#aside from the joke i think it would be interesting if the mold curved in the sharp patterns of this style

[koipalm]

what if ethan winters molded in a witchblade way

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree… 

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.' 

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun. 

There goes their electric bill. 

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard. 

And this house has a porch swing. 

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in. 

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal. 

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I’m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore. 

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to. 

He knows what the other rooms are. 

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.” 

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ” 

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated. 

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse. 

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while. 

He’s still waiting. 

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering. 

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it? 

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that. 

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (15)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.1k warnings: SMUT (18+), rumlow is a piece of shit, drug trafficking, cannon level violence, a serious emotional roller coaster because there was no good way to split these chapters 🌹series masterlist 🌹

Bucky was sick to his stomach; bile etching up his throat, rancid and bitter to his tongue, cooper pooling behind his lips. He felt the drip of feverish sweat drip down his neck. Nails digging into his own palms, puncturing skin, though he barely noticed the sting of it. How could he possibly pay attention to anything but the way you were leaning into your husband, giggling at his stupid jokes, fingers trailing along his jaw line in gentle strokes the way you touched him just hours earlier.

Your legs were thrown over Rumlow’s lap as you squeezed in beside him on the couch, tucked between the arm of the sofa and your husband’s grimy hands sliding along your lower back. You laughed at something he said and Bucky had to remind himself that it was an act, a ruse to get Rumlow to fall in line and lead you straight to the heart of his smuggling operation.

You were a better actor than Bucky gave you credit for, though it didn’t seem to ease his discomfort at seeing you this close to a man who had ripped your life to pieces.

Twenty-four hours. That’s all it took for Rumlow to fall to your spell. It turned out he was as needy for your devotion as he was for the money lining his pockets. You were right, that he would easily succumb to you the moment you started to show an interest. It was his fantasy; to rule Hydra with a beautiful woman on his arm, one who’s eagerness followed him outside of public events and into the private halls of this home. He liked the attention, the validation, the power over a woman who spend years despising him.  

It was a game to him. One, he believed he won.

“What’s gotten into you, baby?” Rumlow drawled, his hands slithering along your thighs, slipping along your curves, and Bucky could see your sharp intake of breath even from his place at the far corner of the room. Rumlow didn’t seem to notice your tension solidifying to stone even with his hands upon you.

“I got tired of fighting this. Fighting us,” you replied breathily, expertly pulling the resentment from your voice and molding it to something light and sweet. It sounded foreign in your voice. “I got tired of telling myself I was better than all this, but the truth is… it’s me and you, Brock. It’s always been me and you.”

“That’s right,” he growled, his lips touching your jawline and Bucky tried to avert his eyes, tried to find something interesting in the room to stare holes into until he could count every last detail, every last molecule in the surface, but he couldn’t. He was drawn right back to you, tangled in Rumlow’s arms.

“I want in,” you said, crossing your legs over one another as his hand traveled along the top of your thigh; purposeful effort to block his path.

“Hydra is a tall order, baby. It’s not as pretty as you are.”

“I’ve seen the blood. I’ve seen the bodies in the basement.”

“And if I recall, you were rather upset with me for what happened with your cousin, but that’s the business, baby. That’s something you have to be on board with,” Rumlow warned, voice muffled by your neck as he kissed at the skin there.

Your jaw was clenched, eyes burning with rage while he was otherwise occupied, and Bucky watched as you tightened your hands to fists to stop the shaking. You did not spare him a glance, no casual look in his direction. He didn’t suspect you could stand it, not with Rumlow’s lips on you like that.

“I understand now,” you told him, voice surprisingly even as you ran your fingers through his jet-black hair. He pulled back and a short wave of relief eased at your shoulders. “Let me stand by you the way you’ve always wanted. I’m done with the shadows and that stupid library. I want you. I want Hydra.”

Heat in his chest, like fire and envy, Bucky clenched his jaw, wired shut. He wondered how those words felt on your tongue as you said them, if they tasted of the bile in his mouth or if your stomach was in painful, aching knots. He wondered how hard it was for you to dismiss the only room of this house you felt safe in. He wondered if you wanted to scream the way he did.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Rumlow smirked, pleased by your offers. His lips returned to your neck, marking skin to bruising colors, claims on your body visible for everyone to see, and Bucky had never wanted to kill a man more in his life.

“We have company,” you said quietly, a slight tremor in your voice he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care.

Your eyes met Bucky’s across the room for only a short moment, a wave of pain there; lingering guilt, sadness, remorse, to have another man’s hands on you, lips on you, marks on your body that do not belong to the man you love. It was the first time you’d looked in his direction since you started this charade.

Bucky wanted to tell you that it was okay, that he -- more than anyone else -- knew what it meant to push pieces of yourself aside for the sake of an assignment, but before he could offer you even the smallest of an encouraging smile, Rumlow’s hand on your leg caught his attention.

It pushed between your thighs despite the tight cross of your legs, slipping higher up, and your wide eyes flashed towards Bucky in panic.

“Sir,” Bucky coughed, stepping out from his place in the corner of the room; the silent guard, the observer to his own heartache. Rumlow pulled back from you, rolling his eyes and his hand slipped out from your legs. It was a momentary relief.

“What do you want, Karpov? I’m a little busy with my wife.”

He had to say something. Anything. Keep that piece of shit away from his girl.

“There are some orders for the shipment tonight that need your sign off,” Bucky said shortly. It wasn’t a lie, at least, and it may kill two birds with one stone.

“Jesus, fine,” Rumlow groaned, pushing your legs off of him rather harshly as he moved to stand. He brushed down his thighs, pushing over wrinkles in his slacks and a clear budge at his crotch he made no effort to hide.

Sharp pain in Bucky’s palms again.

“You know what?” Rumlow started, pausing at the edge of the room as he turned back to you. “Why don’t you come with me? You want to be front and center, baby? I’ll show you where the magic happens.”

You grinned, eyes brightening as you jumped up from the couch. It was like an entirely different person, a mask of a woman Rumlow always wanted you to be, and you threw yourself into his embrace. Arms wrapped around his neck, a slow kiss to his cheek, and Bucky could feel his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest.

He moved to follow, but Rumlow held up a hand.

“Stay here, Karpov. I think I can handle my wife alone.”

Bucky’s eyes quickly flashed to yours, unwilling to leave you alone with this monster for even a second, but you gave him a short nod, tight on your smile. The steadiness of the movement, the subtly of it, and you told him through watchful eyes to stand down.

Bucky had never felt so useless in his life.

“Yes, sir,” he replied flatly, stepping back though everything in him urged him to you. He watched as you intertwined your fingers to Rumlow’s, tugging him along to the office, to behind closed doors, and Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat for the third time that morning.

***

“He agreed!” you exclaimed quietly, sliding between the double doors to your library where Bucky was there waiting for you.

Bucky sat on the couch, just on the very edge, tension tight throughout his body because you’d been gone for over an hour. He tried not to look for the sighs he knew so well in you; the slight tussle of your hair, the collar of your shirt uneven around your neck, a flush in your cheeks and a heaviness in your breath.

He was too distracted to realize you were perfectly put together. Not a hair out of place.

“He’ll take me to the docks tonight,” you confirmed again, smiling wide as you plopped down on the couch beside him, sinking in the cushions and sliding closer to him. The length of your thigh pressed to his and he wrung his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees, hunched over.

“James?”

He didn’t respond, too afraid it might come out like the garbled mess inside his head.

“I was expecting a little more of a reaction here. This is what we were hoping for isn’t it?” you chuckled nervously, hand sliding up his spine. Goosebumps trailed in your wake but he kept his eyes on the coffee table, on a particular stained ring at the center, overlapped to another, the evidence of your endless nights in this sanctuary.

When he didn’t respond again, you asked, “honey, what’s wrong?”

Bucky shook his head. He heard Rumlow start up the car outside minutes before you arrived, off to a short meeting downtown before the shipment arrived in the evening. Last minute arrangements to be checked off.

“I know I have no right to ask you this,” Bucky started, voice feeling thick and heavy on his tongue, “and you don’t have to answer. I know that you’re only doing this to put an end to Hydra and you’re risking so much to help us lock him up, but—”

“Are you asking if I slept with him?”

You were surprised as you leaned back to the couch, hand falling away from his back. A chill swept through his body in the absence of your touch and he turned back to look at you, guilt ridden and through hooded eyes, shielding over deep blue. He nodded.

“James,” you sighed achingly, “I told you I wouldn’t let it come to that. Regardless if I was with you or not. I’m not letting that piece of shit ever touch me again.”

A stone lifted from the pit of his stomach, though it still burned.

“All I had to do was stand a little closer to him,” you said slowly, watching his expression carefully, “tell him he was big and strong, stroke his ego a bit. He showed me the papers, explained it to me like I was five-years-old, as if I didn’t have multiple graduate degrees. He likes to put his hands on me; gives him some sense of control, but all I did was kiss his cheek. He tastes like cigar smoke, James. It’s disgusting.”

Bucky nodded, feeling rather foolish for letting his jealousy get the best of him. He tried to parade it as his protectiveness for you, but he knew better than that. You could carry your own and you would not give yourself to Rumlow if you didn’t want to, if you didn’t feel like it was the only option. He knew you’d do anything to finish this case and be done with that man for good, but you would not do that.

“I guess,” Bucky sighed, nervously scratching at the back of his head, “I just thought—”

“Well, don’t,” you replied quickly, teasing in your voice. You slid closer to him, pulling his hand into your own as you played with the lines in his palm, tracing over old scars and molding his fingers the way you wanted. He liked the way it felt, the submission of it.

Slowly, you caught his eye, a darkness coming about you as you smiled under your long lashes. With his hand in your left, you unfastened the button at the top of your jeans and slid down the zipper. Bucky watched, swallowing as you slowly guided his hand between the fabric and the silkiness of your skin.

Your hand over his, he touched over course curls of hair before he found a heavenly smooth, wetness pooling at his fingertips. He choked back a moan, watching the way you chewed at the edge of your lip.

“You are the only man that gets to touch me like this, do you understand? Only you.”

Bucky nodded, cupping at your folds. Your hand still placed over his, you pressed on his fingers like the keys of a piano and he willingly slipped his fingers between the lips at your core, sending visible shivers up your spine.

“Only me,” he repeated, two fingers circling at your entrance as you bit down hard on your lip, a gasp at its edge.

