much he’d hurt her, she would be left with so little deniability. But he was so close that she could smell his cologne and the warmth of his body was muddying her senses.

"Like you were what?" He was staring straight through her, his frame looming over her.

"Nothing." She snapped, jaw clenched tight. “Fucking forget it.” Max’s fingers clenched by his side, wringing out every ounce of restraint he could to keep from grabbing a fistful of her hair.

“No. Say it. Please, I’d love to hear what thought process led you to this housewarming party. You just scared to be alone or were you trying to piss me off?” He sneered and the red hot anger in her gut boiled over.

“Screw you, Max.” She shoved hard at his chest but he didn’t budge.

“Did you think you’d make me regret saying no if you started dating the stupidest man alive?” He just kept on digging. But, oh he did regret saying no. He had regret it the second he watched her face fall; then doubly the next week when her mom’s set up suggestion left her mouth. And even more so when he met Jonah for the first time.

“Shut up! It had nothing to do with you.” Heat flushed her cheeks and she desperately hoped he couldn’t tell in the dim light.

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it!” He pointed a finger right in her face and she swatted it away.

“Look, if you were jealous when I started dating Jonah, just say that.” She pivoted, “But I didn’t do shit because of you.” Poking her tongue hard into her cheek and she watched the way the vein in his head bulged through narrowed eyes. Still just short of convincing.

“Lie to yourself as much as you want but you’re not fooling me, sweetheart.” His cocky voice made her bristle. “You can’t throw on your brat voice and think you’re gonna convince me you don’t want me to fuck you.” She gaped at him, brow knit together.

“I really can’t stand you.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, his body pressed on the other side, unable to find the words to refute any of it.

“Yeah, okay, brat.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes, and she scowled before immediately undoing her arms so she could flick his face hard right in the center of his forehead. Snatching her hand out of the air, he held it up between them with a blistering irritation on his face. Her eyes widened, heart beat pulsing in her ears. “You’re pushing your fucking luck, princess.” The growl of his whispered voice sent a shiver down her spine. Fire spread through her veins. Raising one deliberate finger on her free hand, she pushed it firmly into his chest.

"Push." She taunted him with a defiant look on her face, and his eyes blazed. Yanking her hand hard, he held both her arms up between them with a tight grip around the wrists, and they lingered, chests heaving, locked in a tense stand off.

The sound of her back door opening sent them skittering away from each other lightning fast. Riley’s heart raced as she saw Jonah step out onto the back patio. What the hell was she doing here? What the hell was she thinking? The line she was dancing on was a treacherous one.

“Should’ve known I’d find you two together. Mind if I steal my girl for a dance?” Jonah laughed and sent a ripple of strained laughter to echo around them. Riley was quick to jump to his side.

“Fine, but have her back by ten.” Max deadpanned, leaning back against the small wrought iron patio table.

Jonah saluted before leading Riley back inside. As they stepped through the door, she took one final glance back at him and instantly regret it when she saw the angry, hungry way he was watching her. Oh, she was in trouble.

But she let Jonah lead her out into the center of the crowd that had formed in her living room. It was clear that he was a few more drinks in than he had been when she left him. She could smell the liquor on his mouth as he drew her in close and she wound an arm around his shoulders.

“I think things are going really well.” Jonah whispered, starting to move them to the rhythm of the slow song that was playing, watching the room over Riley’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” She hummed, trying to regain her composure, skin still prickling.

“Yeah, Harry and I are meshing on a whole other level. And you have definitely made an impression on him!” He sounded enthusiastic but Riley only grimaced, out of his view; she didn’t want to know what he meant by that. And it made her tantrum outside feel a whole lot more like it may have been fueled by jealousy.

“A good one, I hope.” But she wasn’t sure she did.

“Oh a fantastic one. That dress is a money maker. You should’ve heard the things he said when I tracked him down in the kitchen before.” He winced. “Well…maybe it’s better you don’t…” Riley rolled her eyes but they landed across the room, where Max was leading Samantha out onto the makeshift dance floor that was once her living room.

“Yeah. Probably for the best.” She found herself unable to look away from the two of them.

“Max really came through tonight, though, huh? Brought enough eye candy for everybody to share.” He chuckled to himself and Riley tripped over her own feet, barely saving herself, cursing. “Think she’ll stick around? I could probably get Harry to offer me a contract on the spot if he thinks it’ll mean Samantha could be around at holiday parties.” He meant it as a joke but Riley didn’t laugh. Her teeth were grinding, eyes clambering to find them again as they turned back in the direction she’d last seen them.

“Charming.” She muttered. Her eyes finally locked in on Max, his hands on Samantha’s waist, whispering something into her ear that made her throw her head back laughing. He looked up at that moment and caught Riley’s gaze across the room, lips curling into a smug smile. She averted her eyes instantly, grateful for the rotation as they danced. “I wouldn’t count on seeing her again.”

“Shame. I wouldn’t have minded if you two hit it off and she started coming for sleepovers instead of Max.” He sighed and she was instantly torn between guilt over the mess that had become her friendship with Max versus the desire to hit Jonah for almost certainly thinking about a pillow fight he didn’t deserve to see. But all of it was really just a way to stifle the feeling that rose up as they rotated back into view and she saw Max’s hand dipping lower and lower down Samantha’s back.

“Yeah, well you know Max.” She said dryly. Jonah thrummed his fingers idly along her waist.

"I suppose that's true. Guy does not like to double dip." He moved them around the floor until he got a glimpse of them for himself. Riley grimaced at the crude statement, quiet on just how wrong it was. Jonah didn't know about everything that happened before he came along and she didn't particularly feel like sharing. What happened between her and Max was huge and looming and, most importantly, only for them. "But come on, sometimes you have to make an exception."

The music moved to a faster tempo but Jonah didn't release his grip on her hips and she didn't resist. He guided her movements against him as she craned her neck over his shoulder, instantly connecting with Max's gaze across the room. The gnawing feeling in his gut as he watched Jonah put his hands all over things that didn't belong to him was driving his actions now as he turned Samantha around and wound an arm around her center. Fire roared to life in Riley's chest as she blew out a shaky breath, and he grinned at her from behind Samantha's head, downright gleeful at how well he'd gotten under her skin. But two could play that game.

Snaking her arm more firmly around Jonah's neck, she pulled him into a searing kiss, eyes locked with Max until the last second. Jonah didn't hesitate to work their hips together, fingers squeezing into her ass and she made a show of letting her tongue sweep into his mouth. Max tensed across the room, blood pounding in his ears and fingers twitching in an attempt to control his urge to deck Jonah. When she finally pulled back from the kiss, Jonah let his lips fall to her neck and she let her eyes fall back to Max. She could see his teeth grinding from there, veins in his head threatening to burst, and the thrill that gave her was enough to tip the scales past the guilt that was gnawing at her gut. So when Max's lips trailed down to Samantha's neck, Riley turned in Jonah's arms, grinding her ass into his crotch. She didn't know if Jonah could see Max watching them but, at this point, she wasn't sure she cared. Jonah's fingers were skimming the edge of her dress up, revealing more of her thigh, wrapped in sheer black tights, and it was making Max's eyes dark with a possessive need that was making her panties wet from all the way across the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, could I just grab you for a second?" Harry Randall's voice burst Riley clear out of her bubble. "Won't have him long at all." He assured her and Jonah stepped away from her. She tried to cool the heat on her neck with the back of her hand. Harry roped an arm around Jonah but stopped before leading him away, leaning into Riley's space. "But do leave a dance for me, tonight, won't you, beautiful?" She smiled through a grimace, nodding with bared teeth.

The moment they had turned away, Riley dashed downstairs, away from the noise of the party. She needed a moment alone or she was going to end up making some very bad decisions. Her skin was prickling with so much heat that it physically hurt and she could feel herself spinning completely out of control. She just needed to get through this night. After that…well after that she needed to do some serious thinking.

But as she breezed past the kitchen on her way to lock herself away in a bathroom, she was yanked back and sandwiched against the island. Her fingers pressed into the firm chest in front of her before her eyes scrolled up to meet the storm in Max's eyes, and she leaned hard into that spin out of control.

"You seriously trying to make me jealous, brat?" His voice took a dangerous edge, his hands squeezing tight around her hips. Riley wet her lips, her mouth dry, and her fingers curled idly around edges in the fabric of his suit.

"Looks like its working." She taunted, hoping it was convincing enough to make him believe she wasn't fully flustered, and his eyes rolled back for a moment before he surged forward, hips pinned hard against hers. He gripped her chin tight, angling it up against a mild, bratty resistance.

"You think you can make me jealous with that slimy piece of shit?" He spat the words with venom as if he hadn't been ready to burst watching them on the dance floor; as if he hadn't been burning with jealousy over every single guy she had ever wasted her time with. His fingertips were digging into her jaw deliciously painful and his voice dropped to a low growl, enunciating every word with its own bite. "I was turning you on more just by looking at you, than he was while he slobbered on your neck." Riley couldn't tear her eyes away from him if she wanted to. Her face was burning but that had nothing on the fire dancing between her legs. "I know this body better than he ever could." He let one hand venture down her thigh and she shivered, cursing her body for the fire that was licking at the spots he touched. Steeling herself with a breath in, she raised a brow.

“Yeah? And yet, he was the one in my bed last night.” She sniped and he dug his fingers into her jaw so tight she had to squeeze her legs shut.

“Oh yeah? Was he making you feel real good in bed last night?” He chided and she tried, with a scowl, to rip her face out of his grip but he didn’t relent. “Did he roll his sweat-soaked, beer-bloated corpse over and give you the ride of your life? Or are you still just trying to make me jealous with your flimsy ass relationship?” His face hovered an inch from hers, the patronizing sneer plastered across it making her skin crawl.

“Why the fuck would I care about making you jealous?” She said, nostrils flaring.

“You tell me, Riley.” He levied it like a challenge and she fumbled for an answer that felt halfway plausible because she couldn’t stand to let him keep looking this smug. “Cause I can’t think of any other reason for you to act like it matters at all that he was in your bed when we both know you were laying there, thinking about me.” He was just a breath away from her lips and it made the breath in her chest stutter.

“You are so full of yourself.” She spat, the muscles in her jaw tensing with the effort she put into seeming like she wanted to get away. “Do you seriously think I’m laying awake at night, pining away after you. Get a grip.” His fingers tugged, incessant and involuntary, on the bottom of her dress, knuckles dragging along her tights and providing a damning distraction.

“I know you are. Especially last night. Because I know you, Riley. I know you and I know how this body works.”

"And yet, somehow I've still got my panties on." She said dryly but it came out sounding a lot like a challenge, and she kept digging. "Clearly you don't know my body as well as you think or you'd have me laid out on this countertop already." Max's fingers curled around the edge of her dress, twitching. "Or do you not want to fuck me, Max?" Her lips curled with the snap of each word, the thrill up her spine brandishing a courage she was wielding recklessly, and he blew a ragged breath out his nose, nails dragging up her thigh beneath the dress. His self restraint was dangling by a thread tonight. Months of watching her flaunt that stupid fucking relationship - a glaring reminder of his own stupidity.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart. Keep it up, you're gonna end up gettin' burned." He adjusted his grip on her jaw, sliding up to squeeze her cheeks hard enough to make her lips pucker, giving her face a little dismissive shake before letting his hand fall back to his side and taking a step back. Riley's brows furrowed into a scowl; she wasn't ready for this fight to end.

"I think you're full of shit." She stoked the fire. "I think you talk a big fucking game but you couldn't get me undressed tonight if you tried." Max threw his head back with a booming, patronizing laugh. Then, brows drawn, he tutted as though a decision had been made for him, and, with a shrug and a hiss of air between his teeth, he started undoing the buttons of his jacket. He didn't break eye contact as he slipped the jacket off and draped it over a nearby chair back, pressure fluttering to life in her belly.

"Yeah? That how you want to play this, Riley? You want me to prove it to you?" He uncuffed the wrists of the dress shirt he had on, pushing them up his forearms, pulling her attention firmly to the pronounced veins that wound down into his hands. Her mouth hung open, grasping for a response as he stepped back against her. "You want me to prove that you won't move an inch when I put my hand on your thigh?" He let his fingers graze the inside of her thigh and her breathing faltered but she didn't budge, just watching the electrifying path up. Her brain was shaking her by the shoulders, telling her to move but god damn it if her body didn’t have a much bigger say in the matter, and fuck, her body never wanted him to stop touching her. "You want me to prove that if let my fingers wander up past this pretty red dress, that you won't push me away?" he crept right along and her hand sprung up, tangling in the hair at the base of his head, keeping him close. He leaned into her space, his nose brushing its way up her neck. God, no one alive could make her feel this weak. "Sweetheart, I’m not jealous because this is all it takes to get you to spread your legs for me.” His knee tapped at the space between hers and it started to happen before the words could even settle in her brain. He grinned into her throat. She gasped his name breathlessly and his cock throbbed beneath his slacks. He smacked the peak of her thigh hard enough for the noise to echo around the empty floor, and she whimpered. “Want me to prove how quickly I can get you begging me to rip clean through these tights, brat?” He snarled, fingers pulling tights away from skin but the sound of footsteps descending the stairs had her pushing him steps away. An excited conversation settled to a hush as Jonah and Harry came into view.

“There you are! Maxie! M’ man!” Jonah was wobbling, arm slung around Harry who didn’t seem more than a drink behind him. A match made in heaven if Max had ever seen one. His teeth ground, spinning to face him. So fucking close.

“You lookin’ for me?” His eyes flicked to Riley, cheeks flushed and breathing unsteady. Fuck, she looked needier than he'd seen her in months and it was physically painful to not be able to capitalize.

“Yeah, bud. My pal, here was hoping he could get a dance in with your date?” Jonah thumbed at Harry and Max suppressed the disgusted sneer that was bubbling beneath the surface.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Samantha that?” He didn’t have the patience for this bullshit.

“Well, yeah, of course. We just wanted to check with you first, you know? Make sure we got your permission before we ask her about him…” Jonah grinned, baring too many teeth. “…and maybe one for me too.” Max turned the request over in his head before a slick smile graced his face.

“You know what, I think that’s a great idea. You take my girl for a spin, and I’ll take your girl for a spin.” He proposed, eyes darting to Riley with a glimmer of mischief, and Jonah clapped his hands in approval, seemingly oblivious to what he’d walked in on.

“That feels like a mighty fair deal, eh Jonah?” Harry elbowed him and he nodded eagerly. Riley felt her stomach clench, anger building just behind her face, ready to billow out her nose. He was shameless - ready to trade her away in an instant. She had no right to be annoyed with him, given her predicament, but it didn't stop her.

“Sounds fantastic. You don’t mind, do you, babe?” He finally turned to Riley who sat back with a resigned expression just barely masking the simmering anger.

“Not at all. Max knows how to keep me company.” She said sharply and didn’t miss the way Max perked up.

“Great!” Jonah crossed the room for a quick kiss on the cheek that Riley fought against her urge to dodge.

"Sam just went to grab some ice, you guys should wait out on the front step for her. I'm sure she'll be back soon." Max offered as if he hadn't let Sam know she could head home for the night before he came down to see Riley. Jonah gave a thumbs up before returning to the stairs. Max was by her side before Jonah was out of the room, crooked smile a dangerous sign of what’s to come.

“So, gonna take that dance with the devil after all, Ry?” He offered a hand out to her and Jonah stopped at the top of the stairs with a glance back. Hesitating, her eyes locked with Max, she laid a reluctant hand in his and let him lead her up the stairs.

Pulling Riley into the crowded center of the makeshift dance floor, he waved a goodbye to Jonah with a sickly smile. He twirled her round with their joined hands until she was standing flush against him, skin buzzing so loudly she thought Jonah might hear it across the room. Max raised their hands up, pulling it to drape around his neck before he released it and let his hand fall to her hip.

“Max…” She warned, walking the tightrope of a line that every traitorous inch of her body was begging her to dive off, straight into him.

“Yes, Riley?” He replied innocently, in spite of the not so innocent way his hips were already moving against her.

“We shouldn’t…” But she couldn’t finish the thought when his lips brushed her ear. She was already wound so tight she wasn't sure she could withstand the pressure of being this close.

“We’re just dancing. We’ve danced a million times before.” He whispered, the breath tickling her neck, while rocking his hips, guiding hers against his.

The slinky, pulsing music echoed the beat of her heart and her free hand came up to rest on his firm chest. He wasn’t wrong. They had danced often enough that it felt like second nature. But never when she had a boyfriend; at least, not like this. And never when they had just been so close to crossing the line. Now, though, she didn’t need him to guide her; her hips were moving plenty well on their own. And when his fingers tangled in the hair on the back of her head, she was lost to it. Max watched as her eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen and parted in a contented breath.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” He murmured into the thin skin of her neck and goosebumps raised up her arms. “You startin’ to get tired of pretending you don’t want this?”

And she was. She was exhausted. Her body was physically aching for him, she wanted to give in so badly. She was tired of fighting it. And she was tired of having all these strangers in her house. And she was really tired of not being able to remember the last interaction she had with her boyfriend that didn’t leave her fuming. And she was really, really tired of feeling guilty all the time when she hadn’t even had any fun.

“Yes.” The word slipped out her mouth, a needy whisper, so quiet Max almost missed. But he thanked god he didn’t because that was all he needed to hear to spin her around and sandwich her back against his body with an arm snaked around her waist.

“You don’t have to fight this hard, Riley.” His lips reconnected with the shell of her ear and his other hand landed on her hip. “You tried. It didn’t work. Stop torturing yourself.” She melted into him, her head falling back on his shoulder as they moved against each other to the music.

The song ended but neither of them were moving an inch. As the next song started, more people filled in around the dance floor, the crowd shifting until they were at its pulsing center. She’d never seen this many people in her house at once but none of them felt real - it was all just a roaring hum encircling the only real thing she’d ever known. As the fog machine kicked on, Riley's inhibitions slipped. Her arm reached up behind her head, snaking around his neck, fingers nestling in his hair.

“Were you thinking about me while you were dancing with your boyfriend earlier?” He hissed, yanking her hip flush against him, and she sucked in a breath. “Were you grinding that perfect little ass into him, wishing it was me?” And she nodded before she could stop herself, hips winding against his crotch as she hummed a confirmation. “What else have you been wishing for, sweetheart?” He rocked into her and nipped at her earlobe, pulling a whine from her chest.

“I wished it was you in my bed last night.” The words were a trembling whisper that she wished she could have blamed on alcohol. Max’s fingers dug into her flesh, his hips stuttering for just a moment, his stiffness getting more apparent as she ground back into him. He was so close; she was nearly his again, and it was a little heady.

“Oh yeah?” He peppered featherlight kisses over her neck and her breathing faltered. “Were you laying in bed next to him, imagining the dirty things I’d do to you if I was there?” His voice rumbled, the vibration spreading down her spine and she nodded, head tilting to accommodate him, the delicious ache between her legs taking control of the steering wheel.

“Mmmhm, like the way your fingers would've climbed up my thigh.” Her free hand covered his that was wrapped around her waist, guiding it down over her hips to the bottom of her dress. He growled into her neck, fingers curling around the edge of the fabric. He nipped at the delicate skin and she keened. If the music wasn’t so loud, she was certain she would have been heard.

“Did you picture how I would have spread your legs wide before sliding right past those tiny little shorts you wear to bed." His voice was a low rumble in her ear and pressure built in her core, pulsing and raw and impossible to ignore. She guided his hand further up her thigh, pushing past her dress, dragging along the thin fabric of her tights. “Or maybe you hoped I'd tease you first.” He lightly resisted the path she had set his hand on, setting a more torturous pace. “Make you writhe and beg for it like a good little slut.” His warm palm crept up until his fingers just brushed her panties through her tights before pulling back an inch. Riley's heart raced, her brain buzzing with so many bad ideas she couldn’t see through the fog. Her body, though - her body knew exactly what it wanted.

“Maaaaax..." She whined but he only tutted in her ear, fingers tapping the top of her thigh each time. Her hips chased his touch to no avail as his other arm wound tight around her hips, anchoring her to the spot.

"What do you want, Riley?" He cooed against her neck. She squirmed in his grip with a whimper, her hand pulling his more urgently toward her center. He obliged her, cupping her mound, his middle finger stroking firmly over her. Her body jerked at the sensation but he pinned her hips to his. Stroking her through her tights, he could already feel her slick seeping through.

“Already so messy for me. You been missin' my fingers that much?” He rubbed slow, steady circles into her and her head rested on his shoulder, mouth opening in a breathless pant. She grasped at the last straws of reason that told her maybe, just maybe, they weren’t crossing a line if her clothes stayed on. She knew, deep down, that they were way too far gone for that, though. She knew she was hurtling miles past the line already and wasn’t close to stopping. She also knew that she really didn't want to stop. His hands were addicting and seven months without them was leaving her desperate for a fix. A much stronger fix than this.

“More, please Max, I need more…” She rocked against his hand, the fog in her brain almost as thick as the fog spilling into her living room. He chuckled against her throat.

“There’s my good little slut. Let me hear how bad you need my fingers inside you.” He rasped, pulling her tights away from the skin of her thighs, fiddling with the seam. Her fingers fumbled to help but he smacked them away. His free hand came up to guide her chin until she met his eyes over her shoulder, close enough to breathe the same air. “Use your words, Riley.” Her name on his tongue made her head spin until the entire world was just them, like they had always been, and this fog.

“Please, daddy, I need to come on your fingers…” She hurtled herself so far over the line that she couldn’t see it behind her, and Max couldn’t stop the low growl that emanated from his chest before he pulled her face the rest of the way in for a crushing kiss. Her fingers tightened in the hair on the back of his head and her body arched to meet him, hungrily demanding more. She didn’t know how much she’d missed the way he kissed her but now she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to stop. Abandoning all pretense of dancing, they devoured each other like they would never get another chance, fervent and messy and clinging tightly to each other.

His hand trailed down her face, pawing hard at her chest, his hips still grinding into her ass, unmistakably hard. He pinched her nipple through the fabric of her dress and she moaned into his mouth, making his cock twitch against her body. Impatient, he hastily reached both hands up beneath her dress, fingers curling round and tearing a hole wide open through the crotch of her tights. She gasped at the sudden motion and he captured her bottom lip with his teeth, pulling back until it released.

With one hand returning to rope around her hips, holding her tight to him, he used the other hand to pull her panties to the side. She clung to his hair, foreheads pressed together hard, her mouth hanging open just a breath from his as he delved into her dripping folds, and she jolted at the sensation.

And she should have felt shame. She should have felt that gnawing pit of guilt that had lived in her stomach for the last month or at least felt nervous that they could be caught if the fog lifted for a moment, but she didn’t. All she felt was need. All consuming, brain altering need that was threatening to burn her entire life to the ground.

“So wet for daddy.” He cooed, rubbing rough circles into her clit as his lips trailed down to her neck. “Is my dirty little slut turned on knowing anyone could see me taking what’s mine right now?” And that guilt roared to life as a prickling arousal that pulsed in her veins. His fingers were a live wire, making her squirm and buck in his arms, incapable of thinking clearly enough to know if she wanted more or less.

“Don’t stop, fuck, please…” Was all she could manage. He didn’t miss a beat as he kept his thumb circling her tiny bundle of nerves while sliding two fingers down her folds and plunging them past her entrance. “Shit!” Her knees wobbled beneath her and he steadied her with the arm around her hips. Head lolling back onto his shoulder, her lips parted in a series of breathy moans as he fucked his fingers into her, pressure building low in her belly right where the guilt used to be.

“Does your boyfriend touch you this good, sweetheart?” He rut his scarcely contained erection against her ass in time with his fingers and her eyes rolled back. His lips latched onto the thin skin of her throat, leaving unmistakable proof of their sins. “Does he know that if I move my fingers just…like…this…” he hooked his fingers up, stroking the spongy spot deep inside her, his thumb jamming on her clit, and her legs gave out completely. “That you’ll cum, shaking and sobbing my name in less than 10…9…8…” He kept up a demanding pace, arm around her waist the only thing keeping her upright.

“Fuck, daddy, please. I’mmmmmmm-Aaaaa!” Her pleas were cut short by a trembling cry, the pressure in her belly swelling beyond control. Fingers in his hair clawing at his scalp as he stretched her with a third finger sliding inside.

“5…4…3…”

Stroking faster and faster, he wound her right to a shaking, long overdue edge just before he pulled his fingers out, and she crumpled in his arms, reeling from the loss. Her wracked whimper would have, under any other circumstance, made her wither away in embarrassment but she was too far gone for that.

“You don’t deserve to come yet.” His voice was an icy rasp against her ear before he tutted, the arm around her waist snaked up across her chest. “Nooo, brat. If you want to come, you’re gonna have to beg for it.”

“Maaaaax.” She whined, rutting desperately against his hand, and he slapped her swollen, sensitive cunt.

“Tell me how bad you need it.” He demanded, ghosting the tip of his finger over her lips. “Tell me how bad you need me.” His other hand deftly slipped inside the cup of her dress, capturing her nipple between two fingers and rolling it until she arched into it.

“Fuck, Max, please. Pleeeeease. I need you, please let me come. Please, I’ll be a good girl.” She was well past the point of preserving pride, the disjointed string of pleas fumbling past her lips without bothering to run it past her brain. Max’s cock ached against her, already struggling to not instantly give her anything she asked for. “Please I’ll do anything just pleeease. Touch me, Max.” And he simply had to oblige. His fingers set a frenzied pace, strumming across her clit almost violently, and she bowed toward it, body strung high and tight in an instant.

“Tell me I’m better than him.” He snarled, nipping at her earlobe and she shuttered a sigh.

“W-what?” She stumbled and he mocked her, not letting up on his fingers’ pace.

“W-w-w-wha- you heard me. Or did my fingers already fuck you stupid?” His voice sent a flutter rippling through her core, quickly winding her back to the edge. “Are there any thoughts left in this pretty little head?” He tweaked her nipple and her body trembled, squirming in his grip as her consciousness started to feel floaty. “Aww what? Daddy’s little slut already ready to come?” His fingers strummed relentlessly and she was hurtling dangerously close to a place where she wouldn’t be able to stop the earth shattering orgasm that was looming at the edges of her vision. “Come on then, sweetheart. Tell me what we both already know. You can feel so good, beautiful, you just need to tell me how much better I am than your pathetic slimy boyfriend.” His lips latched around her neck and her mind floated so high above her head she couldn’t remember how she’d ever formulated a sentence before. “Trust me, Riley. You don’t want to come without permission. Do you remember the last time you did that?”

And the image was crystal clear in her mind, even if she couldn’t remember how her voice worked. It was impossible to forget that night or the torturous stupor that followed when he tied her to his bed with a vibrator and left for wrestling training. She was so delirious and overstimulated when he returned that she would have followed him off a cliff.

“Max, please, please, I can’t hold it any more, please.” The words that escaped didn’t feel like her voice anymore and she couldn’t hear the music filling her living room or see the strangers that surrounded them on all sides. All that existed in that moment was Max and his fingers, practically vibrating against her with how quickly he was moving them. Her whole body was drawn so taut, she wasn’t sure she could breathe without toppling into oblivion.

“Then say it. Tell me nobody else can touch you like this. Tell me nobody else can get you off like this.” But she was nearly gone, just a series of fractured curses leaving her lips like a prayer to get her through and Max growled, slapping her tit, then her cunt. “Or should I stop now?” He threatened and the last remnants of her brain panicked, tugging at his hair, desperate for an intact brain cell.

“No, god, please, don’t stop, daddy. Please, fuck, you’re everything. Please let me come, please, you’re better than Jonah. Please, please, you touch me better than him, you fuck me better than him. Nobody else can make me come like you, fuck, pleeeeeeeease!” There was no controlling the stream of begging that flowed from her mouth. Max bucked hard against her ass, squeezing her chest hard enough to leave a bruise, in an attempt to contain the pulsing pleasure that roared through him with her desperate voice.

“That’s my good girl. Now come for me. Soak my fingers, slut. Let go. Now.” His fingers didn’t falter, and she didn’t last another second, her entire body quaking on command as she gushed over his fingers. The room spun, her walls pulsing and squeezing around his fingers as he coaxed her through every last delicious second of her orgasm. “That’s it, sweetheart. So good for me.” He cooed, gently winding her down but not letting up on his grip around her waist.

Her brain slowly floated back down into her body, settling into him for every last second she could get, finally becoming cognizant of the fact that fog machine had been turned off and the haze that had obscured them was fading. Max finally withdrew his fingers, bringing them straight to his mouth where he moaned at the taste.

“Always so fucking sweet, Ry.” He said as he pulled them out of his mouth, reaching around to press them against her lips. She didn’t hesitate to let them sink all the way down until she was nearly gagging on them, her hand clinging to his wrist that was pulling out of her top, threading snugly around her waist. “Tastes like I was right.” She nipped at the thick digits until he withdrew them, glancing back over her shoulder at him with a starry gaze.

“Do I look undressed to you?” She drawled and the Cheshire grin that stretched across his face made her legs clench together.

“Not yet.”

He spun her around, dragging her into a heated, demanding kiss that she lost herself in for a minute. But the fog was all but cleared and her need was much greater than could be sated in the middle of this crowd, so when he pulled away, fingers trailing down her arm until they could curl around her hand, she didn’t hesitate. Maybe she should have; maybe she should have stopped the bleeding there. But if she was already going to hell, a detour to heaven didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

So she let him lead her up the stairs, sparing a look back at her with a hint of nerves he hoped she didn’t notice. Because whether she was running away from Jonah, or running back to him, he couldn’t afford to mess it up. For better or worse, this was a line they’d never crossed before and he wasn’t sure how this part played out. He’d always figured he could get her to if he tried but he’d never pulled the trigger. But he knew there was always still time to screw it up.

But when they rounded the top of the stairs, she pressed him against the wall, just out of view of the crowd downstairs but still very much exposed, and any stray nerves he had dissipated. He wasn’t convincing her anymore; she had made a decision. And that decision included dropping to her knees where she stood, not wasting a minute before skillfully unbuckling his belt. Max tried valiantly not to moan the moment her hand brushed his cock through his slacks. Fuck, this was going to be embarrassingly short.

He watched as her fingers deftly undid his slacks, his hand tangling up in her hair. She looked up at him as she slid the zipper down, wetting her lips and making him swallow hard. Palming him through his boxers, she watched the way his face twitched right alongside his cock. Lips curling up at the corner, she dragged her palm back down the length and leaned in, making a show of licking the tip through the fabric. His fingers tightened as a breath hissed through his teeth.

"Don't fuckin' tease, sweetheart." The rumble of his voice went straight to her core and she bit down on her lip as she spared another look up at him, thumbing over the waistband of his boxers. She dragged it down, painfully slow, until she freed him, erection bobbing in her face. Nimble fingers slid around the base, squeezing lightly and making his head fall back. She leaned in and traced the tip of her tongue from the base up to the tip of his cock, swirling around it before pulling back. A quiet groan vibrated through his chest, slipping toward a whine when she started flicking her tongue over the tip. His hand in her hair pushed her closer to what he needed desperately but she resisted, continuing with her teasing. "Riley..." It was a warning she had no intention of heeding.

"Yes, Maxie?" She batted her lashes at him and swirled the flat of her tongue around the tip of his cock, around and around, then just another feather light flit across the tip. Max let out a guttural noise before using his grip in her hair to flip her back against the wall. Looming over her, he rested his free hand against the wall behind her and a nervous desire built in the pit of her stomach.

"See, and here I thought you were gonna be a good girl." His grip in her hair loosened as he slid down to her chin. Rubbing his thumb over her lips, he tutted. "Should have known, my poor sweet girls not had her throat properly abused in months." Her eyes widened as his thumb slipped inside her mouth. "Next time, just ask for it, babe. You know I can't say no to you." His thumb not-so-delicately pried her mouth open wide before he eased the tip of his cock in, giving shallow little thrusts. She held his gaze, complying with his grip as he rocked his hips forward until he hit the back of her throat. Her hands flew up to his thighs, steadying herself as she gagged, and Max held his position, deeply seated until she was struggling to breathe. He twitched in her mouth and groaned, pulling all the way out, leaving a string of drool drawn out between them, and Riley gasping for air.

Squatting down until his face was level with hers, he smoothed a hand over her cheek, meeting her eyes steadily. She launched toward him, desperate for anything she could get. He indulged her for a few moments longer than he meant to, tearing away to stand up to his full height.

"Hands behind your back, brat. Lets see if you see remember how to take a throat fucking."

Riley held his gaze as she neatly clasped her hands low behind her back, tongue trailing along the edge of her teeth. Max pumped a fist over his cock, looking down at her with a blistering heat before yanking her hair so her head lightly knocked the wall, and her mouth fell open in a pant. Seizing the opportunity, Max slid right back into her mouth, holding her back against the wall as she attempted to bob up and down. Bending his knees, he rocked up into her mouth, urging past another inch, then another, and she struggled not to gag on it. He chuckled darkly, giving a few more shallow thrusts.

“What? Can’t handle a cock this big anymore?” He gave one more shallow thrust before surging all the way forward until every inch of him was driven down her throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you remember how.” He held his place until her throat relaxed around him and he eased back out and in. Groaning, he slowly worked up a rhythm, holding her head firmly against the wall. “That’s it. Such a good little slut for daddy.” His thrusts got sharper and his free arm rested against the wall. He grunted with each hard thrust down her throat, breathing labored and pressure building. Spit dripped down his legs as he fucked her mouth against the wall. His balls constricted and he groaned loud enough for everyone downstairs to hear. Riley hummed around his length and his entire body trembled, giving a few more jerky thrusts deep into her throat before spilling over the edge. “Fuck, fuck, baby, that’s it, fuck. Good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, fuck.”

Her cheeks hollowed and his fist clenched against the wall. Shaky hand still anchored in her hair, held her in place as his hips stuttered to an end until he finally pulled out. Heaving a breath, he squatted back down in front of her, taking her cheeks between his fingers, and she stuck her tongue out like they’d never missed a beat. Drawing his lips in, Max spit directly into her open mouth and she curled her tongue up and in, ensuring she got every bit before licking her lips.

“That’s my filthy little slut.” He cooed, his hands snaking behind her knees, scooping her up off her feet. Her limbs curled around him as he fumbled to get them into the privacy of her guest room and it’s closed door. “Welcome back, I missed ya.”

Kicking it closed behind him, he tossed her down onto the bed, crawling over her, warm palms guiding her legs apart. They melted aside for him as his hands slid past her thighs, pushing her dress up alongside them. She watched, propped up on her elbows as he bunched the fabric up over her hips, exposing her butchered tights and the soaked panties beneath, and she squirmed. His teeth skimmed down the length of her thigh, ribbing the tights until he reached exposed skin. Hand curled around the thick of her thigh, he sank his teeth into the skin and her hips bucked up towards his face with a squeal. Sucking until he was certain it would leave a sufficient mark, he soothed his tongue over it and hovered up past her hips, hands taking in every inch he could touch on his way up. His face pressed into her cleavage, he wound his hands behind her back, dragging the zipper down as far as it would go. Scooting up high enough to pepper kisses over her neck, his fingers deftly pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, one at a time. She went to bury her fingers in his hair but before she could get a grip, he slipped back off the foot of the bed.

Riley met his eyes steadily, lips parted with her shuttered breathing, the intense, unrelenting need on his face making her squeeze her thighs together. Max grabbed one then two ankles and yanked her down toward the end of the bed, her legs spread around his hips. Fingers trailing up both legs, he reached for the bottom of her dress and shimmied it down her body. She cooperated, lifting her hips to help him get it under her and he tossed it aimlessly behind him. Then, taking a step back, his eyes raked, impossibly slow, over every exposed inch he had been craving so badly these past few months. He’d missed the constellation of freckles that dotted the space between her bra and her panties and he’d missed the way her chest turned red when she was turned on and he missed this particular set she was wearing. It only took a second before it dawned on him that she had bought this lacy set of lingerie on a shopping trip with him last year. It was hard to forget this set and he was hard pressed to believe she didn’t know what she was doing when she put it on.

“Now, Riley, you know what happened last time you wore this around me…” his eyes made an obvious path over the practically sheer fabric that was providing a view that made his chest ache. Riley bat her lashes and trailed a finger down into the cleft of her tits, then drawing it back up to her lips where she bit the tip.

“I don’t remember you doing anything especially memorable last Sunday…” She tapped her fingernail on her bottom lip, hair splayed out on the mattress beneath her. Max’s brow furrowed for a moment, realizing she was letting him know she’d worn this when she stayed over his house last week and they got wasted on jello shots. That night would have gone down much differently if he had known that at the time.

“You put this on to come get drunk at my house?” He tutted and she drew up on her elbows toward him but he pressed her back down with one hand on her chest, allowing it to drift down and grope her through the delicate fabric. “That why you kept leaning over in that low cut shirt?” Her back arched to get more but he slapped the exposed skin of her chest and she settled back down. “Were you hoping I’d spot this little number down your shirt and be so overcome with need,” fingers dug painfully hard into her skin, “that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from ripping your clothes off right there?” He watched the color creep up her chest and his hips rut into her crotch without thought. Riley’s eyes rolled back with a sigh, rolling her hips towards his the best she could, and he responded by grinding hard against her clit, only the thin fabric between them. “Is that what you were hoping for tonight? You wanted me to see a peak of this lace and not be able to stop until I’d completely ruined this cunt?” Her head craned up, meeting his eyes with a loaded expression. Trouble layered behind shame that was all drowned out by desire.

“What if I did?” She raised and his eyes scorched over her body, his hands moving faster than she could track, snaking around her ass and yanking her up to meet his hips at just the right angle. Her head fell back down with a curse.

“Well that would have been a very naughty thing to do.” He lowered her hips back down to the mattress and let both hands scrub up past her hips and stomach, then back down to grip the tops of her thighs. His thumbs swiped over the exposed skin surrounding the torn edges of her tights. “I think you’d leave me no choice but to rip these beautiful panties right off you. Make sure they can never be used in any more of your dastardly plans.” He tore her tights further up to her hips and she wiggled them, teeth raking over her bottom lip. Max held her eye as his fingers curled around the delicate lace waistband of her panties, digging his thumb into the material until he felt the fabric give just a smidge and then strained his arms, tearing straight through. Riley’s chest heaved with anticipation, watching him closely as he tossed them aside.

“And what would you do with me then?” She prodded, her feet toying with the waist of his pants that were barely hanging on without being buttoned. He shifted so they fell to the floor and she doubled her efforts to get his boxers down. He let them slip off, stepping out of them, already fully hard for her again, and leaned completely over her, large hand sliding up the side of her neck and into her hair. She wet her lips, his face so close to hers that the motion nearly touched him.

“Well then I’d probably have to teach you a lesson about being careful what you wish for.” He dragged his cock through her folds and they each let out a hiss, blood pounding in his ears.

“God, please. Teach me a lesson, Max.” There was no grace left in her raked over plea, no shame, no guilt, no hesitation. All she had left was the desperate pull towards him and the way the feel of him was lighting her up from the inside.

“If you insist…” but he kept up the teasing drag through her folds, tip of his cock nudging against her entrance more than once before delving back through her folds. He ground the crown into her clit and she squirmed on the bed.

“Maaaaaax. Don’t tease.” But she watched the wicked smirk that curled around his face as he circled around her.

“And why shouldn’t I? You’ve been teasing me for seven months now. Seems only fair.” He slipped down to prod at her entrance, then dragged back up through her folds, and she squirmed. “I should strap you to the headboard with my belt and tease you until you’re crying, begging for my cock.” Without a warning, his hand came down with a sharp slap to her swollen cunt. Riley squealed, her hands grasping desperately at the sheets to dispel the sting that was radiating through her. Then his strong grip wrapped around her hips, lifting them so he was level with her, soothing the tip back against the ache in her core. “Luckily for you, I don’t have the patience for that.”

And before she could even start to formulate a response, he slipped down and slammed in to the hilt, supporting the way her back arched. He stilled, completely buried inside, his cock twitching at the familiar warmth, and her legs wound around his waist. Holding her hips still, he slid out to the tip, then all the way back in, watching her fingers curl in the sheets beneath her with a cry. Her walls clenched tight around him and he couldn’t hold back another second, quickly slipping into an aggressive pace. He’d missed it too much and he needed to be drowning in that feeling right that instant. His hands on her hips slid down her thighs, urging her legs up onto his shoulders.

Riley’s moans filled the room and she couldn’t be bothered to contain them. It didn’t matter that just below them was an entire dance floor of strangers, her boyfriend, and her boyfriends boss. It didn’t matter that Max didn’t lock the door or that her boyfriend was certain to be done dancing by now. Or that the party was probably winding to a close soon. She was lost to him and, at this point, didn’t want to be found. She could have disappeared into him forever in that moment and only been grateful.

So when he leaned down between her legs, stretching them back, to pull her into a blistering kiss, she let it wash her away. Her leg slipped off one shoulder as their kiss deepened and his cock drove harder into her. Their moans spilled out between kisses and pressure quickly mounted in her belly.

“Fuck, Max, please! Harder, fuck!” Her cries were practically incoherent as her hammered into her. She buried her fingers in his hair, tugging as he shifted his hips to drive into the perfect spot.

“You gonna come for me already, Ry? You been missin’ the way my cock makes you fall apart?” He let her other leg fall from his shoulder, one hand tangling in her hair as the other gripped tight on her face, holding her just a breath from his own. She nodded, mouth gaped open as she hurtled toward her breaking point. Max could feel her fluttering around him and raked his teeth over her bottom lip before steeling his breath and pulling out completely. Her taut body deflated beneath him, pussy clenching around nothing, desperate for the release it had been deprived of. “Too bad. Flip over.” He swatted her ass from below, taking a full step back, waiting for her stop blinking back at him and flip to her stomach.

The moment she finally gathered her brain back enough to move, he was back pressed against her from behind, hands squeezing brutally into her hips. His hand slid up her back until they met the edge of her bra and he deftly unhooked it before urging the straps off her shoulders. Riley sighed into the mattress as his rough hands rubbed up and down her spine, squirming slightly with the tickle. His fingers wormed into her hair before curling up tight and yanking back. She let out a breath of a moan, back arching to reduce the pull on her hair, and his other arm wound up her bare chest, holding her flush against his chest. His lips scattered kisses across her neck before landing by her ear, his breath raising goosebumps all down her spine.

“You’re looking pretty undressed to me now, brat.” He hissed into her ear, the hand in her hair drifting down to settle around her throat, and she rocked back against him. She hummed an agreement as his foot nudged her legs further apart. “Got any more doubts about how well I know this body that you’d like to voice?” He bent his knees, angling his hips so he notched against her entrance again, and he squeezed the sides of her throat for emphasis. She shook her head. “No? Nothing to say now? Mm, that’s what I thought.” Without another moment, he speared up into her and she cried out, hands flying back to grip in his hair.

He re-started with a punishing pace, impaling her with his cock and stretching her to her limit. Her nails dug into his skin, holding on the best she could as he decimated her senses. He kneaded her chest with the hand that wasn't wrapped tight around her throat. The wracked cries that were spilling from her lips drove him harder.

"Does your boyfriend fuck you this good?" Max snarled against her ear. All she could manage was a squeak of his name. "Does he stretch your tight little cunt like he was made for you?" The way she pulsed around him was plenty answer but he wasn't satisfied. Releasing his grip on her throat, he shoved her face back down into the mattress, raking his nails down her back before he took hold of her hips and hammered into her from behind. "Does he fuck you til there's not a single thought left in this pretty head?"

Riley bit down into the mattress to stifle her moans as they spiraled out of control. His hand collided with her ass with a sound that reverberated around the room and sent a red hot sting straight to her core. She jolted with the force of it but he quickly fired off another three slaps to the rapidly forming welts and she gripped the sheets, tangling them between her fingers. He soothed a palm over the angry skin, his thrusts slower and more purposeful, allowing her catch her breath before he wound back to deliver a slap so sharp it made her knees buckle and her walls pulse around him.

"Shit! Max!" She screamed into the blankets, muffled and broken as she tried to meet his thrusts but her legs were shaking too hard to move the way she wanted. The edges of her vision began to blur, pressure building low in her gut. "Please, fuck, more more more, please, daddy i'm so close." Max leaned down over her, hand slipping between her hips and the mattress until he landed on her swollen bundle of nerves. He drew rapid circles over her and she panted beneath him, the weight of his body draped over her intoxicating, his scent familiar and electrifying every last nerves in her body.

"Yeah? You wanna come, baby? You wanna soak this fucking cock?" His hoarse whisper in her ear was stripping away the last shred of control she had. Every bit of her skin was tingling, flushed and barely her own.

"Please, Max, please I need it please let me come." The battered voice that came out felt completely alien, a sound that was merely reflexive as her brain was ten miles outside the atmosphere.

"Not yet." He said, and she came crash landing back to Earth when he pulled out completely without warning, stepping back, her body shaking from the loss.

“Maaaaaax, fuck!” She whined, squirming against the mattress, desperate for the last bit of friction she needed. Max stilled her with a slap to the furiously red skin on her ass. He took another step away and reached down to unbutton his shirt. Riley dragged her exhausted body up into the bed and rolled onto her back. “You’re killing me. Why do you hate me so much?” She pouted and Max mirrored her, letting his shirt drop to the floor before stalking towards her.

“Aww, come on sweetheart, you know you’re my favorite girl.” He climbed up onto the mattress after her and she scooted her way back toward the pillows. Stalking after her, she settled into the soft bedding, her legs drifting apart as he nestled between them, pulling her straight into a languorous kiss. After getting lost for a few moments, she pulled back starry eyed.

“Better than Samantha?” And she tried unsuccessfully to hide the jealousy in her voice. Max stroked a knuckle over her cheek, supporting his weight with his other arm.

“Better than anyone, Riley.” He held her gaze for a few lingering seconds in a way that told a story of a million years of things left unsaid. But it was too big and this wasn't the time for it, so instead he kissed her until she was breathless, then slid back inside her warmth. Her lips parted in a gasp, allowing his tongue to sweep into her mouth, and her arms wound tight around his torso. He rolled his hips in slow, steady thrusts and her fingers dug into his skin, legs snaking around him. Her nails grazed up into his hair and his head lolled into it, inadvertently picking up his pace when she tugged. Shuttering a sigh, his lips trailed down her neck, nestling his face into her. "Fuck, I've missed you."

"I missed you too." The words fell breathless from her lips as Max sucked hard at her throat, sure to leave another mark that her brain wasn't functional enough to find a problem with. Her nails raked from his hair, down the length of his back, raising a series of red lines in their wake, and he groaned, hips moving a little sharper and starting a low building pressure that spanned the length of her body. As his hips built toward a snap, the pressure rose steadily, echoing in her veins. "Fuck, Max..."

"That's it, beautiful, feel good to be back where you belong?" He whispered against her collarbone before sucking another mark into her skin. Rocking into her, he dragged his hips to create friction over her clit and she arched beneath him. Her hips chased his and he wound an arm around her back, the other moving to her ass, gripping her tight as he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. The pressure in her bobbed with the change, arms coming out to support herself but he quickly gathered her wrists together, pinning them against her back and plastering her against him. Holding her steady, he set a less forgiving pace, hammering into her from below. “Do you think your boyfriend knew you were always gonna end up right back here?” He demanded, the new position stroking against just the right spot inside her.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, biting down hard as he fucked up into her, the mounting pressure of this evening expanding into every last nook and cranny of her body until her brain was forced out completely. Her moans filled the room, even muffled by his neck, but the stream of pleaded words was all together unintelligible. But Max didn't need to hear any real words to understand the way her walls were beginning to pulse around him. She was close and well beyond self control, but he wasn't ready to be done and he knew that if she came right now, he wouldn't be able to last.

"Don't come yet." It was a base growl, pulled between strained teeth, and it only made her toes curl. She let out a hitched whimper, bouncing against him with every rapid fire thrust. Every muscle in her body tensed in an attempt to hold the line but she could feel the tide of her body receding from the shore with a magnetic pull, building into the monster tsunami that was headed straight for her. Her body trembled against his, walls constricting around him, only getting worse when his free hand collided with her ass. "Not yet." But he couldn't stop the violent pace he'd set, caught up in the pull of her tide. Tears streamed down her face unconsciously, blurring her mascara and a hiccup of a cry wracked through her chest.