“Only you,” you said again, breathily, eyes fluttering shut as two fingers pushed inside you.

There wasn’t enough give in your jeans, not enough space for him to bring you to the edge the way he wanted to, so he pulled his hand back gently, much to the adorable pout pushing at your lips, and he chuckled as he started to tug at the waist of your jeans.

“Let it be only me then, sweetheart, and help me out,” he laughed, struggling to get them down over your hips because you wore them tight to your skin, like a second layer, and while he usually loved seeing the curves of your body so prominent in the light of day, it made for quite the inconvenience in the shadows.

You were grinning, picking up your hips from the couch as you laid back down, and scooted the fabric down to your thighs, where he was able to do the rest. Your panties came down along with them, and before you could even berate him for not following suit, he stripped himself of his own pants, leaving him exposed to you.

“We don’t have long,” he told you, knowing Rumlow’s schedule for the day by heart. It was an important day, after all. If all went well, he’d be behind bars by the nights’ end.

“Don’t need long,” you replied cheekily, gripping at his waist and guiding him to you. You tilted your hips upward, easing him inside of you in one swift motion. Bucky moaned loudly, muffling it into your shoulder.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart,” he whined, propped up on his elbows over soft cushions as he tried to find his breath. “You’re so goddamn tight. Feels so good. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” you smirked, moving your hips just enough to make him gasp. “It’s all yours.”

Bucky chuckled nervously, trying to mask the very real throbbing of his cock inside of you; squeezed and on the brink just from the feel of your walls around him, holding him.

“You can’t say stuff like that to me, darlin’. I’m not gonna last.”

You shrugged, mischievous and completely unbothered. The way you smiled up at him, moon and stars and sun in your eyes, he wondered if he could just stay in this moment for eternity and be happy. He was sure that he could.

“You did say there wasn’t much time, didn’t you?” you teased, devilish smirk upon your lips.

“Guess I did, huh?”

“Better get a move on, James.” You pushed up against him again, the slight movement enough to pull a gasping whine from him; the tension of jealousy lingering in his veins and sensitive in all the right places.  

You were a gigging mess, masking it in kisses to his shoulder, to his neck. Bucky couldn’t quite focus straight, not on anything but the warm, wonderful feel of you wrapped so tightly around him as he pushed into you, over and over, grinding down and breathing hot to your skin. Your hands roaming his back, his spine, his stomach under his shirt. Your touch was like heaven wherever it went.

It didn’t take long, not that either of you minded; especially when he snuck his hand down between your bodies and rubbed rushed and pressured circles at your clit. You gasped into his shoulder, nails digging to his back, and he marked his own colorful kiss to the curve of your breast.

“Right there – ah, yes – don’t stop,” you whined and every word, every syllable uttered in the thick, intoxicating cadence of your voice was like honey to him. It ran down through his veins, warmed him from the inside out, and he didn’t let up, not until you were withering and crying his name.

Well, not his name.

But still.

“James! Ah – God. I’m so close, so close.”

“I’m right there, love.”

Walls clenched impossibly tight around him and Bucky closed his eyes, unable to watch the way your lips parted, eyelids fluttering because he was already at the edge of his peak, but he needed to hold out for you.

And then it hit, you cried out, stilling under him as he kept up his movements, hips snapping to yours, pressure in delicious circles between your legs, and Bucky pressed his nose to your neck, breathing you in as found the relief to let go.

He spilled into you with a sudden gasp, his arms giving out as he fell onto you, hips lazily thrusting through the few final waves of that rush of bliss and warmth and unparalleled pleasure. He was panting, breathless, when he picked his head up again. You were grinning at him, pulling him in to kiss at his lips.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied with a slight chuckle. “Only when it’s your psycho husband and I know you’d rather have just about anyone else on this planet touching you the way he was.”

“Not anyone else,” you told him with a smirk. “Just you.”

“Right,” Bucky laughed, kissing your cheek. Joy and love and heaven in your smile. “Just me.”

***

The air was crisp down by the water; smelling of sea salt and ocean life, the brush of waves to the posts of the dock. The overhead lights illuminating the boardwalk were dim, flickering in the distance, because Hydra operated in the shadows, even amongst the night.

Bucky trailed a few feet behind you, keeping a careful watch as your arm was draped at Rumlow’s waist, his carrying over your shoulders. You were laughing at something he said, leaning into his side, and Bucky could tell even from the cadence of your voice that it was forced. Rumlow didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Tell me what we’re seeing tonight?” you asked, doughy eyed.

You were right when you’d told Bucky how well you knew your husband. Rumlow liked it when you played it dumb, when he could talk down to you. He seemed to disregard your intelligence entirely. It made him feel strong, to have this influence over you, to guide you blindly into the heart of a raging fire where he’d lend you to the flames in favor of his own skin.

“Our final shipment of Cerberus is arriving at dock 41,” Rumlow explained, pointing down to a hangar at the end of the pier. “We’ve got millions worth of product in that ship, baby. Millions more back at our storage site, too. And that’s before this shit hits market.”

“You ever try it?” you asked and Bucky raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “A king doesn’t eat the food he feeds to the peasants.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, thankful for the cast of midnight. You nodded at your husband, though Bucky could tell from the way you stared up at him that you were holding back your tongue. He chuckled to himself, laughing at his own wit like a self-righteous, conceited, piece of –

“Sir!” a voice called from the front of the ship, a little panicked. He pulled off his ball cap, held it tight in front of his chest, squeezing at it nervously. “We—uh, we weren’t expecting you.”

“Wasn’t aware I had to ring ahead before I showed my wife around my own fuckin’ ship,” Rumlow growled, shoving the man aside as he boarded the ship. You followed closely behind, stealing a quick glance at Bucky and then out to the empty docks before you turned your back to him and returned to Rumlow’s side.

Bucky took a steady breath, the weight of his gun heavy at his hip and he peered back into the darkness. His team was out there somewhere. Steve, Nat, Sam, and a dozen other tact team agents ready to storm the ship the second Rumlow incriminates himself. It was already bugged. Nat was already listening in from her perch within its radius. They’d know when the time was right.

Until then, Bucky would wait.

Stepping over the slight gap between the ship and the boardwalk, the gentle waves of the Atlantic sweeping in below, Bucky followed. He passed by several of the crewmen he’d spent months overseeing; some of whom grunted as he walked by, others gave him a curt, short smile.

He spotted Lenny attending to the ropes to keep the ship at bay; the kind, middle aged man who had no business being sucked into Hydra’s schemes, hunched over in a position that was sure to hurt his back. He paused, clutching at his chest with a grimace on his face, before he continued.

Bucky let out a heavy breath, taking a quick glance back at you and Rumlow to confirm your whereabouts before he jogged over to Lenny.

“Mr. Karpov!” Lenny greeted sincerely, a smile lifting up his rosy cheeks. Dirt lined his forehead from where he would wipe his head from sweat. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you down here, sir.”

Lenny was a good man. A hardworking father who got wrapped up in something far beyond his reach and Bucky had no interest in including him on the roster for the evening’s events.

“Lenny, I think it’s time you go home.”

Lenny narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, sir. I’ve still got some work to do and I don’t think Mr. Sitwell will be happy if I—”

“You do not want to be here tonight,” Bucky repeated, carefully eyeing the crewmen as they continued about their work. Jasper Sitwell stood a careful distance from the edge of the dock, observing from his position in a crisp, blue suit. Bucky turned back to Lenny, who seemed impossibly confused. “Be with your family. Tell them you were at the bar.”

“Oh, sir, they know what I—”

“Go home, Lenny,” Bucky warned again, retreating back into the ship, because he’d already spent too much time leaving you on your own. Lenny glanced nervously back at Sitwell before he nodded, slowly putting the ropes to the dock. Bucky waited for Lenny to start heading to the parking lot before he finally turned and ducked below deck.

“Look around you, baby,” Rumlow’s muffled voice echoed down the hall. “These are our riches.”

Bucky picked up his pace, jogging just slightly until he made his way into the cargo hold. You were pacing along the dozens of crates, sliding a finger curiously along the edges as you turned back to Rumlow with a smile on your face. You were wrapped in a tight black dress and heels barely the width of a penny, leaving you to wobble just slightly on a step, but you’d hid it well. It didn’t stop the crewmen from staring at you, anyway. You looked like the woman Bucky first met in Rumlow’s office; sparkling,, vibrant red dress and a hollowness behind your eyes.

“These are all yours?” you asked, a bewilderment in your voice. “Can I see it?”

Damn, you were good. Get Rumlow to open the crates him and that it was him who claimed ownership. Bucky had to stop the smile from curving at his lips.

Rumlow nodded, gesturing his hand out and waiting for one of his lackies to put a crowbar in his grip. He opened the crate with ease, and sure enough, it was lined to the brim with red bricks covered in plastic wrap, tied together by rubber bands. Cerberus.

That’s my girl.

“Just a line of this stuff will have the four times the potency of cocaine,” Rumlow gloated. “It could knock a body builder on his ass and have him daydreaming of fuckin’ unicorns in seconds.”

“Wow, that’s incredible,” you sighed, looking curiously to the brick as Rumlow held it up to the dim lighting. Your eyes flickered over to Bucky before you continued to ask, “so what happens now?”

Getting him to confess to distribution, too. You were a Godsend. Bucky wondered how wide Natasha was grinning from behind headphones and her computer screen a few hundred feet away, listening and in recording this very conversation.

“Now, we split it up amongst our suppliers,” Rumlow explained without missing a beat. “They bring it to the streets, and we watch the cash roll in.”

What a fucking idiot.

Rumlow continued to show you around the cargo hold, and then to the elaborate office at the back of the room. He poured himself a drink, though he didn’t bother to offer you one. In the moment he was distracted, you shot a glance back at Bucky, wide eyed and raise of your eyebrow.

Bucky checked his watch, figuring Steve and the team must be coming in soon. Rumlow was on the ship. You’d gotten more than enough from his confessions. What was taking them so long?

“Are we keeping you from something, Karpov?”

Bucky dropped his hand back to his side, letting his sleeve slip back over his watch. “No, sir.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes, returning to his scotch as he downed the entirety of it in one gulp. He turned to you, grabbed you rather harshly by the hips and pulled you tight to his chest. It left you unsteady on your feet, leaving you to grab to his collar for support.