"Max, please, I can't take it, please let me come, pleeeease, don't stop. I need you, please." The wave was rushing at her faster than she could contain, fingers dug into her palms as she fought his grip fruitlessly. Max felt his balls constrict with the desperation in her voice, and pulled her forehead to his with a hand on the back of her head. He held her gaze, fingers wrapped in her hair so close to the scalp that it stung.

"Admit it was about me." He hissed, a breath away from her lips that were hung open in a noiseless cry. "Admit you only started dating him to make me jealous and I'll let you come." And this time she didn't hesitate because this time she couldn't even seem to remember her boyfriend's name.

"Yes, fuck, it was you, Max!" She cried out, brain puttering to get to where she needed as pinpricks swept her skin. "It was about you. I was making you jealous, I didn't fucking care about him, fuck, please, please let me come, please!" And his head knew it didn't matter - that she would have said anything to get what she needed at that moment - but his body didn't seem to know the difference, hips stuttering as he pulled her into a needy, possessive kiss, the tidal wave looming over both their heads.

"Come for me, Riley. Soak this cock for me, let me feel how much you missed this." It was a demand that Riley didn't need to wait another second for, wave crashing down onto their shores and knocking them both off their feet. They clung to each other, sweating and shaking, as her walls squeezed tight around him, her high pitched, wrecked cry a noise that he would never forget as she flooded his cock. His hips jerked, riding out the last few loaded seconds, his nails dug into her skin before he snapped, burying himself as deep as he could go, his hot release spilling inside her.

They writhed against each other, savoring the breathless hum that had enveloped them, their bodies weak and energy spent. Max slowly released his grip on her hands, hand on the back of her head pulling her just an inch closer so he could brush the sweat matted hair out of her face and press a kiss to the top of her head. She let out a contented sigh, settling into his warmth while her brain navigated its way back to her from outer space. His fingers trailed hypnotically up and down her spine, raising goosebumps across her skin. He never wanted to move from that spot, the need to keep her that close forever was staggering and, frankly, a little scary.

He didn't know what came next - this was uncharted territory. But she still had a boyfriend and that made this a little rockier than the usual transition from boyfriend back into his arms. He could feel the ominous shifting in their lives that came from their choices tonight and not all the potential outcomes were favorable for him. The chances that she would regret this suddenly felt suffocatingly high as he realized what a colossal mess he had made. He never meant to get that carried away tonight. His heart leapt to his throat as she finally lifted her exhausted body off him, rolling to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving him feeling particularly cold.

"Where do you think you're going, punk?" He leaned forward to grab her hand but slowed when he saw the hollow look on her face. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She quickly turned away from him but he surged forward, forcing her to look at him. "Hey, Ry..." She slowly met his eyes, chewing her lip as reality seemed to crash down around her. His chest ached, watching the thoughts whirling around her mind, and pulled her back against his chest. Melting into him, she let his arms squeeze tight around her, her head tucked beneath his chin, and she closed her eyes.

She couldn't pretend she hadn't known exactly what she was doing. There was no defense. She had made a million calculated decisions, right down to a skimpy red dress, and it had made her feel spectacularly alive but now all she felt was numb. What was she supposed to do now? Her stomach turned at the thought of trying to keep this from Jonah. Then it turned again at the thought of telling Max she was going to pretend this never happened. His hand soothed over her back and she drew in a shaky breath.

"Look, don't beat yourself up, alright. He's not exactly a great guy..." He offered but she scoffed, stilling in his arms.

"Please don't..."

"Well, I mean he told me I should take you for a spin so he could - "

"Max-"

"I'm just saying, he's - "

"Well stop." She finally tore out of his arms, clambering off the bed. Max watched her scrub her hands over her face, struck. Then she set back about finding her clothes, scattered across the floor. The guilt that ripped through her stomach was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Gathering her clothes up into her arms, she finally she met his eye. "Please, just knock it off. It's not Jonah's fault that I..." She blew out a breath and shook her head.

"Riley..." Max held a hand out to her but she only took a step back. Her lips twitched before she steeled her face and pulled it into a carefully trained expression that she prayed didn't give the impression that she wanted to cry. This was what she choose; she didn't get to cry about it. But she was feeling a few too many emotions at once and it was knocking the air out of her chest.

"It's fine. Don't look at me like that. I'm fine." She busied herself with pulling her bra back on, knowing full well he wasn't going to stop watching her with those same concerned puppy dog eyes.

"Then where are you going? Come on." He moved up onto his knees at the edge of the bed, trying to lure her back but she didn't glance his way as she pulled that same tight dress back over her body, panties in tatters on the floor. She traced a finger over the rips in her tights that were now visible down below her dress and swallowed hard.

"To deal with the party that's going on in my living room." She said it like a reminder and but Max didn't falter.

"Screw them, stay here with me. Riley, please, it's been a long night, just come to bed." And his extended hand was mightily tempting. She hesitated for just a moment, weighing him before her eyes flicked to the door and she shook her head.

"No. No, I need to go." She said, eyes doing a final sweep of the floor to make sure she hadn't missed anything but then snapped back to meet his. "Besides, you have a date you should probably say goodnight to." His chest constricted at the pain in her voice; pain that he caused.

"Riley-"

"Please," She practically begged and he sat back on his heels, "I just need a minute. Stay here tonight if you want, I know its late." Swallowing hard, she waited to see if he pushed back but when he didn't she plowed through. "We can talk tomorrow. I just need to think, okay?" Deflated, Max nodded, brow knitted with a tight frown. She offered a smile so slight he almost didn't catch it before taking a few decided steps towards him. "Thank you. I promise, we're good, I just..."

"...Need time to think. I get it," He finished for her, letting the frown crack, "Just can't think straight with me around." Rolling his eyes at his own joke, he watched the gentle smile settle over her face. Leaning in, she gave him a quick, apologetic kiss before backing her way towards the door. He waved her off and she lingered for just a moment, bracing herself for the world beyond this door.

Max geared up to make one final attempt at convincing her to stay but in a blink, she slipped out the door and left him to the quiet. With a huff, he threw himself back on the mattress. He scrubbed his hands over his face and raked them back into his hair with a groan. Timing was his greatest enemy and he was tired of feeling like he was losing the battle.

Finally collapsing into her bed, Riley pulled a pillow over her face, nearly ready to suffocate under the weight of her life and bad decision making. She had finally managed to usher the crowd of strangers out of her living room and tucked Jonah in under a blanket on her couch where he had passed out cold. Grateful for the quiet solitude of her room, she slowly pulled the pillow off her face and took a deep breath.

The ground beneath her felt like it was moving and, as much as she had desperately wanted change for her life, this was never how she wanted to get it. Her chest rose and fell was steady breaths and she stared up at texture on her ceiling, tracing invisible patterns and trying to pretend she didn't need to make a painful decision. She wasn't sure how to make that decision when she didn't know what she wanted, though.

But that wasn't entirely true. Her chest ached, the truth ringing through her skull, blaring an unwanted siren she couldn't stomach. She knew exactly what she wanted. She knew exactly where she wanted to be and who she wanted next to her but that wasn't something she could have. Max was her best friend and maybe he was more but none of it amounted to anything because he didn't want her like that. She knew he cared about her but she also knew that this game they played was all he could offer. The thought turned her stomach and she squeezed her eyes shut, curling onto her side in the middle of her empty bed.

The pain radiating in her chest was strong enough to start the sting behind her eyes but she refused to let the tears come. Instead, she pulled the blanket up tight to her chin and bit down hard on her lip until the feeling subsided. She didn't have time to devolve over that. When she woke up in the morning, she was going to have to face the consequences of all the lines crossed tonight and she needed to know what that looked like. So she spent the night, tossing and turning and stewing in her guilt and self pity, praying that by tomorrow night, her life would look different. It had to. There was no turning back now.

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Beta Read by @daddyhausen

Tags: @fvckingromantic @omg-im-such-a-masochist @smallestsnarkestgirl @wrestlingwhore

#MJF smut #MJF fanfiction #MJF fanfic #AEW fic #AEW fanfiction #wrestling fic #AEW smut #MJF x OFC #mjf x reader

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capypub · 1 year

Text

Don't Be Late - Mafia!Joel Miller Imagine

Mafia!Joel Miller x OFC

Rating: M (smut)

MNDI. 18+ content.

Summary: Joel had no intention of being late for another dinner, some idiots firing bullets at him weren't going to stop him.

Part of my Extended Scenes Collection of Without Warning - Mafia!Joel Miller Series

AN: This was supposed to be cute and funny, but ended up taking a spicier turn...oops.

Joel was terrified. Not because of the handful of men shooting at him currently. Not because his backup was still eight minutes out. Not even because he’d already been grazed by a bullet in his side. No, he was terrified thinking about what his girl’s gonna do if he misses one more dinner date.

“Joel, just sit your ass down and wait for us,” Tommy snapped over the phone, “Four minutes and we’re there, don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

“You don’t understand, Tommy,” he tried to insist, glancing around his current barrier to try and spot the shooters’ locations, keeping his voice low as he held the phone close, “She might actually cut my dick off if I’m late one more time.”

His brother scoffed over the line, the car’s tires screeching in the background. “It’s six to one, Joel and you’re already injured, stand the fuck down.”

He chuckled, never being one to take orders well. That’s why he became his own boss after all, so no one could tell him what to do, including his little brother. “Six to one? I like those odds.”

He hung up the phone, sticking it in his pocket before taking a deep breath, gripping his gun tightly before standing up, revealing his location and moving forward with the practiced precision of a military unit. He hit one upon standing and then a second after taking cover behind a table that had been tipped over.

When he came to the warehouse this evening, looking for an inventory list, he didn’t expect to find the door unlocked and men, who were not his own, inside. They had guns, of course, and started firing upon hearing him. He’d barely had time to duck behind one of the vehicles that had been inside. That’s when he called Tommy. That’s also when he saw the time and a sliver of panic ran down his spine.

He didn’t know how many men there were in the beginning, not taking the time to count when they started firing. Tommy must have logged into the security system from his phone.

The third fell to the ground when Joel leaned around his current barricade. There was a slight pause. They were out of bullets. He took the opportunity and fired two more perfect kill shots, the bodies hitting the floor simultaneously.

By the time he clocked the last one, the coward was already trying to run, only to get knocked out by Tommy’s appearance, snagging the man by the shirt and throwing a hard punch. Joel smirked, glad his brother knew to leave him alive.

“I thought I told you to sit your ass down and wait for us,” Tommy grumbled, assessing the room and all the dead bodies scattered around.

“And I thought I told you I have somewhere to be right now.” He glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “Keep that one alive, I’ll come back tomorrow to deal with him,” he said, digging for his keys in his pocket.

“Joel-.” Tommy tried to stop him.

“Clean this up too, I don’t want the iron smell to stick,” he added over his shoulder, jogging out the door, too caught up in making it home within the next five minutes.

His brother rolled his eyes with a smirk. He didn’t understand what Joel was so scared of. She was like, what? Five feet, three inches? How scary could she actually be if he’s a little late to dinner?

With a shrug, Tommy started directing the guys he’d brought who were supposed to be Joel’s backup on where to dump the dead bodies.

“Jesus, he took out six big-ass dudes on his own…with just a pistol?” Daniel, one of their own, said with a shake of his head in disbelief.

“I heard he took down fifteen dudes on his own, one time,” Matthew piped up, helping Daniel carry one body to the waiting tarp they’d laid out to avoid more blood stains on the floor.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “He took out damn near fifty on his own in the Salt Lake City Job,” he added, passing the guys with a smirk.

Meanwhile, Joel was driving like a bat out of hell, swerving around other vehicles on the highway as he kept anxiously glancing at the clock on his dash.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he kept muttering to himself with each passing minute.

He came to a screeching halt in front of his house, taking the steps two at a time and barging into the house. His breaths were labored from rushing as he quickly went in search of his wife to prove he was in fact, on time for their scheduled dinner date. With her getting busier with school this time of year and his erratic schedule, they realized quickly they needed to start actively working on setting time aside specifically for them.

“Baby? Baby, where you at?” he called, going into the kitchen first to grab some water.

“Whoa, why are you yelling?” she asked, appearing from the game room, where he now realized he could hear the TV in there playing some reality show.

“I made it on time, told you I wouldn’t be late,” he said, grinning confidently.

She tilted her head with a light scrunch in her brows, looking confused. “Late for what?”

His expression fell. “We’re supposed to have dinner tonight…right?”

She laughed with a shake of her head. “That’s tomorrow, Joel, oh my God,” she said with an amused eye roll.

He blinked once, twice and then pulled his phone out to see his calendar did in fact have nothing scheduled for today with her.

He groaned. “Fuck, I musta been lookin’ at the wrong day, I’m sorry,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“It’s okay, Joel,” she said sweetly, coming up to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a soft kiss.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, those dark brown eyes making her internally swoon.

“I mean you’re not late, yet, so there’s nothing to be mad about,” she shrugged, kissing him again before taking his hand and leading him upstairs.

“We doin’ this right now, baby girl?” he asked, assuming she was going to their bedroom, grabbing onto her waist and giving her hips a squeeze.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Maybe later, handsome,” she said with a smirk.

“So where we goin’? I could go for a smoke after today,” he said, happily following her through the house blindly.

“You’re bleeding,” she said simply.

“Huh?” He glanced down, remembering where he’d been grazed by that first bullet and finding a smear of blood spreading across his shirt where he’d been hit. It was just big enough to where he knew he’d just have to throw out the shirt, there was no recovering it with how quickly the stain grew as they moved into the bathroom.

“Shirt off. Sit.”

He smirked, her assertiveness always making him a little excited. “I like when you give orders,” he said with a lopsided smirk, his eyes trailing her form as she brought out the first aid kit.

She giggled but chose not to indulge him by responding just yet to that comment. “How’s the other guy look?” she asked softly as she started cleaning the wound.

“Dead.”

“Good.”

“Doin’ somethin’ for you?” he teased, squeezing her waist as she applied a bandage over the wound, thankfully not that deep.

“You know it does,” she said without missing a beat, glancing up at him through her lashes with that coy grin.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he groaned, pulling her against him as he leaned on the bathroom counter, shirtless, dark jeans dirty, smelling so uniquely like Joel.

He knew what he did to her, just like she knew what she did to him. Bringing his thumb and forefinger to her chin, he tilted her head up, kissing her hungrily, a primal growl rumbling in his chest against her body, sending a spark of thrill down her spine. She loved when he got like this.

“Gets you off knowin’ your man’s a killer, doesn’t it? Makes this pretty pussy so wet thinkin’ about all the bad things I’ve done, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” he crooned down at her, her eyes growing darker with every word.

She whines faintly in her throat, biting her lip. “Joel,” she sighed, clinging to him, his voice lulling her into the state of mind he wanted her, relaxed, aching, submissive.

“Answer my question, baby,” he said lowly against her jaw, using his other hand to lace through her hair and tilt her head back roughly, earning another eager whine from her.

“Yes, yes, I love it,” she gasps, eyes already closing, that wicked grin making his cock twitch in his pants.

“I know you do, baby, you’re a little fucked up in the head, just like me,” he chuckled darkly, “But aren’t we all,” he added before leaning down to kiss her again, fisting the roots of her hair to secure his grip and keep her just how he wanted.

He picked her up by the back of her thighs, groaning slightly in pain when her leg brushed his freshly bandaged wound. Setting her on the counter, he immediately tugged her shirt off, throwing it to the side without a care, his hands rough and warm on her chest, tweaking her nipples and squeezing her breasts.

“Always so pretty for me, baby girl,” he groaned into her chest, his mouth latching onto one of her nipples while he continued toying with the other.

She moaned, her thighs hitched onto his hips, her fingers blindly reaching to undo the buttons of his shirt. As Joel continued to toy with her body, she worked her hands between them, feeling his length strained behind his pants.

“No,” she said, sounding breathless, when he went to shrug his shirt off. “Keep it on.”

He smirked knowingly. Something about the bloodstain most likely had her brain all foggy with some dark fantasy only he could fulfill. She definitely kept him on his toes.

“Take it out,” he said assertively, leaning back from her, watching her expertly undo his belt, unbuttoning his pants and dragging the zipper down until she could reach in and feel how hard and heavy he was, the faintest damp patch on the front of his boxers from his own budding excitement. “See what you do to me, baby girl, got me addicted to you, just thinkin’ bout it gets me hard,” he groaned as she caressed and groped him through his boxers.

“Feel,” she purred, using her other hand to bring his fingers over her panties, the material much more wet with her essence. “All for you, baby. Gonna do something about it?” she asked, sighing as his fingers moved the material aside and immediately slid into her heat. “Fuck!” she cried, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion but loving the stretch all the same.

He chuckled darkly, bringing his free hand to her throat, squeezing the sides. “So fuckin’ wet for me, baby girl, could slide right in no problem,” he groaned.

She nodded against his hand, slipping her hand past the waistband of his boxers and gripping him firmly. “Do it,” she encouraged him, jerking her hips up against his palm, “Fuck, please, do it.”

Yanking her panties down her legs, Joel pushed his own pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh, squeezing the base of his cock with a deep groan. She was already starting to drip onto the counter by the time he nudged the head in, sighing at the familiar warmth he could never have enough of.

“More,” she whined softly, leaning back, trying to scoot her hips forward.

He smirked, squeezing her throat again. “Bossy, tonight, aren’t we, baby?”

She huffed, obviously frustrated. “Yes.” She groans when he slips in another inch. “I want it all, Joel, please!”

“Hush now, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he soothed her, finding her little fit amusing. “I always do, don’t I?.”

She’s panting, squirming against him, desperate for more. “You’re teasing too much,” she grumbled, pouting.

He chuckles. “That’s funny comin’ from you, sweetheart.” He suddenly thrusts the rest of his length into her, reveling in how she cried out for him, her nails instantly digging into his forearm.

He begins to thrust roughly, a slow and steady pace that has her gasping out every breath, the slow torture just enough to satisfy her need as he worked her to orgasm. Those little noises had his cock twitching as she latched onto him.

“Feelin’ good, baby? Got quiet on me,” he choked out with a cocky smirk, her walls beginning to squeeze and flutter around him as she got closer to her end.

“Yes, yes, yes…so fucking good,” she nodded, pulling him down by his neck to kiss her, a wet and messy display of need.

He hummed in satisfaction against her lips. “Come on then, gorgeous, soak my cock, be a good girl and make a mess on me.”

“Joel!” she moaned, her thighs squeezing his sides.

She brushed the bandage again with her inner thigh, unintentionally of course, but it was just enough pressure to have Joel groaning, a strange combination of pain and pleasure that had him teetering on the end much quicker than he anticipated.

“Oh, f-fuck!” he grunted, erratically jerking into her until he came with a heavy groan.

He hadn’t even realized she’d also come, her walls still spasming as he rutted weakly into her, the tip of his cock quickly becoming very sensitive as she squeezed him with her release.

She was breathing hard, head leaning back on the bathroom sink mirror as she looked at him with a lazy, satisfied grin. “I love you…”

He grins, ducking his head down to kiss her softly, bringing his hand up her neck and into her hair as he deepened their kiss with a content sigh against her lips. “I love you too, baby, always.” He pecks her lips, helping her off the counter as well. “Can I burn this shirt now?” he asks, walking with her back into the bedroom, her laugh echoing around them as she agrees and helps him start a fire in the small pit in the backyard.

#joel miller imagine #joel miller ofc #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #mafia!joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller au #last of us au

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final-boy · 9 months

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haissgisheishue sorry this is so random but I remember you made this fnaf au like a year ago in the summer I think?? And it was something along the lines of Michael going outside instead of Charlie and he gets killed by William and I think he possessed foxy I can’t find the actual art so I don’t know for sure BUT. Im curious to hear more about that au. Like give us the lore behind it WHAT HAPPENED (if that’s ok with you ofc)

Dead Mike AU!! Cuz i never gave it like an actual name lmfoaidnsakll ill be honest i never ended up developing it a BUNCH but basically what would have been like the first chapter or so if it were a fic wpuld be (with like the BIGGEST of help from @/peariandpine figuring half of it out with me lmfao :

- Party of 83 happens like canon, Mike is bullying his little brother and CCs head is crushed - this au would also be going off the idea of CC being the protag of fnaf4 so hed be in the hospital

- this causes a bigger rift between Michael and his dad ofc and i wanna say the fourth night is when the catalyst of it all happened

- Michael, after another fight with his dad refuses to go to the hospital alongside him after work , preferring to just go on his own later > Charlie gives him his jacket

- William leaves the hospital more annoyed and amgry than he was before because he had still expected Michael to come at some point anyway AND because thru his preexisting jealousy of Henry is angry at the man for trying to console him - he takes it as an insult esp since Henry has never lost a child and has two (sammys here btw lol) perfectly alive, healthy kids

- as hes going home, stewing in that anger and jealousy he sees who he thinks is Charlie walking alongside the road and begins to pull over already thinking of killing the girl only to be met with Michael

> he demands Michael get inside the car, Micheal refuses and William steps out to try and get him in - some nasty words are exchanged and William gets,,violent

- Michael panics and runs into the nearby woods , getring slowed down by the jacket snagging, eventually throwing it off to the side

- unfortunately, for him he hesitates upon coming across a river and that gives William more than enough time to catch up

- William, again just absolutely angry and hopped on adrenaline (and a lot of his own self hatred bubbling to the surface) starts taking his frustrations out on Michael - hes not thinking clearly at all and with Michael looking SO MUCH like him it really is not helping him out until...Michael goes silent after Williams dunked his head in the water

- Michaels not responding and now Williams starting to come back to reality and begins to panic, realizing exactly what hes just done - Charlies death, while it still would have been a very on the spot thing, would not have been as messily executed and , in Williams mind, would have had a purpose

- he then tries to convince himself that this is okay actually because michael killed his other son so really this was punishment.....only for CC to Live in this version

- Michael here would actually be taking a page from Andrews book and attach himself to Williams soul instead of any one specific animatronic - since Foxy has always been his favorite tho he does tend to mess eith it more when in Freddys and manifests himself throigh its image when messing with William

- this drives William ro try and get Michael back somehow, whichever way he possibly can to absolve himself of this, to put things back together again,,,

- this au would have also led to Charlie, Sammy, Liz, and to a smaller extent Evan, trying to find Michael after his "disappreance "

- this would also just be a huge more psychological horror on Williams end tbh 😭 i dont think ALL of the things happening and supernatural occurences would be because of Mike - Will is severely paranoid, hes not in the right state of mind at all, and i think hes kinda managed to create his own personal agony monster

For awhile i was considering having Mike possibly not have even possessed ANYTHING and would have left it as purely Williams own descent to madness

#sorry this is long and rambly bwmabdksga #not all the parts completely click since i didnt really go any further with it past mikes death sorry </3 #i have a habit of making au concepts and building the basic building blocks and fucking off lmfoahxlaua #fnaf au

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spacecadet-ticklesinspace · 1 year

Note

would you ever consider writing any IronDad ( with Peter1 ofc) ORR... any Peter1 with the avengers? its ok if not I was just wondering <3

Bucky, Sam, and Peter

Summary: Peter gets tickled by Sam and Bucky ❤️

(Thank you Anon, second attempt at a fic like this ❤️ I'm still figuring out the personalities of the other characters so any advice or suggestions would be wonderful ❤️ Otherwise, enjoy! ❤️)

Bucky scanned the living room. "Where are you kid?"

Meanwhile, Sam pushed past him into the living room. "Did you loose him already?"

"I didn't loose him."

Sam turned to his friend. "So you know exactly where he is? And we're not just talking into what looks to me like an empty living room?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Maybe I lost him for a second. But the kid moves faster than you think."

Sam turned back to the living room. "The kid's what, thirteen? He can't move that much faster than you."

Bucky started walking through the living room. "You'd be surprised Sam."

"Sorry, just didn't expect you to be outsmarted by a fifth grader."

The older super soldier opened his mouth to retort, but then whirled and pointed to a small cubby in the corner of the room.