“Now,” Rumlow purred, dark and low, “why don’t we celebrate, just the two of us?”

You laughed, though it was tight, tense, as you stared to pry Rumlow’s hands from you. “Not here, Brock.”

“Yes, here,” he urged, pushing you up against his desk, his hands riding along the skin of your thighs, shifting under fabric and digging into your curves. You gasped as he wiped the contents of the desk to the ground, shoving himself between your legs. “Karpov, leave us.”

But Bucky couldn’t move. He was a statue. He was frozen solid but there was fire in his veins, stones in his chest, vengeance itching at the surface, but he held it down by the bile in his throat. Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from your hands as you clung to the bottom of your dress, holding it firm at the mid of your thighs, though it didn’t seem to stop Rumlow’s fingers from slipping under.

“Sir,” Bucky called as Rumlow’s shoulders stiffened at the intrusion, “I think that we should—”

“What?! What the fuck do you ‘think’!?” Rumlow threw back in a heated growl, bounding towards Bucky across the room. He pushed his finger at Bucky’s chest and it was a relief just to get him away from you. Bucky watched over Rumlow’s shoulder as you slid off the desk, pushed down the edge of your dress, and nodded at him. Shaken, but alright.

“How about you make yourself useful and keep this level unoccupied for the next ten minutes?” Rumlow snapped, shoving Bucky hard in the chest. He turned back to you, like he was stalking prey and your wide eyes met Bucky’s.

He found his hand nestling on the cold metal of the gun draped under his coat as he watched Rumlow take each step towards you. Safety clicking off. Pulled from the holster around his waist. Aiming in Rumlow’s direction, and then –

Darkness.

The lights gave out across the ship, a deep unsettling blackness coating the room as Rumlow started shouting at his men, barking orders over the sound of crates falling on this side and grunts coming from the injured lackies.

Bucky couldn’t see a goddamn thing. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of him and when he tried to look in the direct he’d last seen you, he was only met with darkness. He didn’t even know what way he was facing. Your name was on his tongue, though he bit it back. 

“FBI! Lower your weapons!”

Steve.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees!”

Sam. 

Rumlow let out a guttural roar and suddenly there was gunfire. The brief shots illuminating a flicker to the room for only a second; short bursts of light capturing the flood of agents emerging down the stairway and creeping through the cargo room, diving behind crates of Cerberus, and light red powder misting up into the air with every misfire.

The generator kicked on with a low groan and dim crimson lighting cast over the cargo hold. Bucky blinked a few times, trying to adjust from the sheer darkness as he quickly scanned the room in search of you. The relief was instant as he found you peer out from behind the desk, having taken refuge there amongst the gunfire.

Bucky nodded at you, a hand gesturing to the ground; stay down, hold tight. It wouldn’t be much longer. Steve and Sam were at the forefront of the agents ascending to the lower level of the ship, night vision goggles removed as they fired back at the men who had yet to drop their weapons. The echo of the shots was deafening in the enclosed space.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Rumlow shouted over the chaos, shoving you towards the back of the office. There was nowhere for him to go, so Bucky turned back to the agents. It would only be a minute. Just one more minute and then Bucky would have you safe in his arms again.

One minute.

Bucky held his position, gun in hand aimed at his own team to keep up appearances. He was supposed to be arrested along with Rumlow. That was the plan. It was how he would preserve his identity after this all went down. James Karpov would have an unfortunate accident on the way to his lock up and Bucky Barnes could be free again. The death of another cover and the end of another assignment.

Agents rushed at him, shoving him to the ground, knees to his shoulders and as they yanked his hands behind his back. They were shouting at him, ordering him to ‘get down’ and ‘shut the hell up,’ because he had to put up some kind of fight to make it believable.

It’ll be over soon, Bucky told himself. It would be over and he would come find you. They’d throw Rumlow to the back of an armored van, hull him off to the county jail for holding, and Bucky would take you back to his apartment, wash the grim of your husband from your skin, keep you tight in his arms, remind you that no one will ever hurt you again. Then, he’d tell you his name.

When this was over.

Just a minute more.

But as he peered up to the back of the office, a wash of cold rushed over him, like ice straight to his chest and through his bloodstream.

It was empty.  

“No,” Bucky gasped, tugging on the restraints behind him, desperately trying to shake off the agent holding him down. “No! Y/n! Y/n!”

“Hey! Hey, you need to stop,” Sam’s whispered harshly to his ear, hot to the touch and it burned him. He held Bucky still, pushing down to his shoulder blades as he stole a glance back at the Hydra henchmen being restrained one room over. “You’re going to blow your cover in the home stretch, you fuckin’ idiot! Cool it.”

“She’s gone,” Bucky panted, heart rate skyrocketing, threatening to leap straight into his throat to choke him right there. Bucky nodded to the back of the room, where you and Rumlow were supposed to be cornered. “They’re gone, Sam. I lost her. They’re—They’re gone.”

Sam lifted his knee from Bucky’s back, released his hands, and Bucky scrambled up to his feet, sprinting to the back end of the room. There were no doors, no exits, and somehow, you and Rumlow had both disappeared, managed to slip out unnoticed in the chaos.

Bucky ran his hand along the paneling, checking for trap doors, and he turned over his shoulder to find Sam quickly closing the door to the office, shielding him from the room of Hydra crewmen being arrested beyond the door. Bucky didn’t have time to care whether he’d been spotted, not with the ringing in his ears, the tightness in his chest.

“What do you mean ‘they’re gone’? They were right here. I saw them,” Sam argued through harsh whispers.

“There must be a trap door, a hidden latch, something,” Bucky mumbled to himself, ignoring his partner as he brushed right past him, running his hands over every panel he could find, pulling out books and trinkets from the shelves.

“Nat? You got eyes on Rumlow and Y/n?” Sam said, glancing up at the surveillance cam ahead. A moment passed before Sam, sighed and said, “Nat hasn’t seen them. They might still be on the ship. We’ll alert the team, Buck. You need to get back in position before someone sees you.”

It was like white noise; a blur of words and syllables strung together, until his hand slipped over a crack in the wall where the chill of a slight breeze touched his skin and he froze. Sam narrowed his eyes beside him as he readied his weapon.

Bucky pressed on the panel and with a single click, it unlatched, propped open and revealed a long, winding passage way through the bowels of the ship.

“Shit.”

“You need to stand down,” Sam warned, a hand to Bucky’s shoulder as he tried to stop him from rushing inside. “Let us handle this. It’s a miracle none of Rumlow’s crew have noticed you’re not in cuffs like the rest of them. With Rumlow still out there, you can’t afford to be made, Buck. He’s got resources and connections everywhere. Word gets back to him that you’re one of us and he’ll have you killed, man. Let us do our jobs. We’ll find her. I promise.”

Bucky tried to listen – honest, he did – but all he could focus on was the panic in your eyes, the fear so carefully hidden behind layers of confidence and determination, the unending trust you held for him as he let you slip through his grasp and into the hands of a monster.  

Bucky took a deep breath, his hands planted firmly on either side of the door before he turned to Sam. “I’m sorry, brother.”

He jabbed hard at Sam’s wrist, forcing a release of his grip on his weapon as it fell into Bucky’s hand. Sam stared at him with wide eyes as Bucky kicked him square in the chest; not enough to cause injury but enough to knock the wind out of him for the few moments he’d need to escape.

He didn’t turn back as he heard Sam fall to the ground and he pushed his way through the tunnel, through the bare bones of the ship of metal archways and exposed wires. Hunched down under the low hanging ceilings, cobwebs stringing into his hair, until he was met with the crisp night air and the wash of salt water in the breeze.

It was almost as dark outside as it was in the ship and Bucky squinted his eyes, hoping to find a glimpse of you somewhere down the pier.

Gun in hand, he carefully made his way to the end of the ship, stepping back onto the boardwalk. Solid ground under his feet, he pressed forward; tunneled vision and heart hammering in his chest.

Then, a heavy blow to the back of his head. A Pulsing through his body like electricity, gun slipping from his hands and falling to the pavement in deafening sound. Knees buckled out from under him as a numbness swept over his body. Swaying. Losing balance as a blur of a red emblem came to view; a skull, six tentacles.

He lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Owl House/Fairy Tail Crossover Episode 1 Part 2

Hello everybody, time for another part of my Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover, Midnight Striga!! Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

“So, since when can humans do magic?” Eda asked with a sniff, shooting a wry grin towards her passenger.

Luz arched an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “Since always. I’ve kind of gathered by now that you aren’t human, and that very few, if any, of the people here are human either. But I’m getting off topic already, why are you asking?” She leaned forward, expecting an answer.

“HA!” Eda barked in humor at Luz’s boldness. “Kid, it’s been an accepted fact since forever that humans can’t do magic. I think that warrants a little curiosity, doesn’t it?”

Luz huffed, tilting her head back and forth in thought. “Eh, fair enough. I have no idea where you got your info that humans can’t do magic, but since I’m guessing this place is pretty closed off from human contact, info from outside of it falls through the cracks. I can give you a more informed answer when we land, but the long and skinny of it is that every living being has some potential for magic, but not everything has the power needed to actually do anything with that potential. I’m one of those that can.”

Eda blinked, glancing up in thought. That… was more than what she thought she was gonna get. In the short term, this kid basically more or less flat out confirmed that what witches know about humans is about as accurate as a portrait made by a blind man with no sense of touch. Purely guesswork based off of extremely limited input, in other words. Still, while this may upset some of her plans, this girl had some serious moves back there. She still had no clue what exactly she did, but it was impressive! And- what was that thumping she felt on the back of her head?

“-da, Eda, Eda, Eda,” With each repetition of the Witch’s name, Luz lightly thumped her knuckles against the back of her head. What could she say, when Luz got bored, she tended to get a little mischievous.

“GAH!” With a yelp at the small but incessant pain, Eda shot Luz a quick glance of annoyance. “Titans, kid, I’ve only got the one head! What do you want?”

Luz shot Eda a Cheshire grin, before subtly pointing down. “I think we’re here, if the fact your staff stopped and has been hovering over this place on its own is anything to go by.”

As Eda glanced down, she flushed in embarrassment as, yes, they were hovering over her house. Man, she really got sucked into her own head there, didn’t she? Eda, ignoring Luz’s snickering, guided Owlbert down for a landing, hopping off as they touched ground.

As Luz finally got her laughter under control, she noticed something Eda had left behind on the staff: her hand. While admittedly curious about how it was still moving while visibly detached, and with no apparent magical connection to Eda’s body, Luz decided discretion was the better idea. Lightly snatching the hand off the staff, she sauntered up to Eda, and very much deliberately tapped on her shoulder. When the older woman turned back towards her in question, Luz cheerfully grinned and held up the missing appendage.

Flushing once again at having missed the fact that she had lost a limb again, Eda gratefully took her hand back, snapping it back in place upon her wrist. Deciding now was the best point to start saving face, Eda pulled up a smirk, gesturing to the door. “I was wondering where that went. Anyways kid, I’d like to welcome you to my place. It may not seem like much, but I’ve got a killer security system!”

Luz was skeptical. Not surprising, when you’ve been running as much as she has, it’s practically second nature after a while. But still, she couldn’t detect anything overtly magical with this house, as amazingly weird and bewilderingly breathtaking it may be, in a creepy shack in the woods sort of way, aside from that odd Door Knocker in the shape of an Owl’s face. A face that had just blinked.

“PASSWORD PLEASE!” It shrieked in what Luz could honestly say was the most annoying voice she had EVER heard in her life. Also, when did she raise her hand to punch?

Before she could attack the strange creature, Eda beat her to the point, jabbing her fingers into the Face’s eyes. “We don’t have time for your games, Hooty! Open up!”

“Fine! Jeez! You never let me have any fun, hoot.” The Face, Hooty apparently, complied in a much softer, but still irritating, voice, swinging the door open on its hinges without Eda touching it.

Stifling a snicker at the odd by-play between the two, Luz followed Eda into her home. The first thing she noticed was the massive piles of junk scattered about, an odd mix of toys, books, tools, clothing, anything you could possibly find legally in either a sleepy town in the countryside or a bustling major city. The second thing she noticed was how prominent the Owl Aesthetic of the place was, with Owl themed decorations covering pretty much everything that wasn’t cluttered by Eda’s junk. Yet, in spite of the messy, dysfunctional feel of it all… Luz could honestly say that she found the place almost like a home, just from the energy of it all.

Smirking, Eda preened under Luz’s silent awe of her house. “Yeah, this place is great. A nice spot to hide away from the pressures of life.” She plopped down onto her couch with a content sigh. “Also the cops. Hmm, and also exes. Ha!”

Luz cracked a smile at the joke. Okay, it probably wasn’t really a joke, but it was still funny! “I can’t say I’ve had issues with the third one, but I’m very familiar with the first two. So, you’ve got questions for me?” She settled against the counter, relaxed, but ready to spring if things went ugly. She didn’t really expect them to, but you could never be too careful sometimes, especially with a near-total stranger, battle bond or not.

Eda leaned forward, eyes sharp. Now they were in familiar territory. “Questions, and a small proposal, if you’re up to it. Firstly, just what kind of magic were you using back there?”

“Huh, getting right in it, eh?” Luz grinned, pleased at the opportunity to brag- she meant inform! Inform someone about her skills. “At the start, that was what we in the bizz call Molding Magic. In my case specifically, Light-Make Magic.”

Eda blinked, not understanding. “Okay, gonna need a little more than that kid.” She grinned. “But I will say this, I think I like where this is going.”

Luz snorted, agreeing with the woman privately, and started complying. “Well, to simplify it, Molding Magic is a form of Magic that can be applied both for combat and utility.” Luz made the same gesture Eda had seen earlier, pressing her closed fist against an open palm, soft light building at the point of contact. “Molding Magic allows one to gather magical energy, and shape it into different forms based on the element or material used. In my case, I use light.” With that said, she pulled her closed fist away, revealing a miniature sculpture of Eda, seemingly made entirely of light held into a still image. Luz smirked at Eda’s look of amazement. “Anything I can visualize, I can make, and the better I can visualize it, the more powerful and stable it turns out.”

Eda was stunned. This? This was a form of magic she had never even heard or dreamed of. And, if she was reading between the lines right, while it may not be common for humans who can use magic, and wasn’t that still a strange thought, it wasn’t truly rare by any means. The ability to make ANYTHING you can think of, so long as you can spare the energy? Eda could already think of all the ways she could’ve used something like that over the years.

“Okay, since when have humans been able to do something like that!?” Eda seriously wanted to know. If she could figure out how to replicate a spell like that, it would make some of her escapes far easier later on.

Luz shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hundred years maybe? I mean, the base form, Molding Magic itself, is pretty ancient, but most modern variants have only been around for a few centuries at most. Like, it’s older, but not ancient.” What else could she say? Luz may have a serious interest in magical history and theory, but she wasn’t an actual scholar.

Eda slumped. That wasn’t the best news, but it wasn’t really the worst either. Still, if humans have had proper magic for centuries, then the info the Boiling Isles had about humanity was even more off than she had thought. “Damn. I won’t ask you about those other spells and stuff you were slinging back there. They didn’t look similar to what you started with, but they seemed closer to magic that I know of at least.” Her gaze brightened, lips curving up into an excited grin. “But hot dog, what you were doing back there was impressive, kid. So, you want to know more about what’s going on?”

Luz nodded, serious. “Absolutely. For starters, where am I?”

Eda smirked, glad she had anticipated that initial question, though her own made it so she should probably adjust her prepared answer a little. “You, my new friend, are in the scenic Demon Realms, specifically, the Boiling Isles! A colossal collection of Islands joined by the corpse of a long-dead magical being known only as the Titan. For centuries, it’s been accepted among Witches that we alone had magic, and humans who we knew of, but knew nothing real about beyond our own assumptions, did not. Another common belief was that the Demon Realm was the source of all human myths and legends from our world seeping into yours, but if you guys have actually got magic, that’s probably false. Or, at least, it’s less true than what we had believed for so long.” Eda slumped, suddenly drained. It made sense, in her mind, to feel tired. Sure, she was excited, but having your entire understanding of how the world actually works going under a sudden shift wasn’t easy.

Luz nodded, processing the information. “Okay, so I’m in another dimension primarily populated by demons and magical beings that refer to themselves as Witches. Got it. Do you have any questions about my world?”

Eda quirked an eyebrow. “Honestly, kid? No, not really. While having my whole world view undergo a massive shift was fun, I’m not really a scholar, so this doesn’t affect me all that much.” She bolted up, suddenly brimming with energy. “What does affect me, though, is what you and I can do for each other!”

Luz smirked, slightly confused, but mostly excited about where this could go. “Oh?”

“Yup. But first, you’ll probably want to meet my roommate.” Eda grinned. She just knew she was gonna love the kid’s reaction. Turning towards the stairs, she shouted. “Hey King! Get your keister down here!!” Out of view from the kid’s eyes, Eda subtly twirled up a spell, distorting the sounds of King’s voice and footsteps as he descended.

“WHO DARES DISTURB I?” Eda smirked at the human’s reaction, seeing her shift into a battle stance at King’s admittedly intimidating (at the moment) voice, and the perception-shifting shadows adding to the illusion, she just knew this was gonna be funny. “The king of Demons!?” As King finally stomped into view, clad in his bath gear and clutching a Rubber Ducky, the spells having worn out and revealing his true size and voice, she was not disappointed.

“QUE LINDO!!” At the adorable sight of the little doggy demon, all of Luz’s hard-earned self-control decided that surrendering to her adoration of cuteness was preferable to keeping her tough girl image. Abandoning her attack stance, she rushed to the skull-headed cutie-pie of a demon, smothering him in cuddles. “Who’s a good boy? Is it you? Is it you!?”

“N-No, NO!! I Don’t know who your good boy is!?” Squirming in the strange individual’s grasp, King turned to his friend, roommate, and (even if he didn’t like to admit it) foster mother. “Eda! Who is this monster!?”

Eda laughed, genuinely enjoying the sight of the small demon struggling in the human’s grasp. “Okay kid, you can drop him. He’s not really fond of the whole cuddling thing.” As Luz grudgingly released King, Eda continued. “This, King, is Luz. She’s going to help with our little Warden problem, if you know what I mean.”

As King finished dusting himself off, he finished processing Eda’s words. “Oh. Hooray!”

Luz was far less enthused. “Whoa whoa wait, since when did I agree to anything?”

Eda chuckled. “Well, kid, if you ever wanna get back to the Human Realm again, I’m the only one you can do it through, as I’ve got the only known portal there.”

Luz grumbled, but didn’t challenge the claim. Smart girl.

Ed decided that it was time to get into the nitty gritty.

“King, here,” She began, motioning to the demon in question, conjuring up the story of his “fall from grace” as she talked. “Was once the mighty and powerful King of Demons. Feared and admired by all. Until, one day, the Evil Warden Wrath stole his crown of power, reducing him to… this.” She finished, motioning to the sight of King chasing his own tail.

Luz’s love of cuteness took over. “You mean this little guy?” She cooed, scooping King up into her arms. He tolerated it for a second, then flailed enough to break free.

Eda grunted, leaning against her wall. “Yup. We need you to help us break into the vault the Crown’s being stored in, and in exchange, we’ll get you home.”

“We’re your only option!” King piped up.

Eda sent a fond smirk at the little demon, before continuing. “And besides.” Eda pulled King up to Luz’s face. “Can you really say no to this face?” Eda cooed in a slightly babying tone.

As King’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, he yelled, “No! Don’t encourage her!!”

Fighting her impulse to agree immediately in the face of cuteness, Luz mulled it all over. She was stuck here for the moment, and she honestly didn’t have anything better to do. Plus, if anything went rotten with this, she could always defend herself…

Luz beamed. “When do we start, and where do we go?”

Eda grinned, happy that Luz was onboard. “Now, and somewhere super fun!” She promised, giving Luz a double thumbs up.

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

[4:42am]- based on this post

You snorted out a laugh, switching your position on the couch as you read the post on your phone. It made Jihoon glance over at you from his laptop, quirking an eyebrow at you in question. You barely noticed it... but in response, you flashed him the post from your phone.

“Read this, it’s so dumb,” you mumbled. You tossed him your phone which he caught no problem. He quickly skimmed the post and then frowned slightly.

“What’s dumb about this?” He asked you. You scoffed and caught your phone as he tossed it back to you.