Sam stepped toward the cubby as quietly as possible followed by Bucky. The two of them stationed themselves on either side of the cubby. Then Sam grabbed the handle before quickly throwing the door open.

Everything was quiet for a half a second before a web came flying through the air. Shortly behind the web was the blur of a figure that Bucky snagged with one arm.

"Eek!"

Bucky readjusted his hold on the squirming figure. "Gotcha!"

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to drop in," Falcon teased the smaller figure.

"No!" Peter whined. "Let me go!"

"Not a chance kid." Bucky hefted him up. "Not when you make a noise like that."

"All I did was squeak!"

Sam started tazering the teen's sides. "Yeah, and which spot was it that made that squeak?"

"Ahh! N-nowhere! Y-you j-just startled me!"

"Then why did you take off so suddenly?"

"Cause you looked at me f-funny!"

Sam paused his tazering. "Oh so we're funny looking?"

Peter scowled. "Yes! Both of you look stupid."

Both older men were taken aback by the young teen's snarky comment.

"Wow, think we should just take that Sam?"

"Nuh-uh." Sam ruffled Peter's hair. "Unless he apologizes."

The young teen pulled his head away as he tried to fight back the smile on his face. "Not on your life old man!"

"Wow, do you give Tony this much attitude?"

"No, it's just reserved for you two."

"And why's that?" Bucky asked.

"Cause you two ahare annoying!"

"Well I don't know about you Buck, but I will not stand for this attitude," Sam exclaimed.

"Neither will I." Bucky started moving toward the couch. "Someone has to teach these kids some manners."

The next instant, Bucky tossed Peter onto the couch. While the young teen curled into a ball, Sam set on the edge of the couch. He scanned the teen's movements, noting that he wasn't trying to hard to get away. "You know, it's not an effective punishment if you like it so much."

Peter blushed big time. "Shut uhup!"

Bucky moved to sit beside the teen's legs. "Doesn't mean it won't still be effective."

Peter pulled his legs up slightly. The grin on his face wobbled nervously.

"Aww, he looks so nervous already."

The young teen kicked out Bucky's arm. "Shuhush!"

Suddenly, the older super soldier pulled both feet into his lap and wrapped his arm around them. "Now you're gonna get it."

Peter's eyes widened as his shoes and socks were yanked off. "W-wait!"

Sam pushed his arms out of the way before digging into his sides. "Too late."

A genuine squeal left the young teen's mouth as he started squirming in place. Both of his sides and feet were attacked by tickles.

"Aww, how old are you again kid? Feel like Tony shouldn't be allowed to hire babies on the Avengers?" Sam teased.

"Ihim nohot aha bahabyhy!"

Falcon spidered his fingers up Peter's sides to his ribs. "Uh-huh, sure."

"NaAHH!" The young teen snorted. "SAAAM!"

Bucky chuckled as he spidered across his foot. "Wow, didn't know yohou cohould get up that high kihid."

"SHUT UHUP!"

Sam moved his tickles to Peter's bottom most ribs. "Gotta make sure that spider bite didn't take away any of your ribs."

Peter's laughter turned higher pitched as he loosely wrapped his hands around Sam's wrists. The rib counting was always torturous and they knew it. And Peter loved it.

It felt so good just throw his head back and cackle for a while.

Once Sam finished his rib tickling, he moved up to the teen's neck to give him a breather. "Alright, alright. Don't explode."

"He has turned a lovely shade of red, don't you think?"

Peter snorted again. "Nohoho!"

"What shade would you call that? Strawberry or vermillion?" Sam added.

"No! Shuhush!"

"But we're not done with you yet."

The next sound to leave the young teen's mouth was a squeal as a finger scratched under his toes. "NOOO! NOT THEHERE! NOHOT THERE!"

"Whatever you're doing Buck, keep it up," Falcon added.

The super soldier chuckled. "I would love to but I don't want to kill him."

Sam turned back to look at Peter's face. "Aww, guess we've tortured you enough, eh kid?"

"YEHES! PLEASE!"

Bucky finally paused his tickles. "Alright, alright. Don't want to kill him."

Peter collapsed into a pile of residual giggles. "Yohou guhuys are soho mean!"

Sam pointed to himself and Bucky. "Oh, we're mean? These two right here? The one's you never told to stop?"

The young teen turtled into his shoulders and made no comment.

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought."

Peter pulled his feet away from Bucky. Before he could stop himself, a pout overtook his face.

"Oh my word, the dramatics," Bucky teased.

Peter's blush darkened as he fixed his face.

Sam smirked. "Well, atleast we figured out where that squeak came from."

Peter scowled. "You already knehew whehere it came from!"

"Yes, and if you smart off again, we know how to find it again," Bucky added as he stretched out his back.

Peter smirked. "Suhure yohou old folks dohon't need aha break first?"

Bucky and Sam shared a look before turning back the young teen.

Peter's smirk faltered for half a second, but he was able to keep it on his face.

Bucky crossed his arms. "You have 5 seconds."

Peter had never run so fast in his life.

#lee peter 1 #ler sam wilson #ler bucky barnes #ticklefic

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bowserssupermariopartylaugh · 2 years

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suddenly wanna write a super mario party crackfic where the premise is just that bowser somehow misclicked and got luigi as a partner

Bowser's goal ofc is to get the stars and he thinks luigi will immediately throw. Is grumpy and huffy and complains a whole lot, but adamant that he can win regardless of luigi holding him back, and threatens luigi in the event that he does.

Except luigi ends up being a decent partner. He's nervous and terrified at the very start, and his rolls are shit, but eventually luigi gets his head in the game—losing his fear as he finds comfort in the familiarity and routine of the game—and though bowser has to carry for most of the minigames, something about luigi just seems to make the game lean more in their favor than bowser is used to. (Of course, he bitches about the opposing team getting this same benefit.)

Luigi also has some high ground when it comes to how he plays the game. How he moves on the board, what items he shoots for and how he uses them—his tendency to worry and overthink works in his favor here as planning ahead, something that's the complete opposite of how bowser plays. Their opposite attitudes cause friction and fighting at first, until they slowly start to see the benefit of each other's play styles.

There's the first moment bowser rolls a minus three after he'd just gotten done ragging on luigi for his poor performance in the minigame prior, only for luigi to save their asses when he rolls a seven. Ofc, bowser blames luigi for the bad roll (once he's gotten the dumbfounded blush off his face), claiming he was distracted by the memory of how awful luigi was at shaving ice.

There's also the moment luigi snags jr. as a buddy, something he needed to do before a nearby opponent did it first. Bowser isn't prepared for how naturally the two interact, like luigi sees jr. for the growing person that he is, and not just an empty headed kid, much less a /bad/ kid. Jr. is always eager to play for his dad's team, but he's never happy to tag along with a good guy. But luigi and jr. look to be having so much fun together that bowser almost feels left out. It, doesn't bother him as much as he thinks it should.

Luigi even seems to start doing better at the minigames the more he plays—/practices/—and bowser wonders how often—or, how little—luigi got picked as a teammate for that improvement to be so noticeable.

They have so much fun getting rich and high-fiving that the stars almost begin to seem secondary. Bowser even forgets to complain when the whomps predict the opposing team's victory even though he and luigi have been double-starring for three cycles straight.

The game was twenty turns and two hours long, but it still feels too soon when the toads give out the bonuses and declare bowser and luigi's victory. Luigi is the one who begins to walk away first, this clearly having been the first game he felt like he gave a worthwhile contribution to and unsure what to do with himself. Bowser is the one who stalls, lugging the man over to pour over the charts and graphs literally mapping their success.

The game was over. But there were other boards. Bowser feels it would be worth giving them a shot with his new partner.

edit: its just that this game gets the both of them to begin to truly cooperate. At first I thought it was more that luigi influences bowser to try to actually communicate and level with his teammate rather than just bossing them around. But bowser also pushes luigi to stand his ground, to stop just going along with whatever his teammate tells him, and to have confidence in his ideas. They just, /work/. 🥹

edit: though bowser knows it's more strategic for him and luigi to be on different parts of the board most of the time, there is a tangible joy he gets from landing on the same space together (the high-five and free money doesnt hurt either)

edit: there's a point where the rest of the players begin to realize that bowser and luigi play /really/ well together, and suddenly they're all against letting them be teammates (but in that 4th-graders sort of way) 💀

edit: bowser and luigi are totally those obnoxious best friends who still hold full conversations with each other across the classroom even after the teacher separates them, except in their case it's across the game board

They are also that meme of how best friends react when they pass each other's classroom in the hall (bowser makes faces; luigi does the silly dances), when they're passing by each other on the board

edit: bowser and luigi always insta-win the picture taking game bc bowser is so big he fills up the entire frame by default. so instead bowser just picks luigi up and they do stupid poses and faces while bowser occasionally smacks the other team away with a wag of his tail 💀 (bowser and luigi keep the photos to laugh at later)

edit: luigi stops using his alt dice block once jr joins his team so jr can roll too 🥺

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crackinglamb · 8 months

Text

7 snippets, 7 mutuals

Tagged by @theluckywizard, thank you! 💕

Tagging @lilbittymonster, @ir0n-angel, @mordinette, @fogsblue, @pikapeppa, @natsora and @the-desert-dancer. No pressure!

...I actually have almost the right number of WIP's to just use those, but I'll include some posted stuff too. And being super, super long, I'll put it all under a cut.

From WG, ch 63 (Solas/OFC, complete):

“Tell me something of your world, arasha.”

“My parents got divorced when I was ten. That means they permanently ended their marriage. I lived most of the time with my mom, but I spent summers at my dad's. He married again when I was thirteen. Jill, my stepmother, likes to garden.” She shifted away from him as she spoke, rinsing the soap from her back while he watched, listening intently. She took the soap back from him and turned him around, so she could return the favor.

“She planted herbs and vegetables that grew easily where we lived, peas, beans, tomatoes, that sort of thing. But she planted flowers too. I used to help her when I was younger, pulling weeds from the rose bed, trying not to get snagged on the thorns. In the evenings, we'd sit on the back deck and watch the wildlife in their yard. Sometimes there were hummingbirds that came and sipped from her bee balm. They're so tiny, no bigger than a butterfly. And they're quick and shy. You have to stay really quiet if you want to watch them. It always gave us a thrill to see them, especially late in the summer, when they were teaching their fledglings to fly.”

She cupped water in her hands to rinse away the soap and ignored the sting in her eyes. He was motionless under her touch, his head cocked, still listening. “My world is filled with technology, with busyness and noise and everyday chaos. To sit in the garden, perfectly still, to watch hummingbirds takes time and patience. A mindfulness to appreciate nature that isn't the least bit affected by the world around it.” She made a final pass of clean water over his back and then laid her palm against his skin, feeling him breathe. “I haven't seen any hummingbirds here.”

He turned in her arms and drew her close. She rested her head on his heartbeat and let him smooth back her curls, pressing the water out of them until they were springy. “We shall have to find them, you and I.”

From Junkyard Dogs, ch 14 (Hancock/F!SS, complete):

When the music was done, and settlers began drifting off one by one to seek their beds, Nora took his hand and walked with him to the quiet spot where they’d buried Nate. A simple small plinth marked it.

“There are no rituals left,” she said, grazing her fingers over the cut stone, “to mark the passing of those we’ve lost. No comfort in faith, no tokens of remembrance. In this new world, a cemetery is only a place you’ll likely find ferals. The meaning behind it has been lost.” He stood quietly by her side, wondering what she was getting at. “I didn’t want that for Nate. I don’t want that for myself.”

She faced him then, and he could see she’d been crying silently, the tears steaking down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb. She took his hand and pressed something small and warm into it. When he looked, he saw it was a ring of gold.

“Nora…”

“I want you to wear it, and I want you to understand what it symbolizes. It is the union of two people, who have agreed to commit themselves to each other.” She held up the hand bearing the ring’s twin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, any more than I knew what was going to happen that day we stepped into the Vault. So much of my life has ended, or changed beyond recognition. But this idea, at least for me, has not. I once had a dream of spending my life with the man I loved, of raising a family with him, of living out our lives together in harmony and happiness. And it was stolen from me, by Kellogg, by the Institute. Nate is gone, but the dream is not.”

From The Turning Tide (Iron Bull/OFC, WIP):

Mira ducked into her tent to find Bull propped on his elbow on her bedroll, the journal where she’d taken all her notes spread across his hands. It was all in shorthand, of course, the same one she’d used for years working for Leliana. She wasn’t sure if he could read it. She was equally unsure about whether or not she wanted him to. It would make things easier for her as far as explaining what she’d seen, but the disadvantage was that he could send back a far more detailed report to his superiors than she thought she wanted him to have access to.

“How’d he take it?” Bull asked. She would think it was absently given his tone of voice, but she knew him. Half blind or not, he never missed a thing.

“Academically. I don’t think the whole weight of it has hit him yet,” she replied, plucking the journal from his hands as she sat down in the space between his arms. He took the tacit invitation and wrapped them around her. Solid, strong and real. She leaned back against his chest and he held her up. She closed the journal and waved it at him. “Let Sister Nightingale see it first, okay? Then I’ll give you something to report back to Par Vollen.”

“Hmm. How bad was it, Chestnut?”

“In your own words, it wasn’t pretty. And you were right, it wasn’t.”

“Was it a good death?”

“No.” She let her voice turn flat. Because there was no universe in which what happened to him was a good thing. “It was only the best you could make it.”

From Destiny Is Just In the Timing (Varric Tethras/Shae Cadash, WIP):

Hawke was still tacking up when she reached him. He smiled down at her. “You don’t have to see me off.”

“Yes, I do.”

His smile turned a little melancholy, as if he was remembering that morning too. The day he left Kirkwall and she stood in the snow to watch him go. “I suppose there’s a precedent set.”

“Yes.”

He finished packing his mount and knelt down to her. They embraced as tightly as they could bundled up as they were. Fereldan he might be, but even Hawke wore a coat in these mountains. When he stood again, it was with reluctance, the first he’d shown since announcing his intention to leave them. But the decision was made, and none of them could change it now. Weisshaupt was expecting him.

“I’ll see you again, Inquisitor. This isn’t goodbye.”

“I will hold you to that, Champion.” She watched him get into the saddle and made way for the scouts who would be going with him down the trail. Before they left, however, he turned to her a final time and she called up to him. “Write to Fenris. Living, not just surviving, remember? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Fair weather and open roads, Garrett.”

“And to you, Shae.”

From Right Beside You (Eric/Sookie, WIP):

“You don’t entirely trust me, but you’re not afraid,” he said. Again, it was an observation, not a question. “My house. My things. Yours.” He cocked his head at her. “Are you mine?”

“I’m not.”

“Would you like to be?”

She opened her mouth to give him an automatic ‘no’, but the phrasing made her pause. His tone was so genuine, so earnest. He was actually asking, as if her opinion mattered to him. As if he would respect her wishes, no matter what they were. He seemed to realize that this was something more serious than an offhand inquiry, and let her go. But he didn’t move away, and neither did she. He always loomed over her, he was so tall and broad. And he was accustomed to using his size to intimidate. In all their years of acquaintance, she’d never let it bother her, and that had always seemed to entertain him. So many people feared Eric Northman. She often wondered if that was part of her appeal to him. She had never been one of them.

From Not a Bad Life? (Nine/Rose, WIP):

“Hey, come sit with me. Wearin’ out the floor isn’t going to get us out of here any faster.”

He grumbled a bit, but then he sat behind her, pulling her into the meager shelter of his body heat. They shifted the leather around so it covered her front while he was at her back. His knees rose beside hers and he leaned against the wall. They had a pair of bunks on the other side and a tiny toilet behind a screen, and that was it for the night’s accommodations. She supposed it could be worse; they hadn’t been separated.

She nestled against his hearts, listening to the double thump. As always, it soothed her. “We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than this.”

“I know. I just don’t like being forced to wait around.”

“You’re so impatient.” Superior Time Lord, indeed.

“Aye.”

She stifled a snicker at the Northern coming out so strongly. “Ya know, you could always try resonating the concrete.”

He huffed against her hair. “Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Nope. Hey, want you to know something. I wouldn’t trade any of the danger we’ve faced. You know that right?”

“Why not?”

“Because in exchange for it, I got you. You’ve shown me all these things, shown me a better way to live. To be. I wouldn’t give it up for anything. You’ve changed my life.”

From All the Earth and Air series (Lark Cadash/M!Hawke; Lark/Solas, WIP):

Hawke was surrounded by everyone who could fit into the tavern, telling tales and drinking more than a few tankards, judging by the empty ones littering the table. She pushed her way through the crowd, bringing two more with her. He made room for her next to him, sitting sideways on the bench so she was bracketed by his knees even with a polite distance between them. She made sure he ate.

Later, when the tales were all told and the bard was playing soft music to lull the patrons into peacefully finding their beds, they found themselves in a dark corner, nursing one last tankard each.

“Does it come off?” she asked, indicating the stripe of red across his nose and cheeks with a pointed finger. He swiped his thumb over it, grimacing behind his hand for a moment before looking back to her with his typical insouciant expression.

“Are you trying to get under my armor, Lark?” he asked with a sloppy sideways grin and another gulp of his ale.

She smiled back, soft and small, like a private joke. “Bare skin is honest. I have enough masquerading going on around me.”

“And all of them either too in awe of the title or too terrified of your mark to let it fall?”

“Yes.”

He made an effort to sit up straighter, to even out the crookedness of his commiserating look. “I'd ask if you wanted to go to your place or mine, but...well...” He gestured around at the tavern, and the fortress at large. “It seems to all be yours, doesn't it?”

“Come with me,” she said, standing up with barely a wobble and offering her hand to him.

From Some Kind of Resolution, ch 1 (FemShep/Nihlus Kryik, complete):

“Isn't henna a type of ink?”

“Yes, it is. I'm surprised a turian would know that, no offense.”

He gestured at his face. “Call it something that stands out culturally, as a form of marking.”

She nodded, thinking about the N7 tattoo on her upper arm. “Okay, I get it. In my case, it's just short for Jehanne.”

He was giving her a thorough look now. “Jehanne. Would that be Jehanne Shepard?” he asked after a moment.

This is it, she thought. Once they recognize my name, it's all over.

“Yes,” she answered, wary.

“I thought you looked familiar. Commander,” he inclined his head briefly. “You showed remarkable courage and skill at the Blitz. It made you something of a celebrity, didn't it?”

She made a face, equal parts disparagement and accepting. “Yeah.”

“It can be hard to live with.”

“Oh, would you know about that?”

“Some. Turians don't place the same sort of entertainment value on our heroes. Doing one's duty should be enough of a reward. You humans love to gossip, though, and put people on pedestals, if that's the right expression.”

“Ah, yes. Meritocracy, right? And yeah, that's the right expression.”

“You're well informed on the Hierarchy.”

“Alliance,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder. “I've studied your race, its history and whatnot. Well, really, we've gotten a crash course on all the races. It's a bit mind boggling, I'll admit. But...fascinating.”

“Hmm, fascinating,” he echoed her, and his voice had distinctly dropped from polite to interested. She wondered what it would be like...

“You wanna stay here and exchange cultural differences or you wanna get out here and experience some?” she asked boldly. His gaze turned calculating, but he smiled just the same. Without another word he signaled for the check.

#tagged #7 snippets; 7 mutuals #long post #dragon age #fallout 4 #southern vampire mysteries #dr. who #mass effect

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softguarnere · 10 months

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 35: Alii

Summary: And just as unexpectedly as Shifty has disappeared, someone from her past reappears. A/N: FINALLY - the Bobby faceclaim reveal! Whelp, I'm updating late - again 🫠 We've unexpectedly had some family move in, so trust me when I say that it's been a whole ordeal. Also, I may or may not be procrastinating writing these last few chapters, because I'm going to be so sad when this fic ends 💔 However - I'm always up for writing Zenie/Shifty and the gang, so even when this fic ends, we will see them again! The chapter title is the Cherokee word for "friendship" Warnings: none Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @dcyllom @ithinkabouttzu @mads-weasley @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

North Carolina, 1945

For people who like to talk so much, Zenie’s friends fall into complete radio silence the second that she returns home.

She doesn’t expect letters to be waiting for her when she arrives. That would be ridiculous. She’s not expecting anything for the time being. But that night before going to bed, she dashes off letters to her friends to let them know that she’s made it home safely.

The next morning is eventful. Mama had her wish the night before; all her children were under the same roof again, safe and sound. And the one night seems to be all they will get – all they can take.

Matthew leaves the next morning for Wilmington. He, Marilyn, and Zenie say their goodbyes in the driveway by his truck, the first slivers of early morning sunlight giving their parting a golden hue.

“I’ll write when I get home,” Matthew tells them. He fixes them with a look that’s supposed to be stern, but he’s too good humored for it to be serious. “And I expect you two to do the same.” Then he hugs them, squeezes them tight, presses a kiss to Mama’s cheek, and is off – to his new, happy life as a husband and a father in the place that he should have grown up in to begin with.

When he’s gone, the women return to the house. No one has seen their father yet, but he has a habit of sleeping most of the day, anyway. Danny hasn’t shown himself yet, but at least they can hear him moving around. Zenie doesn’t understand why he and Marilyn didn’t just spend the night with his family on the farm next door. She would have stayed somewhere else if she could.

“I need to go visit Bobby,” Zenie says. She’ll get herself out of this house one way or another.

Marilyn purses her lips. “Well you can’t go empty handed.”

All throughout the war, Malarkey talked about snagging a lugger to take home to his brother. Though nothing of that caliber, Zenie does have a few treasures from her time abroad stashed away. Probably nothing that Bobby would like, though.

Marilyn tosses Zenie a look over her shoulder as she steps into the kitchen. “Danny once mentioned that Bobby is fond of strawberry pies.”

The implication seems to be that Zenie should bake one for him. It’s been three years since Zenie has seen her sister, but her kitchen mishaps have been so legendary that she would be good and truly shocked if her sister had managed to forget them.

“Are you trying to get me to give him a gift, or to poison him?”

Her sister smiles. “I’ll help you.”

Under her sister’s careful guidance, a soft and supple dough takes shape. Not a bit of it sticks to the rolling pin, or the counter, which seems like a miracle to Zenie. Marilyn even uses scraps of extra dough to make a braided rope to decorate the edges of the crust.

Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure that they’re alone, Zenie lowers her voice as she watches Marilyn begin creating the pie’s filling. “My husband likes pie.”

Marilyn’s eyebrows raise, but her attention doesn’t waver from the task at hand. “Does he?”

Zenie nods. “I won’t be able to make him any, though. So he’ll do the cooking, and I’ll do the cleaning.”

The wooden spoon makes a soft scraping sound against the side of the bowl as Marilyn begins stirring sugar into the berry slices. “You have a system all worked out.”

We have a system all worked out, Shifty had said before they left Europe – back when he was assuring her that everything would be okay. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Marilyn says. “now you know how to make him a strawberry pie.”

A frown tugs at the corners of Zenie’s mouth without her permission. “It probably won’t be as good as yours.”

For a split second, it looks as if Marilyn freezes, trying to absorb the hidden meaning in her little sister’s somber tone. Does she know that she’s perfect, and that Zenie has never measured up to her in comparison?

She shrugs. “He’ll like it better, though, because you’re the one who made it for him.” Zenie drops her elbows to the counter, cradles her chin in her hands as she watches her sister work. Before she can say anything, Marilyn continues in a quiet voice, “I would teach you how to make others, but Danny and I are leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? To go where?”

Marilyn looks equal parts wistful and bashful when she admits, “Florida.”

“Florida?!”

“The Dills have some family down there. An uncle that was a doctor is leaving his practice and has offered to let Danny take over.”

Zenie isn’t quite sure what to say. She’s happy that her sister and brother-in-law will be going somewhere warm and where they can make a life for themselves, but she’s also struck by the realization that, not for the first time, she’s going to be stranded in this house again.

“Congratulations,” she finally forces herself to say. “That sounds exciting.”

A soft smile spreads across her sister’s lips. “I think it will be. And you can always come visit if it gets too cold in – “ She pauses, raises an eyebrow. “Where does your husband live again?”

“Virginia.”

“If it gets too cold up there, you’re welcome to visit us in Florida,” Marilyn offers. Then, she does something unexpected: she asks Zenie a question and seems genuinely curious as to the answer. “What’s your husband’s name? What’s he like?”

Until the pie is done being cooked, the sisters have the most pleasant and honest conversation that Zenie can ever remember them having. About their childhoods, about the war. And for once, Zenie doesn’t find herself comparing her own experiences, her own words, or even herself, to Marilyn.

The perfect pie finishes cooking all too soon. Zenie hardly waits for it to cool before she whisks it up and transports it over to the Dills’ house, balancing the warm plate on her right hand while knocking on the door with her left.

Shocked eyes greet her, but they’re quickly replaced with the biggest smile Zenie has ever seen. In one swift motion, Bobby manages to set the pie plate aside and wrap his arms around Zenie, picking her up as they embrace.

“You’re back!” He exclaims. He’s taller than he was when she left. From the strength in his hug and in his lifting her, he’s grown stronger, too.

“I am,” Zenie replies. “Mostly in one piece.”

Bobby is still smiling, but his eyes are full of concern. “I was getting worried. Your letters got few and far between, and then the war was just over.”

Zenie winces, explanations already on the tip of her tongue. There’s no good way to articulate the fact that she just started to get overwhelmed – especially after discovering the camp. “Sorry.”

But Bobby is still smiling. He puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezes. “Don’t be.” He chuckles. “I mean, you brought me a pie. How could I be mad?”

Of course, Bobby knows most of the story from the letters that she sent him, but he doesn’t know the secrets that she wasn’t able to slip into her messages. Once he spies the pie in her hands, he grabs two forks and whisks her off to the field that separates their houses, staying close to the shade of the tree line, and closer to his family’s land than hers, just in case. They settle in and she tells all.

“I can’t believe it,” he says when she’s done telling him her trials and tribulations. He shakes his head, his voice soft. “You had all the fun.”

With one line, he confirms what she suspected the last time that she saw him, all those years ago. This was about more than helping her escape from the life that she hated – this was a way for him to be part of something big, too, even if it had to be done through someone else. Looking inward, Zenie realizes that she isn’t even upset about it. Hell, she would have done the same thing.

“What about you?” She nudges his shoulder with hers, trying to keep the mood light. “Been up to anything exciting? Any plans now that the war is over?”

A frown pulls at the edges of Bobby’s lips. He scratches the back of his neck. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? You and my momma both.” He leans his head back against the tree they’re perched under, lets out a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know yet. My parents want me to go to college. My excuse for not going has been the war, since I would feel guilty if I was writing papers in a warm, safe dorm room while every other boy my age was fighting for his life in foxholes. But now it’s over in Europe . . .”

“They’re still fighting in the Pacific.”

He nods. “My folks don’t seem to think it’ll last long, though. I applied, just to get them off my back.”

“And?”

“I got in.” The simple answer lacks all the joy that usually accompanies such news. In fact, it’s grim, and sounds more like a death sentence than the segue into the next chapter of a young man’s life. “I’ve managed to convince them that I shouldn’t start until the spring, though, so you’re stuck with me a little longer.” He offers her a tight smile.

“Don’t worry,” Zenie assures him. “You’re also stuck with me, for a time.”

He uses his fork to procure himself a bite of pie from the plate in his hands. “I won’t be in bad company, then.”

For a man who has spent so many years in the back parlor rotting away in his rocking chair and doing nothing but complain and listen to the radio, Zenie’s father very suddenly develops a keen interest in the window by the front door. No one says anything, though Zenie assumes that it’s so he can make sure she doesn’t slip away again. Apparently he’s forgotten about the backdoor – the door which, ironically enough, she returned through – but no one says anything about that. Either way, it’s obvious that he is sticking to his word about Zenie not leaving.

For lack of anything else to do, she begins accompanying her mother to work. It’s mostly to spend time with her. Although she would be remiss if she didn’t admit that part of her does it just to flaunt the fact that she can and will go wherever she likes.

The two women rise early every morning. They eat a warm breakfast together at the kitchen table before heading out. In the mornings the world is peaceful and awash in a soft glow as they embark on their walk, baskets bouncing against their hips as they walk along. When they cross though town, Zenie deposits letters to her friends at the post office. Then they stop at houses, picking up peoples’ dirty laundry and delivering their clean clothes. At home, they work in the sunlit backyard, scrubbing clothes and enjoying each other’s company.

It starts slowly, like a sprinkling of water before a spring rain. Zenie had allowed her mind to wander as she worked and ended up giggling at the memory of something Bill had once said. When Mama gave her a questioning glance, she couldn’t help but tell her the story. Which gave way to another one, and another, and another, until she was telling her mother everything about her time at war.

Mama, for her part, asks questions about Shifty, smiling the whole time Zenie talks about him. “You look so happy,” she says.

“What?”

“When you talk about him,” her mother clarifies. “If you look that happy just talking about him, I can’t wait to see what you’re like when he’s actually here.” Through the soapy water of the wash bin, she reaches over and takes Zenie’s hand in her own, offering her a smile unlike one that Zenie has ever seen on her before. “I’m happy for you. I’m glad that you found someone to love so much, who makes you happy like this.”

Zenie has questions, too, and her mother has a story of her own.

“The morning I left,” Zenie begins one day, quietly. “When I turned back and saw you, I didn’t know where you thought I was going. And then I got your letter. On D-Day – the big jump. How did you know?”

There is only silence. For a moment, Zenie thinks about repeating herself, unsure if her mother heard her. But after finishing the skirt she’s washing, her mother lets out a sigh through her nose.

“I didn’t know where you were going. I just knew you were gone. And then one Sunday at church, the pastor asked for prayer requests. Bobby asked people to pray for a friend he had who was a paratrooper that had just been shipped to Europe. He doesn’t have many friends. I don’t mean that in a mean way,” she adds when she sees Zenie’s reaction to her last observation. “Besides, no one around here has a son in the Airborne. I had a feeling he knew where you had gone, so I slipped him the letter one day and asked him to make sure that it got to you. When I got a reply, well, I knew I was right.”

They lapse into silence again.

“I’m sorry,” Zenie apologizes. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Or to leave you with him.”

Momma shakes her head. “You did what you had to do.”

The silence is not so loud this time. Her words give Zenie something to think about. Because she did do what she thought that she had to do. But as she watches her mother work, she wonders if it was the right thing to do.

Much like her time back in Toccoa, the days bleed into each other in their similarity. The change of weather and the turning of the leaves marks the passage of time. Not the things that Zenie would like, such as letters from her friends, or Shifty’s glorious appearance. Not even the announcement that the war has ended in early September fixes things.

Every day when she returns home, she inspects that day’s post to find nothing for her, no matter how many letters she sends to her friends. First, her heart grows heavy. Then it grows hard. She’s been down this road before. Last time it was when Beckie moved away to the city, promising to write, and then never doing so. Funny – she wouldn’t have picked any of her fellow paratroopers as the type of people who would leave her hanging like this. Especially not Bill.

And not Shifty, who does not miraculously appear, no matter how often Zenie squints out at the top of the driveway in the distance and wills him to do so. He said he wanted to marry you, Zenie has to remind herself each and every day that passes with no word from her husband. He wouldn’t just abandon you.

He wouldn’t. She knows that. But it makes her wonder what has happened that could have made him disappear like this.

And just as unexpectedly as Shifty has disappeared, someone from her past reappears.

“Well Zena B, as I live and breathe!” The voice is so sudden, so unexpected, that Zenie drops the clothespins in her hand as she turns to face it. She’s alone in the yard, hanging up the wash while Mama makes dinner. As soon as her eyes land on Beckie – of all people – striding towards her, she’s filled with the childlike urge to run for it, though she’s not entirely sure where she would go. And she doesn’t have time to decide, because Beckie is upon her at once, wrapping her slender arms around Zenie in a hug and allowing herself a squeal of delight, as if she’s actually happy to see the friend that she stopped writing to with no explanation. When Beckie pulls back, she holds Zenie at arm’s length, inspecting her. “Your hair!”

It's been growing back quickly. Between not having Liebgott cut her hair near the end of the war and all these months spent at home, it now barely brushes the tops of her shoulders, and she hasn’t been attempting to style it like she once did. It’s not exactly like she’s been expecting anyone to see her, since her only forays into the public have been to help Mama on her rounds to collect laundry. She likes the way it looks, actually. But Beckie’s exclamation insinuates that it’s something that she should be ashamed of.

She shrugs. “I cut it.”

“Why?” Beckie lets out a gasp, her expressions exaggerated when she asks, “When you ran away?”

“How did you know about that?”

“My parents told me. I was so sad to hear that you had disappeared without a trace. But now you’re back!” She raises her eyebrows, leaning forward slightly, like she’s inviting Zenie to spill all the gory and glorious details of her adventures.

There was a time when Zenie would have divulged anything if she thought that it would make her friend happy. Except, Beckie isn’t a friend, is she? Because none of the friends that Zenie made in the army were anything like her. Not Bill, not Babe. Not Gene, who protected her secret to the last and never asked Zenie for any personal information until she offered it herself, freely. They didn’t expect things the way that Beckie does – and currently is.

Zenie shrugs again and says like an echo, “Now I’m back.”

In one swift motion, Beckie hooks her arms through Zenie’s and starts towards the house, abandoning Zenie’s laundry basket under the line, forgotten. They’re halfway there when Zenie realizes that her old friend means to invite herself in. And in the few seconds that they’ve been walking, Beckie has been talking, launching into the story of her life, seemingly picking up from where she last saw Zenie that day at the diner.

She walks a few steps before she registers that Zenie has stopped walking. Their hooked arms hold her in place, forcing her to look over at Zenie. “Aren’t we going inside?”

“No,” Zenie finds herself saying.

Beckie lets out a small laugh, just like she always did in school whenever she found something that Zenie said or did to be strange and took amusement in it. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” Zenie replies. Hearing the words aloud, she realizes that they’re true. She doesn’t want Beckie here. She doesn’t want to hear about how well she’s done in her life and her career. Zenie has done pretty well, too. But with the sadness that lurks in her heart and mind while she waits for Shifty and to hear from her friends, she knows that if she hears Beckie brag, she will fall back into the trap of comparing herself to the model and it will make her miserable to feel like she still doesn’t measure up after all this time.

“We can just talk out here,” Beckie improvises. She frowns when Zenie shakes her head and lets out a sigh. “Zena, you sure do make it hard for a friend to catch up with you.”

“That’s not what you want to do.”

Beckie blinks. “Excuse me?”

“This – “ Zenie gestures vaguely, indicating all the words that Beckie had managed to pack into their short walk. “ – isn’t catching up, Beckie. You just want to brag.”

“Well, I never! Brag?! I’m just telling you about what you’ve missed since you’ve been gone.”

The last time that Zenie saw Beckie had been back at the diner, shortly before she had made her decision to run away. Beckie had bragged the entire time then, too. She probably thought she was just catching Zenie up on all the terribly interesting and fabulous things that had been happening in her life since she had moved to New York. Talking a mile a minute and never bothering to actually listen to Zenie’s responses – when she had actually bothered to let Zenie attempt to speak, that is. It had been enough that time to make Zenie realize that her life could not go on as it was. And now it’s making her realize that she’s back at square one.

She needs to get out of here – again. Even if it’s just getting away from Beckie by escaping into the house.

“You never wrote to me,” Zenie says. “after you moved away.”

Beckie scoffs, then lets out a little laugh at this ridiculous joke. “That’s why you’re upset? Zena, that’s so – so childish.”

Maybe it is. But it’s not just about those letters that she never received. It’s about Beckie kissing the boy she knew Zenie had a crush on at that Christmas party in high school. And about how she looks down on Zenie, talking over her and assuming that everything about her own life is more interesting and more important. She’s always gotten her way. Zenie had thought that after Nixon had announced her marriage in one of his current events speeches. That had embittered her, made her jealous . . .

And then she had seen Shifty. Had seen how beautiful he looked in the sunlight that day. She had realized then that she had gotten something that she wanted, too. Jealousy had melted off her, leaving her fresh and free, like new blooms in a flowerbed after a spring rain.

It doesn’t always have to be this way. There is a life out there waiting for her that is so unlike this one. She knows, because she’s been living it for the past three years. And now, her future with Shifty is so close that all she has to do is reach out and take it.

“Beckie,” Zenie starts again, only to stop herself. She doesn’t want to explain herself, and she won’t. She wrenches her arm away from Beckie and takes a step toward her house and says the thing she should have said back when they were just kids, “I think it’s best that you don’t come over anymore.”

They stare at each other for a moment, each waiting to see what the other will do. When no one speaks, Zenie finally turns and starts towards the house again.

“Fine,” Beckie calls from behind her. “You’ve changed, anyway.” From behind her, Zenie can hear Beckie start to walk away, those stomping footsteps she used to use when upset still the same after all these years. “And it’s Rebecca, by the way!”

Zenie shrugs, even though she’s not sure if Beckie can see her or not. “Okay. And my name is Zenie. Only one person gets to call me Zena.” She does turn now, one last time, just to make sure Beckie’s jaw drops when she adds, “And that’s my husband.”

#band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #oc zenie mcglamery #like a girl (like a man)#my writing

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skyfallslayer · 2 years

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The Devils Are Caught In Red Strings || Chapter 4: In The Blood

-Matt Murdock x Parker!OFC-

Series Masterlist

AO3 Link

♡Series Summary: Childhood friendships are a sacred thing... But so are secrets. This story revolves around a girl named Anya Hughes, an attorney by day and a vigilante by night. Join her into the struggles she’ll face, like her path coming back to haunt her, then facing a man who holds all the power, all while she develops a crush on her close friend. How long can she take all this until she falls apart? ♡

♡Chapter Summary: Two vicious Russian brothers working for Fisk, strike back in a way that makes Matt go feral while Anya deals with some unfortunate side effects. Meanwhile, Fisk moves to further consolidate his power in the criminal underworld. ♡

♡Date: 3/17/13 ♡

♡Rating: Explicit ♡

♡Word Count: 12,741♡

♡Warning: Spoilers for the show; Canon Typical Violence; Blood and Injury; Strong Use of Language; Lying; Poorly Executed Fighting Scenes; Vomiting; Torture Session(s); Brief Decapitation Scene (Proceed with caution); Use of Pet Names; (Unknowingly) Frenemies to Lovers; Talks of Child Abuse; Mini Dissociation Episode; Talks of Dying/Being Killed; Foggy Being A Wingman; Matt and Foggy Are Great Friends; Karen's Throwing Hands; Claire Needs A Vacation (Yet Again); Anya Could Use One As Well; Poorly Translated Spanish/Russian Via Google (Let me know if I missed anything). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! ♡

♡A/N: Here we go. Here's where shit starts hitting the fan. It's time for Fisk to show his true colors, Matt going from total softy to the devil in seconds, Foggy being the best boi, Karen becoming a total badass, and Anya dealing with the effects of her father's torment. Hope ya'll are ready. Enjoy! ♡

Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Her whole world started to spin. The nausea clinged onto her like a bad habit. Her vocal chords were melting, she couldn’t even scream anything silent. She laid on her floor in agony, bad childhood memories flushed inside, reminding her why she was in this state to begin with.

// She’s flawed, honey. She can’t even use her abilities without getting sick. Such a disappointment. //

Her head was in the sand. Her eardrums are drowning in the water. Her stomach turned in a way she thought she was going to vomit again, but nothing would come up.

I gotta… Her fingertips twitched against the lament, desperate to move.

I gotta move. I need to–

Someone was knocking on her door. Loudly, but at a calming pace. This person wasn’t aware of what was going on with her; This person wasn't alarmed.

"Anya? You there?" A voice called out, making her quietly groan. She couldn't recognize who it was. She wanted to curl into a little ball.

"Hey, you there? You haven't been answering our calls. Matt and I are worried."

Matt and I? So, it's not Matt at the door. So that narrows it down to–

"Karen kind of forced me to come check up on you because of it."

Foggy. It's Foggy. She mentally curses, and forces herself to stand.

Shit. This is bad. He can't see me–

"So, are you home or– Jesus. Maybe you're out running around. Why didn't I think of that?"

She stumbles into the bathroom, kicking off her boots and taking off her clothes. She can't let him see her wearing these clothes or she's fucked. With trembling hands she tries snagging her bathrobe off its hook, only for her super strength to take over and pull it down completely causing a loud crash.

"Anya? Was that a crash? Are you okay? Anya?!"

She groans and slips it on, tying a knot before heading down the hallway. She could hear his frantic knocking again and his concerned shouting, and she only wishes she could pick up the pace without the worries of toppling over.

"Anya! I got a spare key, don't make me–" Foggy stops mid sentence as the apartment door swings open. He watches as his best friend clings to the door, looking like she was put through a wringer. "Jesus… you look…"

"Like shit?" Anya finishes, holding down the nausea.

"I couldn't say it better myself." He frowns worriedly, and silently asks If he could come in, which was granted. "What happened? What got you so sick?"

"You know that Mexican food place a block from here?" She asks, forming a lie on the fly as she closes the door.

"The one I suggested we should try?"

"Yeah. That one."

"Oh." He frowns. "So… No Bueno?"

"Si, Si, Señor."

"Awe. If I had known I would have brought you some soup."

She hums, cracking a smile. "I'd appreciate the kindness, Fog. I think I should be okay by the end of the day."

“If you say so.” He says, setting his work bag down for a second on the kitchen counter. That made her open her eyes more, and realize he was wearing a suit and tie.

She forces herself to look at the microwave clock and groans into her hands. “And… I’m seven hours late to work.” She mutters, embarrassed. “No wonder you came to check on me.”

He gives her a look of amusement and chuckles. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“Honestly, Foggy, I thought it was still night.”

And I really did think it was last night. It was yet another mission. This time she wanted to find out who this Wilson Fisk guy is that she and No-Eyes found out about after their client killed himself. But to her surprise, these people came in like a stampede and she had to use way more energy than she usually does. She could barely remember even getting home let alone falling on the floor, silently begging for the pain to stop as she blacked in and out of consciousness.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you guys worried.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay, Ann, really. If I had known you were this sick I would have come sooner.”

“No, I…” Anya sighs. “I should have been more aware of the time.” She crosses her arms, mad at herself. “So… anything happened at work?”

“Nope.” Foggy said, popping the ‘p’. “We closed early because of it. So, technically, you really didn’t miss anything.”

“But still, it’s my business too. I need to be there.” She replies, sighing again.

“Again, you didn't miss anything.” He said, reassuringly. “But, I think we’ll get something tomorrow. I got a gut feeling.”

That got her smile and chuckle. “Foggy, it’s Sunday. We’re closed Sundays.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She holds back another laugh. “But, you know, if you have a gut feeling…”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, my–” He holds his tongue. “You’re so…” She breaks out another laugh at him struggling to find the right word. “You know, I want to strangle you sometimes.”

“Oh, really?” Anya raises an eyebrow. “Awe, Mr. Nelson. Is this how you treat all the women you know?”

“Only the ones I truly care about, Miss Hughes.” Foggy points out with a gleam in his eye. “You seemed to be feeling better already, but I’ll give you Sunday off so you can rest, okay?”

“Will do, Boss.” She says, with a weak salute. “Now–” She lightly slaps him in the arm. “Go before I puke again.”

“Probably a good call.” He nods as he grabs his bag, sliding the straps on. “But, hey, if you’re not feeling better by tomorrow, one of us is dragging your ass to the doctor’s. Okay?”

“Okay.” Anya said, walking with him to the door. “So what’s on the agenda tonight? You going bar hopping for a wife again?”

He snorts. “Eh, maybe not tonight. I could use a break from that eel.”

She opens the door, letting him step out. “You know, Nelson, Landman & Zack’s Goldilocks is still single.” She said, with a mischievous smirk.

He gapes like a fish at her, pointing again. “You’re so mean.”

“What? You don’t want to be called ‘Foggy-Bear’ again?”

He groans loudly and walks down the hallway. “I absolutely do not want to be called that again.”

“Sure you don’t.” Her smile softens, knowing damn well he’s still hung up on his old girlfriend. “Hey, Foggy? Can you text the others to let them know I’m okay?”

“Already on it. But I don’t know if they’ll even answer.”

She furrowed her brows in a puzzle, leaning against the doorframe. “What do you mean?”

“Good question.” He spins on his heels, walking backwards while replying, “They’re both acting weirder than normal.”

He turns back around, turning a corner to leave towards the elevator. Anya purses her lips, closing her door, wondering what was up with Matt and Karen.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town. The door belonging to an occupied warehouse slammed open, and one of the Russian Brothers, Anatoly, bursts through and descends down the metal stairs to the outside world.

Anatoly tries to hide the panic in his voice as he talks on the phone. “Он здесь!... Как вы думаете, кто?” (*He’s here!... Who do you think?).

He looks behind himself, worriedly. “Нет, я не знаю, как он нас нашел… де мой брат?... Слушай, заткнись!” (*No, I don’t know how he found us… Where’s my brother?... Listen, shut up!).

He rounds the taxi parked outside. “Замолчи! Мне все равно, что он тебе сказал... позвони ему!” (*Shut up! I don’t care what he told you… get him on the phone!)

Anatoly hangs up and gets in the driver seat. Just as he started the car, one of his men fell from above and onto the hood. Broken glass and blood doused the windshield. Not even phased, he backs the taxi up at a high speed, the body rolling off into the road.

From the second story window, Matt dressed in usual attire listened as he drove off, silently cussing that he let the head Russian get away.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“You’ve been busy.” Claire said, threading the needle through his bloody skin.

“Yeah…” Matt replies with a soft groan.

“Sorry.” She frowns apologetically. “So, how’s that working out for you?”

He grins. “You should see the other guys.”

“I have.” She points out with a nod. “The one you threw off the roof, at my place? He’s in a coma. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, I heard.”

She pauses to look up at him. “How do you feel about that?”

There was a slight hesitation, but didn’t look too remorseful as he replied, “I’ll live.”

Claire finishes up, sitting up straight in her stool. She opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of something getting knocked over caught her attention.

“Hey!” She hisses at the cat. “Get off the counter!” She snaps, banging on the side table to try to scare it off.

Matt found that funny and chuckled. “Wow, you don’t like cats.”

“I’m allergic.” Claire explains. “I was supposed to be coming in, feeding this guy twice a day while my friend was out of town, not hiding out here using up all my sick days.”

“Just a while longer. Just till we know the Russians aren’t looking for you.” She pauses again, giving him a look that he picked up. “What?”

“You said, ‘We’.”

He nods slowly. “Well… this… ‘May’ person is on the lookout too.”

“Huh.” Claire said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you two weren’t on good terms?”

““Look–”” She begins, stepping closer. ““I’m not saying we should become partners, but if we’re going to figure out what’s going on here, we should not exactly push each other away. If we come across each other, we just deal with it.””

““And… if we do, we compare notes if we find something?”” He asked, carefully.

She nods once more. ““If you're okay with it, so am I.””

The memory faded away, the one that still seemed fresh each day since that night. “We came to an agreement. We promise to respect each other's spaces, but also not push each other away either.”

Claire looks at him surprised. “Wow. That’s… That’s interesting. Shocking, really.”

“Tell me about it.” He exhales heavily. “Although, Peaches annoys me, she’s not too bad out in the field.”

“Peaches?”

“Nickname. She smells like them.”

“Well, I don’t remember smelling that. But you’re the one with the super nose.” She replies, before digging around in her medical bag. “Since you two are communicating better, you two should consider getting some kind of body armor. Especially you, you look like you’ve been put through the grinder.”

“It would slow me down too much.”

“So will a bullet.” She says, cleaning the excess blood before putting a gauze over it.

His shit eating grin returns. “You worried about me?” He asked, holding the gauze in place as she grabbed the tape.

“What if I were?”

“I would tell you I’m a big boy, and not to be.”

She copies an expression similar to his. “Right. That’s why you keep ending up here.”

“Well… maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

Claire hums, not fully convinced. “Sure I’m your gal? You haven’t exactly given me a special nickname yet.”

He tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“So what happens the night you come by and I’m already talking to someone else?” She asked, ignoring his question.