“What do you mean what’s dumb about this? Humans are just meant to hold each other? That’s so dumb and sappy,” you blurted. Jihoon’s frown didn’t disappear. Instead, a grew a little deeper as he eyed, seeming to suddenly find you significantly more interesting than the homework he was supposed to be working on. He set aside his laptop and turned towards you.

“It’s not dumb, it’s true,” he stated bluntly. You snorted, still thinking he was joking, but the longer you stared at him...

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“And you are too,” Jihoon replied in astonishment. He shifted again this time crawling over towards you. It made you shift a little, surprised by his sudden close proximity.

“Do you really not think humans were made to hold each other?” He asked you. You stared at him, not sure of how to answer him. He took that as a yes, and crawled closer to you.

Once again, you were a little shocked by his closeness. You backed away from him a little subconsciously, an action he certainly noticed. He rose his gaze to yours and tentatively reached out his hand. At first, you weren’t sure what he was doing, but the longer he stared at you the sooner you realized that he wanted you to place your hand in his.

You contemplated the action for a moment, and then, figuring there wasn’t much harm, raised your hand and placed it against his.

At first, he didn’t make a move. He stared at your hands pressed against one another in the air, seeming to admire the way that your hand looked pressed against his. You could practically see him comparing whose was bigger, and how your fingers looked pressed up against his.

Then, without warning, his fingers shifted, pressing between yours so that your hands were now intertwined with one another.

“Look how perfectly our palms press together,” he murmured. You had been staring at him, worried about the things he would do if you weren’t watching him carefully, so when you finally did manage to lower your eyes to your hands, it was hard to deny that what he said was right. You and Jihoon didn’t hold hands often, ever really. So, this was certainly a strange circumstance for you. “Feel the way that our fingers hook perfectly among each other.”

His thumb brushed comfortingly over your knuckle, and he chuckled a little at the shiver that ran through your body at the action.

“It just... Feels right, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond again so he went on, his other hand raising tentatively as he looked at you. Your gaze once again rose suddenly, your eyes going to his now moving hand. He chuckled a little at your jerky reaction: “I’m not going to hurt you, you know that.” And then, his gaze glued to yours, carefully brushing his fingers against your cheek.

You weren’t sure what it was that at first made you flinch away from the touch, but then after a second, you moved your cheek closer to him again. He smiled at that, and ran his fingers tentatively over your cheekbone, before finally cupping your cheek in his hand.

“See how perfectly your cheek fits in my hand. I can caress you, and stare in your eyes and think about how beautiful you are....”

He trailed off, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Your eyes caught the action, your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t say how long you’d been friends with Jihoon. So many years that eventually they all just morphed into what felt like an entire lifetime. You had been through ups and downs, he had gone through girlfriends and you had gone through your own significant others, and overall your relationship had been pretty much the same. Friends, you guys had always been friends.

Of course, you also couldn’t say how long you’d wanted to be more than just friends. You had never imagined anything would happen of course, but Jihoon was a handsome man. He was kind and thoughtful, how could you not develop a bit of a crush on him?

“And our lips,” Jihoon said suddenly, pulling you abruptly from your thoughts. “Yours are so red and plump. Perfect lips for kissing. Wonder what ours would feel like together huh?”

You swallowed hard, you knew you couldn’t speak if you wanted to- well say anything intelligent, but you still tried to. You opened your mouth and… An incoherent squeak was all that left, which just made him smile again.

“Your hands always fit perfectly in mine; your body always molds against me like putty. It’s kind of like you were made for me,” he continued thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought that?”

You didn’t have to think that one through. God, you were pretty sure that no thoughts were running through your head as he stared at you, and still, you were able to get actual coherent words out of your lips.

“I have, I was made for you,” you blurted out before you could think over the words. At first, you thought that it would freak Jihoon out. After all, he hadn’t ever seemed comfortable just diving into the deep end of a relationship with well… Anyone. And Jihoon did look surprised, but instead of pulling away the upper corner of his lip just quirked up.

“You were?”

You nodded fervently.

“I take it back,” you insisted. You regained control of your bodily motions just long enough to clamor into Jihoon’s lap, hooking your legs around his body.

He was right what he said before, about how you fit perfectly against him. You felt how the curve of your body pressed perfectly against Jihoon’s, and as you shuffled around you only ended up becoming more perfectly melded into him. Honestly, it was like sliding together two pieces of a puzzle, after only a mere second of struggle, you were locked into place, his one hand re-intertwined with yours, but his other wrapped around your waist. He smoothed his fingers over the small of your back, his face so close to yours you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Are you…” He trailed off. “Are you really okay with this? If I kiss you weren’t friends anymore.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you shimmied against him a little.

“What will we be then?” You asked him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Something more,” he mumbled. “My significant other. My one and only. The love of my life.”

You couldn’t believe how ridiculously enchanting his words were. Sure, you knew that he was a bit of a repressed romantic, but you couldn’t believe that he was really sitting there, his hand on your back, pulling you closer to him once again.

You scoffed a little, and to hide the embarrassing red blush that spread over your cheeks you ducked your head into the crook of his neck. He hummed at the action.

“See look at that, your face fits there so well and you feel safer, don’t you?” He asked you. Your face flared red and you whined a bit into his neck. “You were meant to be mine; you know it, I know it. So why should we pretend anymore?”

You stayed buried in his neck for a second, but the longer that you were hidden there the more that you thought about it and then before you knew it you were shyly pulling away from him, letting your face hover directly in front of his.

“I would like that,” you murmured. “Like a lot.”

He smiled, a cheesy dumb smile that kind of made you regret your words, but before you could say just that, he pressed his lips to yours.

Just like predicted, your mouth fit perfectly against his. Your lips pressed naturally against his, your nose brushing his briefly as you melted against him. You got momentarily lost in the sensation, completely absorbed in the feeling of his lips, and the way that his fingers rubbed small circles into your back. You squeezed his hands and pulled away from him.

You hadn’t realized the kiss had been that deep until you realized that you were panting against him, your lips brushing against his with every breath.

“So, you’ll do it then?” He asked, his eyes falling once again on yours. “You’ll be mine?”

You tried not to roll your eyes at the look on his face. So hopeful and pure.

“Humans were made to love one another,” you mumbled in defeat. “So, I suppose that I can choose to love you.”

Jihoon smiled excitedly, and without another word, pressed his lips against yours. You pulled away quickly, gasping for air.

“You have to give me a second to breathe,” you mumbled with a laugh. “And don’t you have homework.”

He flipped you both, easing your back down onto the couch with a small smile.

“I think my homework can wait. I’ve been waiting years to have you all to myself… I don’t want to waste another second.”

[aviationfiction]

XX

Dante St. James

The dewy morning breeze heightened the vicious round of goosebumps that tortuously trickled onto every aspect aspect of my skin leaving me to quietly berate myself into refraining from shamelessly rubbing my hands on just about every part of myself. My fingers nervously tugged at the waist band of the dusk grey Nike running shorts I’d chosen for this morning festivity and instinctively my eyes panned over to who has effortlessly conquered every lobe of my brain. As one earbud rested properly inside of her ear and the other loosely hung in front of her body, I followed the thick black wire’s trail until my vision set onto the two soft and delicate aspects of her womanhood as they rested in the confines of a fuchsia and sunset orange sports bra; both natural and perfectly molded to her beautiful form. As she mumbled along to Stevie Wonder, she looked over her shoulder and politely gifted me with a small smile to make sure I was reminded that she was aware of me and she knocked out every bit of breath I had remaining in my body as she slouched forward and bent over far enough to lock her hands around her ankles. I focused on the deepened arch in her back and eventually tormented myself with the velvety, curved, and plumpness that gracefully rested just below it. My face contorted into a grimace and utter shock filled my frame as I lost the fight to glance away from her. I’ve never objectified a woman to this magnitude but in my defense I have never in my twenty eight years of living seen a woman like this. She is not fair to the human race. She is the cause for a war; serving as the undeniable demise of a million men. Her sun kissed skin gleams brighter than the finest gold and her intoxicating olive and honey eyes, serve as her weapons; weakening all who dares to stare into them for a lengthy period of time. Every aspect of her body is sculpted to perfection. She serves as a paragon of the higher power’s capabilities and showmanship. She is the personification of his excellency.

“Why aren’t you stretching? Wouldn’t want you to cramp up.” As she slowly eased herself up out of the position, my salacious thoughts halted. To mimic what she began to do, I pulled my leg back until the heel of my foot was touching the back of my knee.

“I believe I should be alright. I will have already beat you before anything begins to cramp or ache.” A scoff slipped past her glossed lips and she playfully rolled her eyes while transitioning into stretching the other leg.

“Yeah, okay. Being a basketball player and a track star aren’t equivalent. Speaking of, did you play ball in high school?” As she bopped her head from side to side, the loose ends of her high ponytail swung in all directions. Stretching went out of the window. The top of her slightly bounced to whatever beat that was blaring into one of her ears as the lower half swayed back and forth in a manner that was sexier to me than it should have been.

“I didn’t play when I was in school. I played for summer leagues my uncle registered me for throughout the city. I played recreationally at the Boys & Girls Club in Brooklyn and I continued to do that until my adulthood.”

“I see. So that means you’re skilled?”

“I’m skilled enough to bust Fred and Mike’s asses regularly and I suppose I’m good enough to win some two on two games whenever we have them at the court.” We smirked simultaneously, as she pulled her loose long ponytail through her hand to smooth it out to her taste.

“Alright, so you remember the exact directions for this race right? We’re just running all the way up Truman Drive, we’re going to turn around at the top of the street, and run all the way back to this point. Got it?”

“Sounds fair enough to me. You ready?” As I mentally measured the distance of the street itself, I properly stood along side her for a fair start and chuckled as she continued to steal competitive glances at me. Concurrently, we both leaned down and properly aligned our heads and necks and I mimicked her by raising my hips to a position above my shoulders. It baffles me that she’s never run school or professional track a day in her life because she looks like a professional along side a shameful amateur such as myself.

“I am. On your mark. Get set. Go.”

Autumn took off and I purposefully lagged behind her for what was supposed to be a bit of teasing and sheer amusement for myself, but it turned into nothing more than an unexpected distraction as I gawked at her body from behind. The bouncing of her ponytail was nothing in comparison to what was happening below her waistline and I nearly tripped myself as I purposely sprinted ahead of her to end the visual and cease those thoughts.