“Yeah…” Matt clears his throat, hearing that she was done taping his arm. “It crossed my mind.” He unzips his pants pocket holding out a burner phone for her to take. “Here.”

“Um…” She takes her glove off, taking it. “You shouldn’t have.”

He chuckles. “I didn’t. The burner’s for me. Memorize the number, put yours in. Next time I need to come by, I’ll call.”

“By ‘Come by’–” She gets up walking around the sofa. “Do you mean stumble in, bleeding half to death?”

Matt catches his shirt she threw at him without looking, and subtly shrugs. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed. You really gotta ease up.” Claire said, cleaning up the mess.

“No–” He groans quietly as he slides his shirt on. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“I can take care of myself, Mike. You know–”

“It’s not just about you. It’s a little more complicated than that.” He said, putting his mask on as she types her number into the burner. “You ever heard the name Wilson Fisk?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Who’s that?”

He frowns as he starts putting his gloves on. “Just a name somebody gave me. But there’s no public record. Nothing on the internet. Not one mention of Fisk.”

“Maybe whoever gave you his name was lying.”

“I would have known if he was.”

“How?” She asked, handing the phone over.

“Heartbeat.” He said, standing up.

“Right, of course. Heartbeat, So, what, you’re just gonna go out there punching whoever you can, hoping to find somebody who knows this Fisk guy?”

“Well, apply enough pressure, someone will break.” He pulls the mask down to cover his eyes, then opens up her window to the fire escape. “Sooner or later.”

He slips through and jumps over the railing, leaving behind a smiling Claire as she shakes her head.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In a parking garage somewhere in the city, a small group of Russians were peeling off the names on the side of Taxicabs and replacing them with their own. Amongst this mess, the ever so nicely dressed James Wesley arrives at the scene, catching the leaders’ eyes as they strut over to him.

“Oof. Those look like they hurt.” Wesley says, mockingly to Anatoly’s busted up face.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know how much your people delight in extolling the amount of pain they can endure, but maybe next time you could try ducking?” He continues, ignoring how Anatoly’s face hardened and his brother stepped close to him. “Leland’s finalized the paperwork–”

Wesley hands Vladimir the paperwork, his cold eyes looking over it carefully.

“Prohaszka’s holdings in Kitchen Cab have been acquired and transferred via third party to Veles Taxi. Your distribution infrastructure just doubled.”

“Tell your employer we are grateful.” Anatoly said, biting his hot tongue by saying that.

Wesley notices this but ignores it. “Don’t think he really cares at the moment. You were light again this week.”

Vladimir hands the paperwork over to his brother. “There was a complication.” He replies, truthfully.

“One you assured us you were addressing.”

“Do you know what he was asking?” Vladimir asks, stepping closer. “This fool who laid hands on my brother?”

Wesley shakes his head. “Not my concern.”

“It should be.” Anatoly says, sternly. “He was asking about your employer, by name. And then the night before yesterday, that masked woman was also snooping around for your employer’s name.”

It didn’t take a genius to see the small shock on Wesley's face before he covered it up. Calmly he says, “All the more reason to settle this. You sneeze, we catch a cold. Madame Gao and Mr. Nobu have expressed their disappointment.”

“We have not heard of this.” Vladimir says, suspicious.

“Hmm.” Wesley shrugs. “That’s because we’ve been talking behind your back, about how the Russians can’t seem to handle one man and one woman running around in masks.” Another shrug. “I mean, if he had an iron suit or a magic hammer, maybe that would explain why you keep getting your asses handed to you–”

“We told you what that woman can do.”

Wesley tilts his head. “Then, find a solution.”

“You wouldn’t be telling me this if you saw this woman who has the strength of men twice her size, and can paralyzed someone with just a touch.” Vladimir hisses through his teeth before getting fed up. “We’re done here.”

The brothers turn around, and start walking back to what they were doing beforehand as Wesley processes what he just said.

“She can paralyze?” He asks, but gets no response. He sighs. “Those two have weakened your operations.”

Vladimir stops to return a glare. “You think us weak?”

“This isn’t personal, Vladimir. It’s business. Distribution of Madame Gao’s product has been affected, which in turn is causing delays in other ventures. This is not acceptable. Fortunately, for all parties, my employer has agreed to help return you to solid footing.”

“How?” Anatoly asked, curious.

“By Aiding you in certain duties deemed vital to the continuation of service–”

Vladimir snickers. “He wants to take over.” He explains, trying to walk away again; But Wesley is like a dog with a bone.

“We value the services you provide, but clearly–” Wesley laughs lightly. “You need help providing them. We’ll all profit nicely under the new structure.”

“How nicely?” Anatoly asked, intrigued. This causes his brother to speak something snappy in Russian to him.

Vladimir then sighs, saying, “Tell Mr. Fisk–”

“We don’t say his name.” Wesley reminds, watching the Russian clench his jaw and take a threatening step forward.

“Tell… Mr. Fisk… that if he wants two pounds of flesh… he can come here and carve it himself.”

Wesley looks down, exhaling to hold his underlying anger in. “This is an offer, not an order.” He said, calmly. “The choice of how we proceed is yours. Talk it over with your brother. We’ll be in touch.”

Wesley walks away with some of his bodyguards, leaving the brothers to figure out what to do.

“Маленькая сучка. Обратитесь к Петру.” Vladimir says, bitterly (*Prissy little bitch. Reach out to Piotr).

“Почему?” Anatoly asked (*Why?).

“Почему вы думаете?” (*Why do you think?).

“Если работодатель Уэсли узнает–” (*If Wesley’s employer finds out–).

“Его «работодатель»?” Vladimir asked, fed up by that overused term (*His ‘Employer’?). “Вы знаете, почему Фиск не хочет, чтобы кто-нибудь произносил его имя? Хм? Потому что это выдаст, что он всего лишь мужчина.” (*Do you want to know why Fisk… doesn’t want anyone saying his name? Hmm? Because it would betray that he’s just a man.)

“Вот парень и девушка в масках… и посмотрите, что они с нами сделали.” Anatoly explains, slightly shaken (*So’s the guy and girl in masks… and look what they’ve done to us.)

Vladimir nods in agreement. “Ага.” He says, pondering a moment (*Yeah). “Что мы знаем о них?” (*What do you know about them?)

“Ничего.” Anatoly says with a sigh (*Nothing). “Семен, может быть, и нашел что-то... но спит как убитый.” (*Semyon might have found something… but he sleeps like the dead.)

“Иисус воскрес на третий день... Семен достаточно проспал.” (*Jesus rose the third day… Semyon has slept long enough.)

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The morning followed, and Karen sat across the Bulletin Reporter, Ben Urich, in a small diner across town.

“Did you look at it?” She asked, nervousness on the edge of her words.

“Yeah, I looked at it.” He replies, readjusting himself in the booth.

“And?”

“And… It's a story I’ve heard before. Company gets caught up in a scandal, files for bankruptcy, then quietly restructures under a new name.”

“They killed Daniel Fisher. They tried to kill me.” Karen reminds, putting emphasis on those major words. Was he seriously not getting it?

“I’m still a little unclear on that point.” Urich explains, truthfully. He touches the file on the table. “You say here Rance assaulted you in your apartment. And a man in a black mask, and a woman with purple eyes, saved your life?”

Karen nods slowly, realizing how ridiculous it sounded out loud. “Yes, but they just… they came out of nowhere. I mean… the woman literally phazed through my window. The man just showed up at my door.”

“And you’d never seen them before?”

“No.”

Urich stops and thinks, humming. “Stranger things, right?”

She sighs. “Well, what about Rance? Do you r-really believe that he j-just up and hung himself in jail?” She asked, a horrific memory coming along. “That guard tried to do the same thing to me. Why don’t you ask him?

“Farnum?” Urich asked, after taking a sip of coffee. “He’s dead. Ate the barrel of his gun in his basement.” He watches the horror flash across her face but he keeps going. “And your old boss, McClintock? Overdosed on pills or some such.” He raises an eyebrow. “You seeing a pattern here, Miss Page?”

Of course she did, anyone with a brain could see it plain as day. “Then why isn’t anyone looking into this?” She asked, confused.

He sets his mug down, leaning forward on the table. “You don’t understand how lucky you are. Count the angels on the head of a pin, and move on.”

She blinks. “So they just shuffle some papers and all this disappears?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh, don’t bullshit me.” Karen said, almost laughing. “A construction company is brick and mortar, literally. You cannot just shift cranes and trailer and office equipment like you can numbers on a page. There has to be a trail if everything is being liquidated.”

Urich casts his glance down, his wheel turning before deciding to bail. He sets his empty mug down, grabbing his things. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Karen bats her eyes again. “What?” She asked, looking up as he stood. “So that’s it?”

“Stories like this are built on sources, Miss Page. Credible sources. I did some digging into your, uh… past activities.”

Karen holds her tongue at that statement, but she still lets a little steam seep through. “Well, I did some digging, too. I read every big story with your byline. The VA kickbacks, toxic runoff, t-the Teachers Union scandal. Hell… you pretty much brought down the Italian mob back when I was in diapers. What ever happened to that reporter, Mr. Urich?”

That seems to stir something deep inside him. Enough to make the older man a bit teary eyed. “He got old… and a hell of a lot less stupid.” He admits, and wanders off.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In a hospital surrounded by all the life support equipment you could imagine, lies one of the Russians’ “clean up” members. Coming through the door with a bouquet of flowers and a balloon that was soon tossed aside by the brothers. They came to stand in front of the bed taking the terrible sight in.

“Боже мой.” Anatoly mumbles in shock (*My god).

“Дай мне комплект.” Vladimir said after a moment (*Give me the kit).

Anatoly hands him the kit before starting to move anything ‘unnecessary’ out of the way. “Это может убить его.” (*This could kill him.)

“Семена обычно посылают на такую работу. Он бы понял.” Vladimir explains, calmly (*Semyon’s usually the one we send for this sort of work. He’d understand.)

Vladimir gets out a bottle of epinephrine and a syringe, while Anatoly detaches the pulse oximeter and ventilator.

Vladimir starts putting the syringe together while asking, “Вы получили ответ от Петра?” (*You hear back from Piotr?)

Anatoly nods, shakily replying with, “Сказал, что позвонит, когда у него будет что-нибудь о перемещениях Фиска. Фиск осторожен. Если он заподозрит–” (*Said, he’d call when he had something on Fisk’s movements. Fisk is cautious. If he suspects–)

“И что? Чего ты так боишься?” (*Then what? What are you so afraid of?)

“Мы были в этой адской дыре три года.” Anatoly says, bitterly while showing off three fingers. (*We were in that hellhole for three years.) “От московских князей... до гадения в ведро. Я пообещал себе, что если мы когда-нибудь освободимся... мы больше никогда не потеряем то, что у нас было. Тем более не гордиться.”

(*From princes of Moscow… to shitting in a bucket. I promise myself If we ever got free… we’d never lose what we had again. Especially not to pride.)

Vladimir fills the needle replying, “Когда у нас ничего не было, мы обо всем договаривались.” (*Back when we had nothing, we agreed on everything.)

His brother scoffs. “Мы заблудились... в этой богатой стране.” (*We’ve lost our way… in this land of riches.)

“Тогда давай найдем его снова... вместе.” (*Then let’s find it again… together.)

Vladimir sets the empty bottle down, waiting for a nod before stabbing Semyon in the chest, pushing the drug inside. He pulls it out, setting it on the tray. They waited a few moments before locking eyes with each other, confused.

“Вы уверены… что это был адреналин?” Vladimir asked, worried (*You sure… this was epinephrine?). His question gets answered on cue when the comatosed man starts gasping and flailing around. “Вытащите его трубку.” (*Get his tube out).

Anatoly quickly pulls the tube out of the man’s throat, spit flying everywhere when he removes the mouthpiece. “Семен. Это мы, Анатолий и Владимир.” He says, trying to sound soothing (Semyon. It’s us, Anatoly and Vladimir).

Vladimir shakes his head when he sees his man taking deep breaths. “Вот так… Дыши… Дыши… и расскажи нам о людях, которые сделали это с тобой.” (*That’s it… Breathe… Breathe… and tell us about the people who did this to you.)

“Дьявол. Дьявол.” Semyon gasps, scared (*The devil. The devil).

The brothers shared a look.

“Был ли это просто человек в маске?” Anatoly asked, puzzled (*Was it just the masked man?).

Semyon made a noise that sounded like a no, before wheezing, “Дама была там. Светящийся... как призрак.” (*The lady was there. Glowing… like a ghost.)

“Призрак?” Vladimir said, brows together in confusion. He’s never heard the vigilante woman be described like that before (*Ghost?).

“Вы видели что-нибудь? Семен? Что-нибудь, что могло бы помочь нам найти их?” Anatoly asked, ignoring his brother’s question (*Did you see anything? Semyon? Anything that could help us find them?).

“С ними была женщина. Была женщина с дьяволом и его дамой…” Semyon gasps (*There was a woman with them. There was a woman with the devil and his lady…)

Semyon waits for Vladimir to lean in to whisper something before passing on to the other side.

With cold eyes, Vladimir says, “Get Sergei on the phone.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya popped a few pills in and took a swig of her drink. She nearly gagged at the taste, but she read online it helps an upset stomach so she’ll have to deal with it.

“How are you feeling?” Someone concernedly asked her.

She looks up from her spot on the precinct bench, finding her friend hovering close by. She flashes him a quick smile. “I’m doing alright. Better than before.”

“If you say so.” Matt said, coping her expression as he shifted down to sit next to her. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it down here, if I’m being honest.”

She gives a dry chuckle, because she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it either. Her dizzy spells had subsided, but her nausea came in waves.

“I had to make some effort since I fucked up yesterday.” Anya said, making him laugh.

“You didn’t fuck up, Ann.” He replies, reassuringly but he hears her shaking her head.

“Dude, I didn’t even call. I missed a whole work day.”

“You were sick. It happens.”

“Yeah, but I still should have called.” She takes a sip of her drink, wincing.

“Maybe you should have stayed home. I mean we aren’t even supposed to be working today.” He said, frowning apologetically.

“Oh, yeah…” Anya realizes, facing him. “Why did you get me out of bed? I thought you cared about me, Murdock.”

Matt grins at her teasing. “Oh, you know me. Mr. Meanie Murdock.”

“Yeah, you jerk.” She taps his shoulder with hers, taking another swig. “Ugh…”

His eye brows shoot up above his shades. “That bad?”

“Oh, yeah. You can probably smell how strong it is.”

“Oh, definitely.” He said, honestly. The ginger in the beverage was strong, overwhelming (And she unknowingly agreed to this statement), but didn’t mention that out of politeness. “Why not drink some Ginger ale?”

“I wish I could. It doesn’t really do much for me anymore. I drank so much of that as a kid, I think I became immune.” She replies, frowning.

That was her mother’s solution for everything. Soda and skipping her next few meals; While her father on the other hand, never wanted to give her any kind of medicine when she overdid it with her abilities. He told her to ‘tough it out’, because she was a soldier. She wasn’t allowed to feel weak, wasn’t allowed to show weakness when she was forced to let him do his experiments on her. She wasn’t supposed to–

“Ann?” Matt touched her forearm, his contact making her jolt. He felt those fearful emerald eyes on him, and her heartbeat still pounding against her chest, ready to take a leap out of it.

“W-What…?” She mutters, shakily.

“Are you okay? You spaced out?” He asked, worriedly.

“I… I did…?”

His brows furrowed together. “Yeah. You did.”

“I…” She chokes, quietly. “I didn’t realize that…”

“Ann?”

“Hmm…?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I… am…?” She looks down to find her hands trembling. She didn’t even realize she was. “Oh…”

Matt finds himself growing before carefully taking the bottle from her hand, setting it down on the floor. He then takes her two hands into his, sensing her dazing off again. He gives her quivering palms a gentle squeeze.

“Anya?” He says, softly, quietly. “Hey. Can you look at me?” She hums again. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?” It takes his words a minute to register, but she did. “There you go.” He smiles gently. “Do you know where you are?”

“Um…” She swallows, slowly hearing the chattering in the background. “T-The… the police precinct…?”

“Yeah, you are.” He pushes a few stray hairs away from her face when she started spacing out again. “Can you come back to me here? Please?”

Anya closes her eyes, taking a moment to take a few deep breaths.

In and out.

Her heart starts to level out along with her breathing.

“There you go.” Matt said, her eyes opening. “You okay?”

She exhales again and nods. “Yeah.” She replies, truthfully. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He mentally sighs with relief. “You scared me for a second.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, feeling guilty.

“No, no. Don’t be.” He says, delicately. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I just…” She sighs. “I just hate… spacing out into… that.”

“I know. But it’s a perfectly normal reaction for someone who went through–” He pauses to search for the right word. Abuse. He wanted to say abuse. But even he still was kept in the dark of what happened to his friend in her childhood, so he kept it cleaner. “What you went through. I know it’s hard, but don’t hate yourself for something you can’t control.”

And that’s what made her love Matt as a friend. Even though he doesn’t know the full extent of what she went through, he was still always by her side no matter what happened. He was there for her on her good days and her bad days; Just like she was with him.

“You’re too good for me, Matty.” She replies, quietly, meaningfully.

He smiles again. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Comforting silence overcame them, taking a moment to enjoy it. They both didn’t realize they were still holding hands until Matt subconsciously brushed his thumbs over her knuckles. Their breaths hitched as their eyes locked. Those milky brown and burning green orbs held a little spark, a feeling they’ve been suppressing since they were young. Their noses were practically touching; Plumped lips just a centimeter away–

“Hey.” Foggy said, strolling by, getting their (flustered) attention (Anya pulls back, hiding her reddened face in her shoulder as Matt clears his throat; Their friend is still oblivious to their interaction). “You guys okay? You ready to check this client out?”

Matt looks at her again. “You okay? Or do you want to go home?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He asked, getting a hum as a reply. “Okay.”

It took them a second again to realize that they were still holding hands, before letting go. They both stood up, smoothing out their clothes. Taking a small step away.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Anya said, putting her game face on.

Matt copies with a nod. “Yep. Let’s get another client.”

It finally dawns on Foggy what happened, and opens his mouth to speak–

“Is he in the first room like always, Foggy?” Anya asked, starting to walk by him.

“Yeah, but–”

“Great. Let’s go, boys.”

Foggy bats his eyes, spinning on his heels to watch her walk on without even thinking to stop and wait. “But–”

“She’s not stopping.” Matt said, coming up next to him.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Foggy replies, looking at him now, puzzled. “Soooo… you and Anya–”

He holds his hand up. “Nothing happened. I was just helping her.”

The dirty blond raises an eyebrow. “Helping her? How?” He lowers his voice to say, “By eye fucking her?” That got his friend to blush and get hit in the calf by his cane. “Ow…”

“I w-was not…” Matt stutters, face the color of his shades. “N-not doing that. I can’t even see, you know?”

Foggy gives him a knowing look. “Even if you can’t, you can still see it in those eyes.”

He groans. “Foggy–”

“Come on, Matty.” Foggy gives him those puppy eyes. “Can you atleast… ask her out on a date? Go for coffee, that's just the two of you? I mean, I see how you look at her. That’s not a look a friend gives to another.”

Matt licks his lips, nervously, readjusting his stance. “She had an episode, Foggy.”

His face fell immediately. “Oh.” Foggy shifts uncomfortably, crossing his arms in a serious manner. “How bad was it?”

“Not… too bad like last time. She just spaced out this time.”

“I see.”

Matt sighs, grip tightening and loosening around his stick’s handle. “It’s my fault. I said something I shouldn’t have said.”

“Matt, it happens. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I know, but still. She’s my friend.”

“Which is exactly why I say you should go for it.” Foggy continues, and cuts off his partner when he tries to deny. “You can’t deny these hazel eyes, Matt. They see all, and all the truth.”

Matt tries to spew denial again, but decides otherwise. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Yes.” Foggy said, pumping his fist and getting a smile out of it. “And please do. I can’t stand those… googly eyes.”

“Again, I can’t see.” Matt said, with a chuckle. “But one of us still needs to take her home. Just in case.”

“Way ahead of you, lover-boy.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Cruising along the streets of the kitchen, the man we finally know the name of was lost in thought as his right hand explained everything going on, carefully shredding the dangerous waters of his boss’s mind.

“Anatoly may be the way in.” Wesley begins, glasses in hand. “He seems more amenable to the proposition, or at least not quite as… vitriolic as his brother.”

“Well…” Fisk says with a slight nod. “Confrontations can be expensive. I’d prefer to handle this quietly. How are we on the timeline?”

“Within a reasonable margin. Assuming we can settle with the Russians quickly.”

“We will. One way or another.”

“What about the masked idiots?”

This causes Fisk to sigh. “If the brothers can’t handle them, I’ll find another solution.” He replies as the car comes to a stop. He starts to get out, only to then grab Wesley by the arm. “No. You stay with the car.”

“Sir–” Wesley said, worriedly.

“I need to attend to this alone.” His pupil hesitates, but complies. “Thank you, Wesley.”

Fisk enters the art gallery from the other night, taking a easy stroll around, eyes searching for that special someone. That special someone who finds him first.

The brunette woman flashes a smile. “Well, hello there.”

“Hello.”

“How are you enjoying ‘Rabbit in a Snowstorm’?” She asked, coming over.

“You remember.” He said, bashful.

“Of course… it’s one of my favorite pieces.”

“I hung it in my bedroom.” He replies, taking a small step forward. “It’s the last thing I see every night.”

“That’s either very romantic or very sad.”

“I like to tell myself it’s the former.”

She chuckles. “Don’t we all?”

“I wanted…” He trails off, nervously. He takes another step forward. “I wanted to thank you for it… personally.”

“That’s really not necessary, but you’re welcome.” Her smile grew brighter. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He shakes his head. “No, I…” Fisk takes a step back, recollecting. “Yes. I was actually wondering if you cared to join me for dinner.”

“I’m the only one working here tonight.”

“That’s okay.” He replies, rubbing his hands together. “Another time then.” He walks away.

She tilts her head, amused. “That’s it?” She asked, chuckling. “You’re not gonna offer to buy every painting in here so I can close up early? A guy actually tried that once.”

Fisk lets that sink in and walks back over. “A woman that can be bought… isn’t worth having.”

That line seemed to win her over. “I’m partial to Italian.”

“We agree on more than art.” He replies, smiling.

She holds out her hand. “Vanessa.”

Shocked by the move but he still takes it, giving her a light shake. “W-Wilson.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back at her ‘hideout’, Claire was placing a bowl of food for her friend’s cat. She walks away to blow her nose, quickly taking note that the feline wasn’t touching it.

“Eat it, you little bastard.” She says, sniffling

Claire starts trying to take her allergy pills only to hear scraping and rattling outside her door. Carefully she takes her phone out, and quietly walks towards the front, peaking through the peephole. Luckily, all she saw was an older woman pushing a cart full of groceries. She chuckles at her paranoid self, and finishes taking her pills, unaware of the ever growing silhouette outside the window.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The lawyer trio walked outside into the night, annoyance written on all their faces. They were supposed to be home relaxing, enjoying their day off; But when they got a call from Brett saying they had another potential client, they couldn’t say ‘No’. Which… you probably guess how that went.

“My mom wanted me to be a butcher, you know that?” Was the first thing Foggy said, making his friends sigh.

“Oh, not the butcher story.” Matt said, casting his head down.

“Oh, Jesus…” Anya mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I said, ‘No, Mom, I want to be a lawyer’. I don’t remember what I said next.” Foggy continues, stringing them along the sidewalk.

“No, you never do.” The blind man replies with.

“But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t about bailing out a piss-drunk electrician who nearly burned his house down. Let’s cross.” He guides Matt across the street with Anya following next to them.

“Ed’s wife left him, Foggy. It was an accident.” She says, before pondering on that. “Admittedly involving cigarettes and gasoline, but still.”

“I could be carving my own corned beef. Making my own pickles, having a little shop of my own.”

“You got your own office.” Matt points out.

“We have office space. An actual office would involve… plantery and equipment, fax machines or whatever successful people use.” Foggy explains as they finally cross the street, stopping on the sidewalk.

Matt chuckles. “I don’t think they use fax machines anymore.”

“How would I know? Which is endemic to the problem.” Foggy faces them. “Guys, what if we’re doing this all wrong? What if Landman and Zack were the way to go?”

“You hated interning there.” Matt and Anya reply in sync.

“I hated being broke, and that is still creepy.” He said, pointing between the two.

“Come on, Fog, you think Landman and Zack would have helped out Ed?” Anya asked, watching him take a step off the curb to look for a cab.

“No. But they had free bagels... every morning.” Foggy replies, making them laugh a little. “And they had furniture that didn't smell like a pack of cigarettes. And elevators…” He blissfully sighs. “God, I miss the elevators.”

“We're doing good here, Foggy.” Matt reassures him.

“Are we?” He asked, hailing a cab.

“Yeah, we're making a difference.”

“If you say so.” He opens the cab door just as Matt’s (burner) phone starts to ring. “You coming, Hughes?”

“We’re splitting the fairs, aren’t we?” She teased making him snort. “Matt, you coming?” Nothing. “Matt?”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “You get a new phone? Can we afford that?”

Matt answers the phone saying, “Hey, one sec.” He covers the phone with his hand. “ Guys, I'll see you tomorrow.”

��It's a girl, isn't it? You got a new phone just for your girls.” Foggy said, shaking his head. “My life sucks.” He gets into the cab.

“Don’t stay out too late, lover boy.” Anya poked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She gets in as well as he nods.

“Get home safe.” Matt replies, the door closing. Once he hears that he brings the phone back to his ear. “Hey, what's up?” But all he heard was ruckus on the other end. “Claire? Claire, can you hear me?” He hears her scream on the other end. “Claire!”

Without any hesitation, Matt took off running.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Get home safe.” They heard him say before they closed the door.

Foggy quickly tells the driver where to go before settling down with a heavy sigh. He casts a gaze to his college friend who was trying to look preoccupied (probably because she knew what he was going to ask).

“So when are you going to ask him out?” He asked, point blank.

She bats her eyes his way. “What? Ask who?”

“Matt.” He watches her groan as her cheeks flushed pink (Which she tried to hide by looking away). He throws his hand up. “Come on, you’re like… hung up on him.”

“We’re just friends, Foggy.” She replies, even though it stung. “I’m sure Matt doesn’t see me as anything else if he’s interested in other women.”

Foggy gives her a look. “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s thinking just like you.”

Anya chuckles dryly. “You don’t know that, man.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” He lies, which she completely missed. “But, I still think you should at least ask him out on a date, OR–” He pressures before she cuts in. “Subtly confess.”

“And if he turns me down because he doesn’t feel the same way…?”

“Then, friend or not, I will come after him for hurting you. End of story.”

Another laugh. “With your… fisticuffs?”

He smiles. “With my fisticuffs.”

She sighs fondly and lays her head on his shoulder. “Thanks, big bro.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “I’m not that much older, you know.”

“Sure.” She hums at the comfortable silence, which was eventually broken when he said,

“I still think you should say something to him. I think you guys could be really happy together.”

She frowns. “I don’t think I could make him happy in that way.”

He raises an eyebrow, knowing damn well they could be really happy together since they both told him that they liked each other (although, he would never rat one or the other out). “But Matt loves you already as a friend. What are you so afraid of?”

What am I afraid of? She stays silent at his question, not wanting to tell him what she was truly terrified of.

Well…

I’m afraid my past will be too much for him.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Karen sits in on one of the back rows of an auction house. She subtly looks around, holding her sketchbook close, listening half heartedly too. She was there for one thing and one thing only. Investigating.

The Auctioneer starts rambling, pointing at an item on the screen. “5 and now 50. - 50 right there, and now 55. 55,000 here. - Now 60. 60,000. Who will bid 60,000? Do I have 60,000? - 55, going once, going twice. Sold for 55,000. Next up, lot 87… Liquidation of Union Allied Construction LLC.”

She keeps her reaction to that mellow, and places her pencil an inch above the paper, waiting.

“Forty-two desktops with Thunderbolt display, 14 copy machines, 62 IP phones, as well as supporting equipment listed in your catalog. Estimated value, 540,000. - We'll start the bidding at 70,000. Do I hear 70,000?”

Karen watches an older gentleman raise his paddle and starts sketching him, which she would repeat with everyone else following.

“70,000 right here, and now 75. - 75,000? I have 75 over here, and now 80. Do I have 80,000? - 80,000. 80,000 in the back, thank you. And now 90…”

Unknowingly to the blonde, Ben Urich had sat down behind her, looking distracted.

“Stop what you're doing. Don't turn around.” He says just above a whisper, making her freeze up. “This is how you get caught.”

“The hell do you care?” She replies, cold.

“To your right, a woman in a white blouse–” He begins, almost jolting from his seat when she starts to turn. “Eyes front. Jesus!” He sighs. “To your left, a man in a navy blue pinstripe suit.”

Karen quickly takes note of both. “Who are they?”

“Don't know. But they aren't bidding either.”

She scans the room with her eyes again, swallowing. “What do I do?”

“Spend the next hour raising your paddle. Win something. One of the smaller lots.” Was his suggestion.

She frowns. “I don't have any money.”

“Figure it out. Meet me at the diner when you're done.”

“How did you know I was here?” Nothing. “Ben?”

She quickly glances behind, finding the seat empty. She sucks in a breath as the bid finishes, trying to figure out how the fuck she was going to do this.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya already shedded her work clothes off and was slowly starting to put on her nightly ones. She fiddled with the straps on her cargo pants while thinking over her routine.

I should take it easy tonight. I shouldn’t use my abilities. No phasing, no paralyzing. Maybe use a little energy to escalate somewhere high, but keep it simple.

She nods at that, and slips on her hoodie.

And maybe… not do the eyes unless I come across someone. That should help lessen my chance of getting sick again.

She lets out a sigh, one that was mixed with frustration and exhaustion. She was supposed to be this ‘extraordinary’ soldier with powers, she wasn’t supposed to pass out after reaching a ‘limit’.

But again, I’m a girl who had a father who wanted to be a god. Jesus. She quickly braids her hair before tying the bandana over her mouth. She shakes her head.

Okay, gotta stop thinking about that. I need to relax and focus tonight. I gotta take it easy. She slipped on her boots and gloves, then opened up her window. She lets the cool breeze hit her face, welcoming her into the night. She smirks.

Alright. Let’s do this.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

In Claire’s trashed apartment, a young man, Santino, sat on the floor also banged up. His panting increases when he hears someone entering the room.

“It's okay. It's me, Santino.” Matt says, slowly coming over to crouch down in front of him. He pulls up his glasses, slowing off his features. “¿Me recuerdas?” (*Do you remember me?)

“Sí.” Santino shakes his head, still trembling despite recognizing him.

“Claire fue llevada por gente muy mala. Los oí decir su nombre. Necesito su ayuda. Por favor.” (*Claire's been taken by some very bad people. I heard them say your name. I need your help. Please.)

He sobs, looking ashamed. “No dije nada. No al principio. me llevaron al techo como tú lo hiciste con el hombre…Me dijeron si le decía algo a alguien… volverán por mi madre.” (*I didn't say anything. Not at first. Then they took me up to the roof like you did with that man… they told me if I said anything to anyone… they'd come back for my mother.)

“¿Sabes a dónde llevaron a Claire?” Matt asked, hopefully (*Do you know where they took Claire?).

Santino shook his head again. “No. Lo siento. Esos hombres la van a golpear por mi culpa.” (*No. I'm sorry… Those men are going to hurt her because of me.)

“No, no es tu culpa, Santino. Es mío.” Matt assures, touching his chest (*No, it’s not your fault, Santino. It’s mine). “¿Hay algo más que hayas oído o visto? ¿Algo que me pueda ayudar a encontrarla?” (*Is there anything else you heard or saw? Anything that might help me find her?)

The boy nods while thinking. “Los vi entrar en un taxi. Pero no por atrás, por delante. Como si fueran de ellos.” (*I saw them get into a taxi. But not in the back, in the front. Like it was theirs.)

“¿Cuál fuera compañía? ¿Viste el nombre?” (*What was the company? Did you see a name?)

He nods again, saying, “Veles. Veles Taxi.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya sat down on a rooftop ledge, scanning the skyline and listening carefully for anything out of the ordinary. She only perks up when she catches a whiff of the familiar scent of axe body spray.

She cocks her head, but doesn’t look back. “No-Eyes?” She calls out, sensing him coming closer.

“Are you doing anything?” Matt asked, urgently, his light footsteps seemed louder (Angier) than usual.

“No. I was taking it easy tonight.” Anya replies, fully facing him. “Why?”

“The Russians got Claire.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” She stands up. “You got a lead?”

“Santino told me that they saw the men who supposedly took her get into a taxi with the name, ‘Veles Taxi’.” He replies, sensing her respond to that name. “Ring a bell?”

“Sounds familiar.” She starts jogging her brain, conjuring up a memory from her childhood. “I got it.” She started walking towards the direction she thought of, and he was following closely behind. “It might be a long shot, and hopefully it’s still there, but I remember seeing this place in my childhood.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

At a fancy restaurant in the nicer part of Hell’s Kitchen, Fisk sat across from Vanessa, tasting the wine the (nervous looking) waiter poured.

“Yes.” He says, taking a liking to the taste. The waiter then pours some into his date’s glass. “I hope you like it.”

Vanessa picks up her glass, smelling the aroma before taking a sip. “It's delicious.” She says, with a smile.

“I don't know much about wine.” Fisk admits. “My assistant, he recommended it.”

“Maybe I should be out with him.” She teased, but didn't see him laughing. “That was a joke.”

“Yes… of course.”

She chuckles. “A bad one, but... mmm... You don't do this much, do you?”

“No. I've been preoccupied–” He fiddles with his cufflinks. “for a long time.”

Vanessa watches him closely before saying. “This is nice. I didn't even know it was here.”

“Yes, it just opened last month.”

“The city's really changing.”

“Not fast enough.”

“I don't know. Be a shame to see all the character scrubbed away.”

“You didn't grow up here, did you?”

She laughs again. “What gave it away?”

Fisk smiles for a split second. “When I was a kid, I used to dream what it would be like to…” He stops to think. “To live somewhere far away from Hell's Kitchen. Somewhere beautiful.”

“What made you stay?” Vanessa asked, curiously.

“I didn't. When I was 12 years old, my mother, she sent me to stay with relatives. Had a farm, middle of nowhere. Those were good years.”

“But you came back.”

“Yes. Time and distance, they afford a certain clarity. I realized that this city was a part of me, that it was in my blood. And I would do anything to make it a better place… for people like you.”

That made her smile fondly at him, and raised her glass. She waits for him to follow before saying, “To a better place.”

Then they both toast with their wine glasses.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, poor Claire was slammed to the floor, face covered in blood and deep bruises. She was soon picked back up and thrown into the side of a cab, letting her whole body slide to the floor. She started coughing roughly as the Russains looked at her with rage.

“You answer, he stops hitting you. Everyone is happy.” One said, and she shook her head.

“I told you… I don't know who they are…” She croaks, breathing heavily and sits on the ground.

Sergei clenches his jaw and slams the baseball bat in the window next to her head. She screams as the glass shatters around her.

“Tell me their names.” He hisses, tightening his grip on the weapon.

Claire whimpers and mouths, “I don't know.” Then whispers, “They never told me…” She screams again when the bat hits the cab. “They never told me!!”

One of the Russians stops Sergi from going again. “Сергей... Владимир сказал нам не убивать ее, пока она не заговорит.” (*Sergei...Vladimir told us not to kill her until she talks.)

Sergei frowns, sighing. “This gives me no pleasure. It really doesn't. But I have been given a job to do. So please, answer the questions that I was told to ask.” He holds the baseball bat under her chin, lifting it up. “Or I will begin breaking you, a piece at a time.”

Suddenly, the lights go out.

Sergei looks around before facing one of his men. “Михаил, проверь выключатель. Проверьте прерыватель!” (*Mikhail, check the breaker. Check the breaker!)

Claire starts sobbing as the men scramble to turn the lights on. Eventually, some of them just started turning the lights underneath the taxis on. Soon, the quiet chattering started getting louder, before someone started screaming.

“Mikhail? Mikhail!”

Claire throws her head back, laughing like a maniac. “You want to know their names? Ask them yourself.”

There was a loud rattling noise that seemed to encase everyone present. Everyone looked around nervously, trying to find the source of the sound. Claire, knowing what’s going on, slumped down further in her spot, protecting herself.

The rattling turned out to be some wiring, which soon wrapped itself around one of the Russians’ feet and dragged them across the garage floor. Upon contact he started shooting off his gun, creating a domino effect.

Bullets were falling like they were raindrops, all targeting in areas they swear they heard a noise. The vigilantes stayed in the dark, hidden from their eyes as they attacked when they spotted an opening. Matt was throwing anything he could get his hands on, while Anya was freezing anybody that got close.

Sergei, who was wandering around nervously, was watching the silhouettes of his men disappear into the darkness.

He bites his lip and grabs Claire. “Up.” He snaps, and tries to leave.

“Let her go.” Matt said, his voice echoing off the walls.

“I'm walking out of here.” He says, pointing the gun in different directions.

“No, you aren't.”

“I'm not playing with you, man. I'm walking out of here… I'll blow her brains out!!!”

“My acquaintance isn’t playing around either.”

Anya lands on top of a nearby taxi, startling him. Out of instinct he shot off a bullet, which misses a vital spot on her skin when she phases. The vigilante watches as the man becomes pale and shocked, taking a small step back as she glares with her glowing eyes.

“Призрак.” Sergei mumbles, shakily (*Ghost).

Matt comes up from behind, apprehending Sergei’s arm in an armbar. The Russian shoots a bullet scaring Claire, who was soon pulled free by Anya. Matt twists his arm making him cry and drop the weapon.

“You okay?” Anya whispers, painfully as she leans against the cab. But she doesn’t get an answer when she watches the nurse reaching for–

“It hurts, doesn't it? Being in pain, being afraid–” Matt whispers, darkly.

To his (and really anyone’s) surprise, Claire grabbed the baseball bat and hit Sergei over the head with it. The world got quiet again, except for the sound of the aluminum bat dropping and Claire’s hurtful sobbing.

Matt’s whole demeanor changed, immediately pulling her into a comforting hug. “It's okay.” He says, cradling her head, making her sob harder. “I'm here. I have you.”

While this was happening, Anya was dealing with a spinning world again. She suddenly felt her veins running hotter than usual and her heart pounding even more than before. And she got really, really nauseous. She couldn’t stop herself this time…

She pulled her mask down and vomited up acid.

Matt and Claire pulled apart upon the sound, and looked in her direction.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked, worriedly as he finally started fully taking notice of her condition. The hefty panting and the heavy heartbeats. It was… overwhelming; Painful sounding. “Peaches?”

“May–” Claire begins, taking her in. “You’re… you look like you’re… glitching.”

Anya was shaking, shaking badly. But Claire had a point, she looked like she was a computer glitch. Her whole body would phase in and out, almost causing her to slip through the taxi her hand was laying against. She felt like she was about to pass out.

“I’m…” Anya chokes, and hunches over again when the nausea returns.

“You’re shaking.” Matt said, taking a step forward. “Let me–”

“N-No…” She winces. “Y-You can’t… d-do anything…” She bit her tongue when she felt her head starting to pound like a hammer. “I j-just… have to… l-let it pass.”

“Peaches–”

“I-I have to let it pass.” She says, sounding like she was being tortured.

She has to let it pass? What does that mean? Matt frowns, severely concerned.

Is this supposed to be normal?

“May, what’s going on? Why do you have to let it pass?” Claire asked, the nurturing side of her coming out, making her take a step towards her as well.

“I-I…” Anya pants, feeling like she was about to cry. “I overdid it. My abilities. I overdid it…”

“What?”

“Overdid? Is this normal?” Matt asked, deciding not to give her any more space, and walked over. “Is that why you said you were taking it easy tonight? Why didn’t you–”

“N-No-eyes…” Anya pants, her orbs landing on their nurse friend. “You got Claire?”

Matt tilts his head, confused. “Yeah, I got her. But–”

“Get her to safety.”

“What? What about– hey!”

Before he could stop her, Anya had used all her strength to push off the vehicle and run. She never stopped once no matter how many times they begged her to stop and come back.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Karen arrived at the diner, sliding in the booth across from Ben. She was still looking around nervously like earlier; Afraid of getting caught or chased by the people who worked for her old employer.

“You bid on anything?” He asked, while eating some eggs with a dab of hot sauce.

“Yeah. Some, uh... office equipment from a realtor. Nearly as old as I am.” She said, waving from the waitress.

“Win?”

“Yeah, 3,500 I don't have. I charged it to the law firm where I work. Probably just got my ass fired.”

“Beats the alternative.”

The waitress comes up with a steaming pot. “More coffee?”

“Uh, can I have a decaf?” Karen asked, politely.

“Oh, sure thing.” She walks away.

“Thanks.” Karen takes a brief moment to gather her thoughts. “How did you know I was gonna be there?” She asked, suspicious.

“Wasn't looking for you.” Urich replies, truthfully, as the waitress pours Karen’s coffee.

“I thought you weren't interested.” She said, realizing he was being honest.

“I said you should move on. Didn't say anything about me.”

“So I was right. About the office equipment. Union Allied or whatever it is that they're calling themselves now, they're buying it back. I mean, you follow that, maybe you find the guy behind the curtain.”

Urich pauses and puts his fork down to give her his whole attention. “You said you read a bunch of my articles. Remember the one about the, uh... the runoff? What that company was dumping into the river?”

“Yeah, sure.” She said, grabbing some sugar for her drink.

“Fished the guy that tipped me off out of that same river a month later.” Urich explains, watching her try to hide her discomfort. “And that fella trying to clean up the Teachers Union? Moved out of state… after flyers went up saying he was a pedophile. They underestimated what people in power will do to stay there. Didn't think you'd make the same mistake after what happened to you.”

Karen nervously takes a sip of her drink. “What about the woman? From your first series of articles about the VA? What happened to her?”

He frowns. “She met the worst fate.” He sits up straighter. “Married beneath her...to a workaholic who never appreciated her.”

Karen’s body slacked at the weight of his words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–”

“We need to be smart. Smarter than they are.” Urich explains, seriously. “Don't visit me at the office anymore, and don't tell anyone else about this. If that doesn't work for you, get up and get the hell out of my life”.

She nods. “That works for me.”

“Good.” He clears his throat, leaning forward again. “First thing, sign the agreement from the Union Allied lawyer.”

“What? No!” She shakes her head. “No, I sign that, I can't ever talk publicly about this.”

“Yeah… but I'm not signing it.”

And those words made her smile.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back at the garage, the brothers returned with some of their men, shocked upon what they found. Their teammates were scattered across the ground, some still unconscious while others were getting up at snail like pace.

“Сергей. Сергей…” Vladimir says, crouching down to his man. “Кто это сделал?” (*Sergei. Sergei… Who did this?)

“Мужчина и женщина в черном…” Sergei says, clearing his throat (*The man and woman in black…).

Anatoly’s phone rings and he quickly picks up. “…Хорошо. Оставайся там.” (*…All right. Stay there.) He looks at his brother. “Это был Петр. Фиск вышел из укрытия. Нам нужна его помощь, брат.” (*That was Piotr. Fisk has come out of hiding. We need his help, brother.)

“Я не преклонюсь перед этим человеком!” Vladimir says, bitterly as he stands up (*I will not bow before that man!).

“Тогда я пойду... И поклонюсь за нас обоих.” (*Then I will go...And bow for both of us.)

Vladimir looks away, thinking it over quickly. What other choice do they have at this point? He clenches his jaw, facing him again. “Идти. Заключить сделку.” (*Go. Make the deal.)

And with those words…

He only wishes he realized what he had just done.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Are you sure about dessert?” Fisk asked, a smile stretched across his face. “They have an incredible Zuppa Inglese.”

She copies his expression. “Don't children have that at birthday parties?” Vanessa teased, making them both laugh.

“Yes. When I was a kid, I loved it… Probably loved it a bit too much.”

“Well, now I have to know what it tastes like. You wanna split one?”

“Yes.” He gestures for the waiter who rushes over. “We'll have a Zuppa.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chocolate was always my downfall.” Vanessa whispers like a secret. “Milk chocolate, not the dark stuff they say is better for you.”

“I can order something else.” He assures, and she shakes her head.

“No, no, it's good to try new things. Get out of the comfort zone.”

“Yes, we get caught up in what we're doing… who we think we are.”

“So…” Vanessa begins, curious what’s on his mind. “Who are you, Wilson?”

“Tonight, I'm just a man... enjoying the company of a captivating woman.” He says, getting her to show her pearly whites once more. But there moment won’t last long when Antaloy suddenly shows up, Wesley on his tail.

“I told you he's indisposed.” Wesley says, trying to stop him but he’s shaken off.

“Sir, I need to speak with you.” Anatoly announces, bodyguards standing in his way.

“What is this?” Vanessa asked, worriedly as her date stood up (making the whole restaurant stand up as well in fear).

Fisk moves one of his guards out of the way to get to her. “We need to go... now. I'm sorry.” He said, truly apologetic. He guides her towards the door, the Russian still trying to get through.

“I want to tell you, my brother and I, we gratefully accept–” Anatoly continues, being sincere about his words.

“Wesley will take care of you.” Fisk tells him, before whispering to his assistant, “Put him in a car.”

“Understood.” Wesley said, knowing where this will end.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Promise you won't get mad.” Karen said to Foggy, who came back to the office to drop a few things off (he wasn’t expecting to see her until tomorrow).

“You bought a fax machine? From the early '90s.” Foggy asked, finding irony in since he was literally complaining to Matt and Anya about having a machine earlier.

“Oh, it's not that old... I think.” She says, nervously. “Um, but the rest of the stuff's coming tomorrow.”

“The rest?”

“Yeah, like, a printer and conference phones and a copier and... Yeah, there was an auction and, you know, we needed stuff, so I, um…” She frowns, fiddling with her hands. “Charged it to the office. But don't freak out, okay? I got a thing, uh, some money coming in from… You know what? It doesn't matter. You mad?”

He touches the fax machine, taking everything in. “Did I ever tell you my mom wanted me to be a butcher?” He asked, reeling back to his ‘coping’ story.

Karen gave him a strange look. “A butcher?” She said, confused about the direction this was suddenly going.

“Yeah. You know what I told her…?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Back in Matt’s apartment, he had Claire set across from him at his dining table; A box full of amateur medical supplies next to him.

“This isn't gonna feel great.” He says, carefully dabbing the cut on her forehead.

“Ow.” She winces at the medicine seeping in. “You got pretty good hands for a blind guy.”

“Used to patch up my dad.” He replies, searching for a bandage.

“He ran around in a mask, too?”

“He was a boxer. Took a lot of beatings.”

“Huh. So you take after him then.” She says, making him laugh as he applies a butterfly bandage. “Ow… Shit.”

He frowns. “I'm sorry.”

Claire sighs. “It's okay. You've had a lot worse.”

“I m-mean…” He stutters, looking guilty. “I'm sorry for getting you into this. I… I never thought that I'd be putting anyone else at risk.”

She shakes her head subtly. “It was my choice. You didn't ask me to pull you from that dumpster.”

“No, you did it because you're a good person. And you almost got killed… because of me.”

“Tell me it was worth it. Tell me that you've got a plan… an end game.”

“Claire–”

“Anything?”

He sighs quietly. “I-I'm just trying to make my city a better place, that's all.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. “I think maybe it's a little more complicated than that now.” She points out.

“Nothing's changing out there.” He says, saddened. “No matter what I do, I'm just… I'm making things worse.”

“Tell that to the boy you saved from the Russians. Or all the other people you've helped.”

“And what about the people I've gotten hurt? What do I…” He inhales sharply. “What do I tell them?”

Claire lets his words sink in, which stirred all the emotions inside. “Feel my heart.” She blurts out, making him freeze. “Come on, feel it.” She picks his hand up and places it on her chest. “What is it telling you?”

Matt grows silent to figure it out, which makes him feel even more guilty than before. “That you're scared.” He whispers.

“Because I am.” She chokes with a small nod. “More than I've ever been in my life. And I am not alone.” Her eyes glass over. “But you can do something about it... for all of us, Mike.”