Though she was just about on the heels of my Nikes, I made the turn at the top of the street as she directed and took a decent lead until I was finally at the start point of our humorous little race. As I slouched over, I couldn’t help but to laugh at the expression of disbelief on her face as she did her best to catch her breath. I almost thought she was aiming to take the sore loser route until a smirk began to dance along her lips and she amusingly shook her head in acceptance of her defeat. If only she knew that she could have easily dusted me had I not been running the fastest I’ve ran since I was a young boy hanging around outside. I sprinted past her for the sake of my sanity and remained in the lead because I couldn’t bare the levels of lust formulating within me. The adrenaline pumping through me isn’t by my own doing. She’s the cause and effect of that and if she knew, I’d be the butt of her jokes forever.

“So where’s this iHop that you spoke about?” As I stood up straight, she playfully rolled her eyes in response to my question and paused whatever song she’d been listening to from her iPhone.

“I’m not taking you to iHop. I’m going to prepare the breakfast myself if that’s okay with you.” My eyes widened at her revelation and I quickly nodded in agreement with the idea. I hadn’t expected her to offer to cook anything for me nor did I expect her to allow me into her home. Though she instructed me to park in the driveway, she was already outside waiting for me so there was no reason to offer me entry. I figured we’d throw on jackets and take our sweaty frames to the nearest restaurant for quick bite to eat and part ways. This is a plot twist that I can appreciate.

“No one’s home. My father’s in D.C. for something work related and my mother is out there for some type of summit or conference at Howard University. I’m assuming they’re most likely going to stay an extra day or two to do their romantic thing and return home. So yeah, it’s just me here today.” As we walked along, she snickered. “Why am I making it sound like I’m sneaking you in? I’m sounding so hot in the pants teen right now.”

“Well. Are you sneaking me in?” I teased her and smirked when she widened her eyes at the question. She then lightly smacked her hand into my arm.

“No. It just makes me think of the movie ATL when Lashonate’s character Tonya says to T.I.’s character Rashad look my momma not home, you want to give me a ride? And then Rashad says man your momma ain’t never home. You remember that?” I haven’t heard of the movie nor seen it. I knew Tip was into acting but I never had an interest in seeing him do it. I’d rather be a fan of his music; mostly the earlier work. This is the second time I’m hearing that Lashonte name from someone. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything she’s acted in before.

“No. I’ve never seen that.”

“My God, Dante. What do you watch when you’re at home chilling? You better not say House Of Cards either.”

“Honestly, I like the old television shows more than I like the current ones so when I am watching television, if it’s not the news or sports, I’m watching Martin, The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air, Living Single, or The Wayans Bros. I occasionally check out The Cosby Show. I like the Jeffersons, Good Times, and Sanford and Son. I don’t mind the repeats or anything like that. All of those shows still entertain me all the same and do the trick when I want some entertainment while lying in bed or having a bite to eat while at home.” I glanced in her direction as she nodded her head. “I’m assuming you’re more of a wide range television watcher?”

“Well, I suppose so. What else is there to do when you’re sick and cannot do anything but lie around in bed? Television was my entertainment for quite some time; not just here. It was also my entertainment while I was in Miami. At least here, I live with my parents so the house isn’t so quiet all the time. Not only that, but there are also at least two people here that I can speak to. In Miami? My God. There was a point when I thought I’d go crazy and start speaking to the walls or the many fixtures throughout the house. I used to cut the television on in the master bedroom, living room, as well as the den so that the house wouldn’t be so damn quiet while I was in there alone. I’d watch all kinds of shit whenever I was bored and didn’t have anywhere to go. Old, new. Hell, I watched shows about nonsense that I wasn’t even interested in. I did whatever I could to cure the boredom at home and then post stroke.” Once she opened the door, she stepped aside and granted me entry into her home and like anyone unfamiliar with a territory would do, I began to observe the beautiful ambiance.

“You had the stroke here in Jersey?” A family portrait aligned perfectly with the satin wenge hall table under it. All five family members were in it. I was the first time I saw Shane as an adult and with that one photo,  I could easily see the tight knit relationship between he and his younger sister, as she cheerily leaned into his body and rested her head against his own. Everyone looked genuinely happy in the photo; even the dreadfully earnest Issac. The striking family looks like something out of a catalog; maybe for Bloomingdales or something simpler like The Gap. They’re the family that immediately draws you in during a holiday commercial.

“Yes. Right here.” She pointed at the floor of the very area we were standing it and we briefly stared at it before our eyes locked on one another. “It started off as an intense headache. I’d been crying that day. Actually, no, I’m being modest. I was a mess. Between mourning my brother and having been recently served those divorce papers, I was having one hell of a meltdown that spiraled out of control. Honestly, all I remember is everything going dark. I thought I’d finally met death.” My stomach tightened at the sound of such a final word and she turned away to continue to guide me through their home. We passed what I assume to be a sitting room that is there simply for show rather than to lounge in. The completely white and glass interior were a clear giveaway. A large portrait of their fallen son and brother was by far the most solemn and yet most important aspect of it.

“Did you want to die?” Silence fell between two of us as my question deepened the depth that I’d absentmindedly treaded into. I’ve had these questions lingering on my mind for the past couple of weeks but I wasn’t sure about how to introduce them. Though our honesty is refreshing and what is seemingly drawing me closer to her, I’d never want to overstep the imaginary boundary lingering between the two of us nor would I ever push hard enough to hurt or discomfort her.

“That day? Yes.” We turned a corner past their family dining room and upon entering their tradition style of kitchen, she tossed her water bottle up on top of the carrara marble island top. “I never felt suicidal or anything  along those lines but I suppose the pain got the best of me that day. I didn’t have a single thought to fight what I believed was going to happen once I hit that floor. I figured if death was approaching, I’d accept it if it had to be. Overall, I didn’t have the desire to die. Emotional pain is by far the worst of it all. I don’t think physical pain comes close to it but I won’t set that in stone because I cannot speak for anyone other than myself. Dealing with that kind of pain everyday took one hell of a toll on me but I didn’t want to be defeated by it, especially when it came down to Andreas’ shit. Shane would have breathed life back into my body and killed me himself if I had just the slightest idea to die on his behalf. My brother was too much of an advocate for me and my future for any of that.”

“So what did you choose to live for?” She leaned her unrivaled frame into the doors of the stainless steel refrigerator and stared at me without wavering. I swallowed the expected knot in my throat and continued to keep eye contract with her though I wanted to do anything but that. The fear of my knees buckling suddenly became my reality as I leaned into the counter top awaiting her answer.

“Three reasons. Faith. I’ve always believed that we as human beings put a bit too much faith in God when it comes to every single thing. I don’t know why, but it felt like such a lazy approach. Around that time, honestly, I felt like I had nothing but him to cling to. It was the first time I put it all on him and firmly believed that he’d make sure I made it through it all in some type of way. I’m standing here and I’m functional so those blessings were gifted. The second is hope. I’ve been one hell of a pessimist over these past couple of years, so I had to work on becoming hopeful again. I’m still working on it but I’ve progressively gotten better. Lastly, myself. I don’t know what the hell the future holds for me. It scares me to think about it but I have to believe that everything’s going to work itself out positively for as long as I work on it.”

“Faith. Hope. Self. I like and highly respect that. You know, a lot of people usually name their family or something completely outside of themselves as reasons for living and that’s cool but ultimately, I believe that you have to want to live for yourself before you can have the desire to live for anyone else. That falls right along the lines of needing to love yourself before you can attempt to love someone else.”

“Exactly. You get it. It’s not a selfish way of thinking. It’s simply the way things should be.” Suddenly, she turned and swung open the fridge’s door to examine the contents inside. “You said French toast is your favorite right?”

“It is.”

“Are you allergic to peaches?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you like peaches?”

“I do.”

My response was the igniting she needed. Silence fell between the two of us as she swiftly removed all of the ingredients necessary for whatever breakfast meal she planned to create. I did my best to figure out what exactly she’d need the peaches for as she placed four of them in a bowl on the counter top but she completely lost me when a bottle of bourbon joined the items.

“You want bacon or sausages with this? We have pork or turkey for both. I could also take this in a southern direction and do fried chicken or steak.” My eyes widened at the thought of fried chicken or steak for breakfast. I’ve never had either one during that time of the day. “ What? You’ve never had steak or chicken for breakfast? People usefully do the steak with eggs and homemade hash browns. Remember Big said cheese, eggs, steak, and Welcher’s Grape? And of course fried chicken and waffles is a southern staple at this point. You can get that dish at any Waffle House or just about any southern based diner these days. Actually, Heather literally wants chicken and waffles at her bachelorette party. She threatened me about that.”

“Chicken and French toast though? Will that work?”

“Of course it will. So chicken?”

“This is even more of a challenge, because everybody can’t make fried chicken.” A smirk linger on my lips as she daringly raised one of her eyebrows at me and laughter spilled from my body as her hands met her hips.

“There is no challenge. I am the queen of fried chicken. I make fried chicken better than all of the women in my family. Hell, I probably make fried chicken better than your mama.” Probably is an understatement. I haven’t even tasted nor can I imagine what her style of fried chicken tastes like but I know for a fact that it’s better than my mother’s. That’s not really her specialty and I won’t tie race into it because I doubt it’s that. The cooking thing is quite new to her even though she’ll talk anyone into believing that she’s been playing the matriarch of the family and doing it for decades. I can easily tell the difference between her cooking and those nights when she slyly has a chef come in and prepare dinner. I don’t know what her talent is but it’s certainly not standing in front of a stove and concocting specialty dishes. She makes a decent burger and sandwich though.

“Prove it.”

“I will, now there’s only one rule when it comes to myself and being in the kitchen. Everyone has to follow it including you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You have to get out. Follow me.” She walked around the island and once she passed me, I did as she instructed and trailed behind her as she lead me to what was the traditional living room. The color palette followed along with the neutral and muted tones throughout what I’ve already seen of the lower level of the home and the family graduation portraits on the wall gave yet another one of the areas in their home a lived in and homely atmosphere.