“Matthew.” He says, sensing her surprise gaze. “My name is Matthew.”

“Matthew?” She asked, after a while. He nods. “Well, alright. Nice to properly meet you, Matthew.”

That gets him to smile a little, relieved that she didn’t sound angry at him. “I’ll get the bed ready for you. And I’ll get you a towel if you want to shower.”

“That’ll be nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He starts tidying the first aid kit up, feeling Claire’s eyes on him while he does it.

“Matthew?” She finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think May, or whatever her real name is, is okay?”

He falters his movements, frowning. “May?” He said, hearing her nod. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“And you sure you don’t know who she is? Or at least have her number or something?” Claire asked, watching him shake his head.

“We never met until a few days before you found us in that dumpster. Never really had the chance to get to know each other.” Matt explains, upset at himself which was evident. “Now, for stuff like this, I wished we had contact with each other.”

She looks away, crossing her arms at the news. “I wish you could have seen her, Matthew. I wish I could explain it.” She replies, sighing. “It’s like…” She purses her lips, thinking of the right words. “It’s like she’s… not supposed to have those abilities.”

Matt casts his blind gaze outside, the neon lights reflecting off him. The colors were changing along with his emotions, one not staying intact for very long. He didn’t know how to feel about this situation. It’s not like they're friends, or partners really, they're more like… acquaintances…? However, he could agree with Claire on one thing. And that was–

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s supposed to have those either.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Anya stumbles through her apartment, barely thinking and seeing straight. But somehow, miraculously, she finds herself inside the bedroom closet, tearing it apart.

W-Where is it…? Where is it…?

She dumps out boxes and bags, emptying out pockets. She felt the nausea return again, and dark spots danced in the corner of her eyes.

Where is it? Where is–

She knocked over what she thought was a shoe box, watching as a vial rolled across the carpet, followed by a syringe. She practically fell over to get it, snagging it and holding it close as she sat against the door.

// One more dose of this, baby, and you’ll be stronger, more stable than before. Just one more dose. //

One more dose. Her father’s words lingered in her head, as her sweaty palms brought it closer to her face. The indigo colored serum was calling her (or maybe taunting her?) to take it. Just take it just like he wanted. To complete what he wanted.

She swallows the burning bile in her throat, shakily grabbing the syringe.

It was now or never. But then–

// Benny… you shouldn’t give it to her. //

Anya halts her actions. A very, very fuzzy memory was coming back. One she could hardly place in the timeline of her life.

// Maya, this is our chance. The breakthrough we’ve been needing. //

// I know it is. But look at the chart. Her heart’s in overdrive. If you give her the last dose it might kill her, and then all your hard work would go to waste. //

// I know. But we can’t waste anymore time. He’s getting inpatient. //

// Yes, but… if she dies, then you’ll have to start over. And with who, then? //

She exhales painfully, the items starting to slip out of her hands. Her eyelids felt like lead as they started to droop. And then…

She passes out again.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will I see you again?” Fisk asked, hopeful as he walked his date back to her place.

Vanessa sighs as they stop in front of the building entrance. “I don't usually date customers.” Was her answer.

“You came out with me tonight.”

“And here we are, so…”

“I can… return the painting, and then I'd no longer be a–”

“I'm not interested in gestures, Wilson, or your money, or… whatever that was all about at the restaurant. I went out with you because…” She stops to choose her next words carefully. “There's something different about you. Not so sure it's a good thing now.”

“Like you said… I don't do this much. And I'm sorry that our night, it went sideways. But...I enjoyed our time together very much, Vanessa.” Fisk said, truthfully. “If you don't feel the same… even a little bit… just tell me, and I promise you won't see me again.”

Vanessa looks away, conflicted. “I…” She stutters, biting her lip. “Don't know how I feel.”

She doesn’t let him reply because she’s already inside the building before he could. While Fisk’s heart started to hurt it suddenly turned into hatred.

Hatred for a certain young Russian.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile in the back of a familiar SUV, a long overdue conversation was being discussed.

“-And even after all that, you didn't even get a name out of the girl?” Wesley asked, unusually calm about all this.

“No.” Anatoly admits with a smack of his lips. “The man and woman in black came before our men had finished.”

“You were right to reach out to us, although… a call would have been more appropriate.”

“Look, I… I wanted to speak with him in person. Try to put the past behind us.” The Russian said, getting a hum which was right on cue for the vehicle to stop. “Why are we stopping?”

“They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's… smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling...changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking.” Wesley starts poetically saying. “But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can… never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood.”

Anatoly gives him a strange look, which Wesley ignores to answer his cell phone.

“Sir?” Wesley said, listening closely. “Yes, passenger side.”

“Was that him?” The Russian asked, hopeful.

“Hmm. He'd like to have a word with you.”

Anatoly nods and mumbles something in his native language seconds before the door opens. An angry Wilson Fisk reaches inside and yanks him out, throwing him onto the ground. They both exchange some hits, equally spilling blood. At one point, Anatoly pulls out a knife, swinging it defensively. What thought could do some damage, he ends up seeing that Fisk’s suit was barely touched by the blade.

Fisk ends up pinning him to the SUV, breaking his wrist the weapon was in. “You embarrassed me.” He hisses, cradling the sides of the Russian’s head. “You embarrassed me in front of her.”

He then starts heading butting him a few times, then tossing him back at the ground. Anatoly tries to crawl to the car, and starts begging Wesley to help him in Russian; But Fisk’s right hand makes no movements that he’ll help. Instead, Fisk drags Anatoly by his hair to the car, laying him in the gap between the floor and the door…

Fisk slams the car door.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

As blood bathed the concrete with its glorious red color, Fisk never stopped until his enemy’s head was completely taken off.

Inhaling heavily, the man admired his bloody self in the window reflection. Frowning, he takes a few steps away, body still tense even after killing the bug. Wesley walks over carefully, offering his boss his handkerchief.

“Tell Mr. Potter, I'll need a new suit.” Fisk said after a moment, and wiped his face clean.

Wesley nods with a hum. “What about this?” He asked, gesturing to the body behind them.

“Take what's left of him and send it to his brother.”

“It'll start a war.”

“I'm counting on it.”

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

-Taglist Is Open-

@uncle-eggy @fangirling-galore @superbreadsoul

@twsssmlmaa @winterschildren17

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ruins-and-rewritez · 10 months

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I really like the idea of Matthias being really good at sewing like it was taught as part of his basic training or whatever because when you're in the war it's not like you can just send your socks off to the seamstress everytime they tear so obviously it would be a nice skill to have, so all these buff Fjerdan dudes are in a classroom with some little old grandma who comes in once a week to show them how to fix tears and rips and Matthias just happens to really be someone who picks it up really well, then timeskip to the future when he and Nina are getting ready for date night and he's sitting there waiting to go and Nina starts crying in the other room so ofc freaks out and runs in there and she just starts babbling about how her favorite dress snagged on a nail or something and she's devastated because she knows how much he loves it and she really wanted to wear it and now she can't because it's ruined and he just holds up a hand and pulls out his M.A.S.K (miniature army sewing kit) and fixes it and Nina is just stunned because he's literally the man of her dreams

#theyre living their happy ever after rent free in my head #you can fight me on this #theyre literally girlboss and malewife #i love them so much #six of crows duology #nina zenik #matthias helvar #helnik #just get married already #rarzo #ruinrants

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Characters:Sophie, Thorin, Heather, Lucy Trisven, Gimli, Narnerra

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

It was a clear, crisp night, with Dale gleaming like a beacon upon its hill. Sophie glanced down at Heather. “Are you warm enough, love?”

Heather nodded. “I’m fine, Mama. But maybe we can get some hot chocolate, just to be sure?”

“I think we can arrange that,” Thorin replied, looking down at Sophie. “Unless you’d rather she not have it.”

“It’s fine.” Sophie tucked her head against Thorin’s shoulder. “She doesn’t ask for hot chocolate all that often. Besides, I think it sounds wonderful myself. It’s chilly out here.”

Thorin gave her hand a squeeze. “Say the word and we will return to Erebor.”

“That isn’t necessary just yet,” she told him, even as the breeze stirred and carried her words off in a cloud of silvery breath. “But, if I change my mind…”

“You’ll let me know?” He grinned, then slowed to press a kiss into the top of her head. “I expect no less.”

“Mama! Look!” Heather broke away to run up the sloping gravel road that led to the main street in Dale.

“Heather, wait!” Sophie let go of Thorin’s hand to sprint after her, catching up with her at the top of the hill, where they stood at the beginning of the Night Market. “Do not do that again, or we go home right now!”

“But, Mama,” Heather pointed at the booth directly across from them, “they have fairy floss!”

“I do not care if they have a goose that lays golden eggs,” Sophie snapped, crouching down to Heather’s eye-level, “you do not go running off on me again. Do you see all these people? Do you have any idea how easily I could lose you in this crowd?”

Heather looked up at the crowds milling about them, all braving the unexpectedly cold night to visit the market. All around, booths with brightly colored awnings and festive lights strung about them, offered up everything from the fairy floss that snagged Heather’s attention to plants and pottery. Merchants tried their best to out-call their competitors to lure customers to take in their wares and it would be very easy to lose Heather in such a crowd.

Thorin joined them then, his expression stern as he also crouched. “You need to listen to your ’amad, mimûna,” he told her. “It can be dangerous otherwise.”

“I’m sorry, Mama, Mister Thorin,” Heather said softly, her eyes round and wide with remorse. “Can I have some fairy floss?”

“Not now,” Sophie told her, shaking her head as she straightened.

“Later?”

“We will see.”

Heather’s nose wrinkled and for a moment, she looked ready to debate it, but then thought better of it. “Yes, Mama.”

“Good. Now, why don't we see about supper first and then, if you behave, we can get hot chocolate?”

“Where?”

“We can go to Lucy’s.”

Heather’s eyes lit up. “Can we?”

Sophie nodded. “I think it would be all right.”

Thorin looked from Heather to her, his brows knit in confusion. “Lucy’s?”

“Over on Stone Street,” Sophie told him. “Lucy and I grew up together in Esgaroth and she is an amazing cook. Trust me.”

He bobbed his head. “Lead on, then.”

“I know the way!” Heather gripped Thorin’s free hand in both of hers. “Come along, Mister Thorin. The best table will be gone!”

He let out a laugh as he let her tug him along “How does she know about that?”

“Because she is wise beyond her years.” Sophie let out a laugh. “And she’s not wrong. If we don’t hurry, we’ll end up back by the kitchen.”

“Then allow me to lead the way.” Thorin winked at her as he proceeded to scoop Heather up and set her on his shoulders. “Can you see better up there, mimûna?”

“I can! Go straight!”

“Hold onto my hands,” he reminded her, and to Sophie, he added, “And don’t you get lost, either.”

“If we get separated, I think I can find my way,” Sophie replied dryly.

“Go this way, Mister Thorin!” Heather directed, point to her right at the end of the street. “And it’s over there, the one with the blue shade.”

Lucy’s was tucked into the corner of Stone and North Streets, with a bright blue awning and the word Lucy spelled in elegant ivory script. It was already crowded, but when Lucy saw them, she hurried over. “Sophie? Heather! What a lovely surprise!” Her wide dark eyes slid to her left. “And is this who I think it is?”

“Thorin Durin, meet Lucy Trisven. Lucy, His Royal Highness, King Thorin II.”

“Your Royal Highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

As Lucy dipped into a curtesy, Thorin cleared his throat, looking somewhat uncomfortable as he said, “Please, that is not necessary. Thorin is fine and it is a pleasure to meet your as well, Miss Trisven.”

Lucy’s cheeks went pink as she swept a loose auburn curl away from her face. “Well, let me get you a table. Do you need a high seat, my little lady?”

Heather nodded solemnly. “Please.”

“Of course.” She straightened up and gestured for them to follow and a few minutes later, they were seated at a cozy table in the back corner, opposite the kitchen and Heather was happily sipping a cup of hot chocolate, while Thorin poured Sophie and himself a goblet of wine.

“How long has this restaurant been in business? For I don't recall seeing it before tonight,” Thorin said after they’d placed their orders with the serving girl.

“It’s only been here since last winter, but she was very well known in Esgaroth,” Sophie said, trailing her finger down the thick stem of her crystal goblet. “But, somehow I think you’ve not spent much time there.”

“That would be because I haven’t. Not in recent years, anyhow. When I passed through last winter, it was the first time since before Smaug that I’d set foot in Esgaroth. Is that where you trained?”

She nodded. “More or less. I spent some time working in several of the elf kingdoms, to learn their languages as well. Then I met Heather’s father and settled back in Esgaroth with him, and after Heather was born, I decided I was finished traveling. Doing so with an infant through some of the lands simply wasn't safe and Sten didn’t like—” She paused at the sharp sting of memory and pressed her lips together as she glanced over at Heather, busy coloring on the small menu Lucy had given her, along with several different colored pastels.

Thorin’s huge hand came down upon hers. “You don't have to finish. I can guess.”

“It’s rather tiresome, really.” She met his soft blue eyes and shook her head. “And it’s over now, so there is no point in dwelling. Heather and I have a wonderful new life now.”

His thumb swept lightly along hers. “Good. I daresay Erebor has benefitted from having you both there. And,” he added, his voice a low purr, “I know I have definitely benefitted.”

A pleasant heat climbed into her cheeks. “Thorin…”

“What? I have. You and Heather have brought much-needed joy to both Erebor and to its king and that has, in turn, benefitted Erebor as a whole. And of course, Bifur is more and more his old self as well.”

“He just needed to be patient and now that he’s made the first big breakthrough, I think it won’t be long before he will not require my services any longer.”

Thorin’s thumb went still. “And will you and Miss Heather be looking to leave then?”

Although she expected the question sooner or later, her stomach still twisted slightly as she said, “I cannot stay if I’m not needed.”

“I need you.”

“Thorin…” she glanced over at Heather, still seemingly oblivious to their conversation as she shaded the tree she’d drawn. “What are you suggesting?”

“I suggest nothing, but I do hope you would consider remaining in Erebor on a more perm—”

“Are we leaving Erebor?” Heather asked, lifting her head to stare at them.

Sophie sipped her wine and lowered the goblet to say, “Not at this point, no.”

Thorin smiled at her. “Would you like to stay with us a bit longer, Miss Heather?”

She nodded, her dark curls bouncing merrily. “I would very much, yes.” She looked up at Sophie. “Can we, Mama?”

“For now, of course.” She shot Thorin a look as she added, “But we don't know what the future holds, remember.”

To her surprise, Thorin shot her a look right back. “But we do have an idea, don’t we?”

“I don't know, Thorin. Do we?”

“I think so, yes.”

Heather looked back and forth as each spoke. “Mama, are you mad at Mister Thorin?”

She sat back at her daughter’s blunt question and sighed softly as she shook her head. “Of course not. But, perhaps this is a conversation best left for another time.”

“If you insist,” Thorin replied evenly as their serving girl returned with their suppers, “but my sentiments will not have changed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Hunter’s stew?” The serving girl broke in with a silvery chirp as she set the large bowl before Thorin.

“Thank you.”

Supper meant the matter was dropped for now, but Sophie knew she and Thorin would be discussing what he meant when Heather was not within earshot.

That moment came far sooner than Sophie would have thought, for as Heather met up with Gimli and the two of them joined Narnerra to play a game of chance at the booth set up near the center of town, Thorin said, “My sentiments will not have changed, you know.”

“Thorin, you cannot speak of such things with Heather within earshot,” Sophie rounded on him sharply. “You cannot get her hopes up for things that most likely will never be.”

“Never be? Why?” He folded his arms over his broad chest and glared down at her. “Do you see no future for us, Mrs. Asharm?”

“Do you see one, Your Highness?”

“I do, yes.” He bobbed his head sharply. “Or, at least I see the possibility of one.”

“Why?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“I did, and I wish an answer. You need remember, I do not come into any relationship alone. I have Heather to think of.”

“And surely you’ve noticed I look at her as if she was my own,” he countered smoothly. “I would never dream of even hinting that I see her any other way.”

Sophie’s heart sped up, hammering against her ribs with enough force, black dots danced before her eyes. “But, you are the King of Erebor.”

“You say that as if it means something beyond a job title.”

“Because it does.”

“I want to be with you, Sophie.” He stepped closer and caught her by the hands. “And I wouldn’t want to be with you without Heather around as well. And I will never treat her as anything less than my own kin, so you needn’t worry about that.”

His thumbs brushed the backs of her hands and then he released one to bring his hand to her cheek, where it curved against her to make thinking that much more difficult. She swallowed hard. “Thorin, do you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course I do. I went mad for a while, but I’m far from stupid,” he said with a hint of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I want a future with you, Sophie. And unlike her father, I will never wish she was anything other than the sweet, charming little girl she is, nor will I ever raise a hand to either one of you. You will never know fear again, Sophie. I promise you this.”

Her eyes stung at the soft intensity of his voice. “Thorin, I—I don't know what to say, this isn’t anything I ever expected.”

“Nor did I,” he replied with a hint of a smile, “but here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“And here is where I wish to stay.”

“Me, too.”

“Good.” He bent to her, pressed his lips to hers, and slid one arm about her waist to draw her flush against him.

“Ew… are they kissing?”

Thorin pulled away with a chuckle at Gimli’s horrified question. “Aye, we were, indeed, Master Gimli. How did you do at your game?”

“I won a poppet,” Gimli said with a scowl. “What am I to do with a silly poppet?”

“It’s very pretty, though,” Heather chimed in.

He turned to her. “Do you like it, Heather?”

She nodded solemnly. “I do.”

“Then you shall have it,” Gimli told her, pressing it into her hand.

Her entire face lit up. “Do you mean it?”

“Aye, I mean it.”

“Thank you!” Heather threw her arms about his neck and hugged him so hard, he stumbled back.

“Easy, mimûna,” Thorin told her, crouching to peel her away from him. “Are you all right, Master Gimli?”

Gimli looked a bit dazed, but nodded and then smiled. “I’m fine, Your Highness.”

“Mama! Look!” Heather waved the poppet at her. “Gimli gave her to me! Isn’t she just the prettiest—”

She froze then, her face going pale as she stared off behind Sophie, who whipped about to see what it was that caught Heather’s attention. The only thing behind her was the the end of the street, where it intersected with Broad Street, and the throng of people milling about as they moved from stand to stand.

“Miss Heather, what is it?” Thorin asked softly, also spinning about to peer down the road.

Heather looked up at Sophie, who felt her heart stop as the little girl said, “I saw Papa.”

“What?”

Heather nodded. “He was right back there, by that lady with the pots,” she pointed to the stand at the end of the street, selling pottery of all shapes, sizes, and colors.

“Oh, love,” Sophie fought to keep her voice calm even as her belly roiled like the Long Lake during a storm, and scooped Heather up, “that’s not possible. It was your eyes playing tricks on you. Perhaps someone who looks like him.”

“No, Mama,” Heather shook her head, her bottom lip slowly beginning to tremble. “He looked right at me and he smiled, but it was a scary smile. Can we go back home now, please? I don’t want to be here any more.”

Gimli peered around Sophie’s legs. “We can go look, Heather.”

“No!” Heather threw her arms about Sophie’s neck and clung to her, burying her face as she added, “Please, can we go home?”

Thorin nodded, easing an arm about them both. “Of course we can, raklûna. Of course we can.”

Sophie tucked Heather more tightly against her, fighting the urge to peer over her shoulder every few minutes as Thorin ushered them out of Dale and back toward Erebor. And no matter how she tried to convince herself Heather was imagining what she’d seen, there was no denying the genuine fear she’d seen in Heather’s eyes.

But that simply wasn't possible. Sten was gone. He was dead. She knew this for a fact. He was not coming back.

So, who had Heather seen?

Sophie tried not to think about it as they crossed the plains between Dale and Erebor, and it was the first time in a long time that she realized just how wide and open the plains were.

“Mama, I thought you said Papa died?”

“He did, love. I don’t know who you might have seen, but it was not your papa.” Sophie hugged her daughter tighter, her heart thundering against her ribs as if Sten himself gave chase.

But that wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.

At Erebor’s gates, the watchman greeted them with a friendly, if brisk, “Good evening, Your Royal Highness, Mrs. Asharm, Miss Asharm. How was the market?”

“It was fine, Rabir. Please, just raise the gates,” Thorin replied.

“Of course.”

Chains rattled and squeaked as the gates slowly opened and only once they’d passed the threshold, did Sophie relax her hold on Heather. Thorin’s hand remained firmly at the small of her back as he guided her down to her apartments.

Inside, Thorin pushed the door closed and said, “She’s half-asleep. I think it safe to say she is no longer frightened.”

Sophie craned her neck to peer at Heather, whose head rested on her shoulder. Her thumb was firmly in her mouth and her eyes were heavy-lidded and just about closed. “Let me put her down and get her tucked in.”

“Would you like some wine?”

“I would, very much so. I have some in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get that.” He came over to gently stroke a hand along Heather’s curls. “Sleep well, raklûna.”

“What if he comes here?” Heather murmured, her voice thick and her words sluggish. “Will you stay, Mister Thorin. Just in case?”

Sophie met Thorin’s gaze, smiling as he then turned a solemn expression to Heather. “Would that make you feel safer?”

She nodded. “You won’t let him hurt us, right?”

Sophie pressed her lips together, her throat tightening when Thorin just as solemnly replied, “I will not let anyone hurt you, mimûna. Neither you nor your mother. I give you my word.”

“Good.” Heather’s eyes slid shut and she sighed softly.

“Let me put her to bed. I’ll be back in a moment,” Sophie managed to murmur.

“Take your time.”

She bobbed her head, then turned to carry Heather into her bedchamber, where she braced Heather against her hip while she turned down the bed with her free hand. She bent to set Heather on the featherbed and Heather murmured, “He can stay, can’t he?”

Sophie nodded as she drew up the sheet and quilt. “Of course he can, love. You have nothing to be afraid of now. You’re safe here.”

“I know,” Heather replied slowly, just barely nodding. “Mister Thorin loves us.”

“He certainly seems to.” Sophie gently sank onto the edge of the bed, stroking Heather’s hair.

“He does. I can tell… he does…”

With a soft sigh, Heather sank into sleep and Sophie sat there a few minutes more, until she was certain Heather wouldn’t wake with the slightest of movements. Then, she rose and quietly crept from the room, pulling the door by behind her.

Thorin was in the great room, two goblets and the bottle of wine standing on the stone table while he sat on the sofa, elbow resting on the arm, chin resting in his hand, his expression suggesting his thoughts were far from Erebor.

“Where are you?”

He jumped. “Sorry, mesmel.” He looked over at her and smiled. “Is she asleep?”

“I think so.” She sank onto the sofa alongside him, and without thinking, curled up against him. “Did you see who she saw?”

“I did not.” His arm came to rest about her shoulders, his fingers sweeping lightly along her upper arm as he added, “But then again, I wouldn’t know her father if I fell over him.”

Sophie shook her head. “It couldn’t have been Sten. It’s impossible.”

“Does he have a brother who resembles him perhaps?”

“He did,” she nodded slowly, “a twin, actually. But he died when they were children. Drowned in the Long Lake. It’s why I never fully understood why Sten chose to earn his living on the water. He hated that lake and with such good reason.”

“Well, whoever Heather saw, it shook her a bit. But, if you’d rather I not stay—”

“Now, why would I rather that?” She looked up at him. “I’m certain there is a perfectly logical explanation for what happened up in Dale. I just wish I’d seen the man she saw. Then I would know.”

“We will get to the bottom of it, Sophie.” He smiled down at her. “I promise you, we will.”

She sighed softly as she tucked her head against his side. “I know, but… it’s troubling.”

“It was dark and she was tired. She probably saw someone who resembled him and her eyes played a trick on her. Now,” he leaned forward to snag one of the goblets and handed it to her, “no more worrying. You and Heather are safe here and no one who does not belong here will find their way into Erebor. You and your daughter will both sleep soundly tonight if I have to sit up and watch over you both. Understood?”

Sophie nodded, but as she sipped her wine, she had the feeling peaceful nights’ sleep were going to be rather hard to come by in the coming days.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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