“Here’s the remote. Please make yourself comfortable. There’s every channel you could possibly want or think of on there. You can order a movie if you’d like. There are also some DVDs somewhere in the entertainment center if you want to go that route. Uh.” She paused as I chuckled and a smirked formed on her face. “What?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s just television sweetheart.” Swiftly, I pulled my lip in between my teeth and nearly bit myself as a punishment for defying my own rules. A pet name? I’ve never gone that far with anyone, not even women I’ve temporarily involved myself with. Sure, I have nicknames for my loved ones but anyone else has either been addressed by their first or last night. I called Samira by her first name while she opted for “darling” and I despised it. I often felt like she was speaking to me as if I were some toddler girl running around her apartment playing in her cosmetics and accessories. I don’t favor my mother’s constant usage of pet names either. As I stand here, I’m wallowing in contradiction and oddly, it feels far more conventional than I expected or needed it to.

“Okay then. I’ll call you when it’s all ready.”  

“I’ll be here.” I purposefully flopped down on the couch as a sign of the comfort she pleaded for and I earned the smile I was looking for while taping the power button on the remote. She disappeared down the hall within seconds, leaving me to find some type of visual to entertain me until she finished concocting breakfast.

I settled on ESPN as I always do and it did serve as a distraction for nearly an hour. Though the fumes of the meal were certainly enticing me, it was the sound of Autumn singing along to R&B tunes spanning from the sixties to the nineties diligently working as competition to the television. I left the couch vacant to steal a peak at her twice and each time, she was swerving her hips from size to size while singing along to whatever medley was playing. There wasn’t a song that she didn’t most of, if not all of the words to. Yet again, as I slightly poke my head past the wall and peer in at her, she’s swaying those hips and questioning who can she run to when she needs love though song and dance. In her hands were two glasses of orange juice and no actual food in sight.

“You’re peeking again?” My already rattled body froze as astonishment filled my eager frame and displayed itself on my face. She turned to face me and her infectious smile effortlessly placed one on my face. I’d been caught and hadn’t noticed. There was no way that I’d notice it. Each time, her back was turned to me and I made sure of it. I’m not sure how she spotted me.

“How’d you notice?”

“I sensed your presence.” She didn’t bother turning the Bluetooth speaker off nor did she wait for my answer as she walked past me. “Breakfast is in the dinning room.”

She continued to sing along with Xscape as I slowly trailed behind her and upon entry to their family dining room, the spread on the table left me quite speechless. I didn’t expect even half of what I saw nor do I understand how she found the time to bake additional biscuits, place down croissants, and create a fruit platter. She’d already pulled out my chair and had three separate plates awaiting me at what is the place at the head of the table. In one plate, a vegetable omelette, in the second was mouth watering fried chicken, and lastly was three pieces of French toast spread across a oval style plate with peaches and a sauce tantalizingly dripping over every aspect of them.

“My famous southern fried chicken, a vegetable omelette, and cinnamon French toast with a homemade bourbon peach sauce smothered over them.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm.” Her smirk was a one of pride and she pointed at the chair so I’d sit down and give her a verdict on the taste. There’s no doubt in my body that the flavoring of every dish is beyond belief but every chef loves and deserves a compliment despite already knowing that their skills are top of the line.

I began with the dish I requested over them all. As her arm draped over the back of my chair and the radiating heat from her very close body swarmed my own, I nearly melted in the chair at the flavorful piece of French toast as it’s infectious taste left my taste buds in a trance. The cinnamon, peach, and tangy bourbon were to be expected but the vanilla and maple were a plot twist that left my mind in a frenzy. All of the flavors could have easily been a tooth aching overkill but she was able to create a perfect balance between all of it. She officially overthrew my mother’s best dish. There’s no debating or reconsidering that I can do. Next was the omelette. She meshed the eggs with an assortment of bell peppers, red onions, cherry tomatoes, spinach, and a hint of parsley for the healthiest and yet still extremely tasty part of the meal.

“Now the chicken.”

“I didn’t tell you how the French toast and omelette is yet.”

“I can wait. Try it.”

She didn’t fry those little wing parts that are sold as a hot wing appetizer at local restaurants. Instead she had three drumsticks awaiting me on a plate with a side of Sriracha on the side. I didn’t hesitate to bite into one and the rush of flavoring ceased my mouth and most of my attention. Without ever asking or knowing, she conquered my desire for just enough crispiness with irresistible flavoring. Before I could compliment her, I’d taken another bite and relished in not only the poultry but all she’d done for me this morning. The only breakfast I can recall anyone making for me is either Autumn who now playfully forces me to have it during flights or the complimentary breakfast at hotels. I’ve skipped the most important meal of the day for years and as I stuff my face with Autumn’s cooking, I feel like a fool for having done so.

“Damn.”

“Damn what?” She leaned over so that the side of her face was aligned with my own and she placed her ear near my mouth. She earned a bit of laughter from myself as she waited what I had to say.

“You’re one hell of a cook. This is beyond home cooking. I feel like I’m inside of a restaurant right now, seriously. How the hell did you learn to cook like that?”

“Boredom.” She plopped down in a chair on the right side of the table and grabbed a biscuit out of the basket in the center of the table. She didn’t bother with buttering it and from the looks of it she didn’t need to. I could literally smell the buttermilk as she pulled it until it was in two pieces and she broke off a piece of one of the halves to drop into her mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“I was somewhat of a decent cook because my mother taught me some of what she learned from my great-grandmother and grandmother throughout her teen and early adult years. I wasn’t interested in being in the kitchen but there were days when I did keep her company and I’d assist. Once I got married, I felt like it wasn’t enough. I wouldn’t have been able to keep his stomach full and his taste buds pleased with what limited knowledge I had, so I took a couple of random cooking classes and eventually I began to buy tons of books and even iBooks on my iPad filled with recipes to try out. I spent a lot of my lone and leisure time just cooking whatever the hell was in the refrigerator. I can admit, I did eat my feelings for a while and I did gain some weight. When I was ready to get rid of it, I started working out and I just switched my cooking habits to healthier options. So yeah, boredom.” As she pulled her legs up and plopped them over the arm of the chair, she began to shimmy her shoulders while blissfully singing along to Diana Ross and The Supremes. As she sung about her “baby love”, I balance my attention between the meal and her.

Usually while eating on my own leisure time, I’d be flipping though paper work or going between the plate and my laptop to continue working towards beating whatever deadline I or the company set out for myself. It didn’t bother me much because I live alone and there’s nothing odder than just sitting at a table all by your lonesome and eating in silence. The thoughts that come about during those minutes aren’t gratifying ones. I often berate myself or those that are supposed to be dearest to me. I contemplate getting the hell out of here and all the wrong and right ways to do it. I wonder if I’m actually serving my purpose or if I’m wasting whatever I have left of this life on what will never be beneficial to me. I stare out at the unrivaled view of New York City skyline that I have from my costly penthouse apartment and wonder if I should be grateful for all I have or look at it as the payout for a self-imposed prison sentence.

Now, as I sit here staring at this extraordinary woman while she snaps her fingers, wiggles her toes, and does her best to mimic Diana’s tone of voice, I’m convinced that I don’t want to see anything else but this while I eat a meal. I don’t even care that we’re not exchanging words with one another. She’s offering me more entertainment than I deserve simply by lounging in that chair and being herself. She’s a ray of light in the mind full of darkness that I carry around with me from day to day. Her carefree spirit and obliviousness to the positive affects that she has on those she encounters radiates this aura of innocence that warms and calms my spirit. She’s a beautiful being in her entirety and I aspire to be as resilient as she continues to be despite all the loss she’s faced over these past couple of years. I can see that hope that she speaks of. I can feel it in the midst of the fluttering within my stomach and the sporadic skipping of my beating heart. Initially, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly; as I quickly took a disliking to her discomfort around me. In such of short time of working together and spending personal time around one another, our recently developed friendship has gone from being interesting and opening to this oxymoron of beautiful difficulty. She has unknowingly crushed all my mental capacity when in her presence. I now function on an emotional overdrive that is foreign, fearful, and yet extremely human.

“What are you doing today?” My question halted her personal karaoke session and she pondered on her answer for a second.

“Other than an early evening session with my therapist? Nothing.” She grabbed another biscuit out of the basket and took a bite out of it instead of breaking it into pieces like she did with the first. “Why? Do you need me to do something for you?”

“No. I was only asking because I wanted to know if you’d like to hang out with me today? I have a few things to do but it’s sort of a loose day for me. First I need to head home to freshen up and change. If you get ready while we’re here, you can just go with me. I have to stop by my office to wrap something up. What time is your appointment?”

“It’s starts at five. It’s later in the evening because she’s coming into the office late today.”

“I can drop you off. I’m supposed to check out a property around five thirty, so I can drop you off and pick you back up. Tonight, Diddy’s hosting a party at the club to celebrate some new flavor of Ciroc. It should be fun. He always brings a crowd and tons of special guests with him. Are you up for it?” Though I wanted to finish it all, I couldn’t eat another bite. After having swallowed down the last bit of French toast I had left, I tossed in the towel on the half of omelette and piece of chicken I had left.

“Sure. I suppose I can just bring a change of clothes and get ready at your place?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry about being alone at the club either. As I said, today’s a loose day for me. So I’ll be by your side.”

“So it’s bring Autumn To Work Day?” We shared a laugh over her title for what we’d be doing as she swung her legs over so her feet would hit the floor. “Or is it Show and Tell?”

“Both.”

“It’s fair enough, seeing as though I bring you to work with me all the time.”

Without struggle, she grabbed all of the plates I’d been eating out of and walked out of the dining room with them. I helped by grabbing the baskets of croissants, biscuits, and the small fruit platter. Though she insisted that I go and digest all that I consumed on the couch, I assisted in drying the dishes that she washed and we put them away together. Instead of leaving me downstairs alone, she invited me to hang out in her bedroom while she readied herself in her bathroom and the connecting closet. I lounged at her desk while checking out some Showtime show about an extremely wild Chicago family that she raved about before disappearing into the bathroom. The whimsical setting in her bedroom meshes well with her personality and I marveled in it’s setting while becoming intoxicated by the scent of her favorite perfume and body wash.

“Was I long? I’ve been dressed. I just put on a splash of make up. Oh and I already put my stuff together for tonight.”

Angelic. That’s the only word that could be used to describe her cream attire. The skirt and top combination were a matching set; coordinated together by the way of pleated ruffles. The length of the skirt was that of a high school cheerleader and my attention locked in on her caramel thighs as I’m sure the designer intended them to. She added some youthfulness to the get up by pairing it with a pair of low Converse sneakers that perfectly matched in color, a high ponytail, and a pair of large hoop earrings that reminded me of the era I was born in. All she’s missing is a piece of gum in her mouth because the lip gloss is certainly shining on her lips.

“You literally look like you’re fifteen.” She does. If she happened to walk amongst a group of high school students I nor would anyone be able to pick her out as the oddball in the bunch. She’d blend in amongst them perfectly.

“Sixteen. Thank you very much.” Her chuckle was husky and yet airy, much like her laugh and she continued to stuff her neon green purse with her daily on the go necessities. I noted four types of lipstick, a mirror, and her Apple iPhone charger thus far.

“You look nice.” Nice. That’s platonic right? I figure if I say beautiful, gorgeous, phenomenal, ravishing, or anything alone those lines it’d be clear that I’m flirting or checking her out beyond a friendly manner. Nice is simple. Even great can be simple. She won’t stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind with either of those words.

“Thanks. This is so old. All of my clothing, shoes, and accessories were shipped up here from Miami a couple of days ago and literally all of it is downstairs scattered around the basement area. I feel sorry for my poor father because that’s where he and his buddies tend to hang out. Issac likes it down there too. It’s somewhat of a man cave, I guess. Anyway, my things have taken over for the time being and I’ve gone through a couple of boxes to pick out things to wear. Can you believe it’s even categorized by season just as I had it in the closet? I guess I should consider that a parting gift.”

“It doesn’t look old. It looks brand new.”

“It is. It’s brand new because I’ve never worn it. What makes it old is when I purchased it. You’ll be surprised how much of that stuff still has tags on it or how many of the soles on those shoes are spotless. You don’t get dressed up when you don’t have shit to do. I shopped out of boredom and hope.”

“Hope for?” We’d switched spots. She was now sitting at her desk applying jewelry to her body and by the way of her concentration, there is clearly a method to the way she likes them placed and stacked.

“Hope that my husband would give me a reason to put it on. I wanted to be beautiful for him.” The use of the past tense is my first bit of disappointment with her. She didn’t have to want to be something that she already was and still very much so is. There isn’t an article of clothing sold in any boutique, anywhere in the world that has the capacity to make this breathtaking woman beautiful. If anything, she makes the attire beautiful. She could never be of use in the advertisement industry because the products would never sell. People would be entranced by the woman in the ads far more than they would be with whatever product is being shoved in their faces for profit. I’m never going to know every single detail that ultimately resulted in the demise of their marriage but I refuse to believe it was because she wasn’t beautiful enough for him physically. I’d hope he’s not that shallow and realistically speaking, it’s simply not possible.

“You were.”

“I was what?”

“Beautiful enough for him. Actually, you were out of his league.” She nearly dropped her necklace as she erupted into laughter at my comment. In the midst of it, she paused to curve her lips to the left side of her face for a quick side eye gesture, and she continued to laugh while applying the last piece of jewelry she needed to complete her task with accessories. Though it wasn’t meant to be a joke, I don’t mind her taking it as one. I like modesty and it’s clear that she, much like myself, has a hard time accepting compliments. Actually, she’s worse. I tend to be appreciative and give my thanks for the acknowledgement. Autumn lets them fly right over her head.

“I’m ready. Sorry I took so long.”

“You weren’t long. My mother takes damn near half of a day to get ready, so waiting for you was a breeze in comparison to waiting for her. I feel like I have to call her and have her start getting ready the day before we have to be wherever we’re going. It’s ridiculous.”

“Well, it takes women a bit more time to get the hair, make up, and attire looking right. I’m not saying this is an excuse, but we are by far the most critiqued gender when it comes to our physical appearance and what we do and don’t do to enhance it. So it all starts there.”

“So you’re blaming men?” She stood up and swung the strap of her designer bag over her shoulder.

“Well, if the shoe fits Mr. St. James. Honestly, I’m not though. Often times, I feel like women are far more critical of trivial shit then men are.”

“That’s rational. Men are shitty though. I won’t deny that at all.”

“Not all of them. Just ninety-nine point nine percent. Thankfully, you fall in rank with the rare.” The flutters intensified as my lips slightly fell agape. The timorous side of myself that I so often try to mask, engulfed my body as I pondered a response. The compliments she bestows upon me are frequent these days and what affects me isn’t just what she’s saying; it’s the purity and genuine emotions behind it. I can easily pick apart when someone is saying something because they feel obligated to do so, for the sake of self-gain, or because it’s fitting in the moment. More than anything else, she expects quality out of me on a personal level which is by far the hardest aspect of pleasing anyone. I appreciate that. I believe that everyone has the capability to achieve greatness in some facet; we just have to figure out what is that we’re great at or what we’re willing to continuously work at to excel. What I don’t believe in is the goodness of all people. That’s the greatest challenge. Autumn, unknowingly, has taken on a role of keeping me focused on making sure I keep that aspect of myself in high regard along with Fred, Mike, and Stacey. I’d like to think that my uncle is looking out for me as well.

“Thank you.”

“No, but seriously, your interior design tastes are impeccable.”

Autumn flopped down on the couch in my office and grabbed one of the Basquiat books resting on the table as a source of entertainment for herself. She’d been complimenting my apartment and now office on and off for two hours now, while asking for tips that I don’t have to give. Based upon what she’s shown me of the interior design of the Miami home she once lived in, her taste in interiors upstages mine effortlessly. She, unlike myself, understands color palettes and how to liven up a place. Mike refers to my apartment as a dungeon because of the thematic black and grey that runs through every single aspect of the place. It’s modern and sleek, but certainly dark. I rarely look into psychological studies but maybe it’s why I often have dispirited thoughts while I’m home. My office is better in that aspect and it’s only that way because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. This is Stacey’s doing.

“They’re not. I took the easy way out. Anyone can make black look good.” Though the contract is finalized, I’m going over some last minute adjustments for Calvin Harris’ residency before flying out to Vegas. It’s set to begin tomorrow night and I need every single aspect of it to run through perfectly for the sake of the press. Last minute requests is why I have no interest in handling artists but I’m going to lock this in for the sake of the company and I’ll eventually pass this account to someone else. I’m not a manager or a personal publicist and I don’t want to be. The tedious aggravation in booking them for appearances and performances at the club is more than enough.

“It still looks amazing as fuck.”

“Thank you.”

“And your closet damn near made me pass out. It’s amazing and that mirror that you have in there? Whew! Your closet is very Christian Grey.”

“Very who?” I pressed send on the final e-mail that I needed to send over the Hakkasan group and glanced over in her direction. It was one hell of a gamble, but I was able to secure him an extended three year partnership with the group as a disc jockey and music consultant. He’ll be the resident DJ at Hakkasan nightclub once it has it’s grand opening, Wet Republic, and also at Omnia nightclub inside of Caesar’s Palace.

“You’ve never heard of Christian Grey?” Her giggle was sheepish and her face suddenly turned a slight hue of red as her body shifted on the chair.

“No. Who is he?”

“Nevermind.” She couldn’t cease the laughter at my lack of information about whomever she was referencing to so I did what anyone would do. I immediately opened up another tab and typed the exact name into Google. When the results appeared, I clicked the first link available.

“Christian Trevelyan Grey is the male protagonist of the trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey. To the outside world, he appears to be a handsome and attractive young man in the business world. However, he has a hidden face: he is adept of BDSM.” It was my turn for my face to flush in embarrassment as I skimmed through more of the synopsis about the man. Fredrick’s talked about his weird interest in BDSM enough for me to know exactly what it is and what it entails. Autumn couldn’t contain her laughter no matter how many times she attempted to do so and the smirk on my face was followed by my narrowed eyes as I pondered how she made the connection between myself and this character.

“How is my closet very Christian Grey?”

“Because it’s very sleek, masculine, and it’s filled with suits, dress shoes, and you have those pull out draws with your ties neatly folded inside of them. That’s how Christian is described. He’s a business man, just like you are.”

“But why do I have to be compared to the kinky ass business man?”

“I’m not saying that you’re kinky. I’m just comparing your styles in terms of business attire. I wouldn’t know if you’re into BDSM or not unless I asked Samira or that three month girlfriend from college.”

“Or you can just ask me.”

Silence fell between the two of us as her eyes locked with mine. My audacious statement through us both for a loop. I’m more than willing to tell her whatever she’s interested in knowing, including a honest answer to such an invasive topic of discussion. I’d let her explore her curiosities so I could vicariously live through her while doing my best to shield my own. My yearning to figure her out beyond our honest dialogues is researching unbearable territory. I’m now interested in what makes her writhe and breathless. I want to know what ignites the sparks and sets her ablaze; mentally first. I want to know it all.

“I’m so sick of you acting your skin color and not answering my phone calls immediately. Save that light skinned shit for someone else.” The door to my office swung opened and startled the both of us out of the ongoing gaze and Stacey stood there with her hand on her hip; glaring at me with every bit of an attitude. She called while I was driving and I hadn’t turned on the Bluetooth, so I couldn’t answer her in the car and it slipped my mind to return the call when Autumn and I arrived here. Usually, she’d just call me back and scold me over the phone. This pop up is surprising and will most likely become highly embarrassing within a couple of minutes.

“I was eventually going to return your call. Why are you not home with Kaylee? I’m sure she’s missing you already.”

“I’m Kaylee’s mother. I am not her damn slave. Cut the bull- ” Her sentence abruptly ended when her eyes locked on the woman who’d been accompanying me since this morning and her mouth fell slightly agape at the sight. Without shame or modesty, she gawked at her as if she herself had any attraction to women. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be expecting her to say some absolutely outlandish pick up line and ask for her number by the time she concludes it.

“Okay, Google Images does you no justice. Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful in those photos, but damn, you’re fine as hell.” If I could escape looking like an idiot, I’d submit to the urge to slide under my desk. I settled for palming my face and shaking my head at the bold and obnoxious compliment that left Autumn not only completely off guard but shockingly amused all at once. She lightly chucked at Stacey’s statement as an air of speechlessness took over her frame and she stared up at my ever so ridiculous assistant as she continued to do a full assessment of her with her eyes.

“I’m Stacey, the best thing that ever happened to Dante. I’m his executive assistant, confidant, and one half of his brain. I am by far the dominant side of it.” Autumn loudly laughed at Stacey absurd description of herself and she quickly latched her hand onto hers and gave it a light shake and squeeze.

“I’m Autumn.”

“Yes you are. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing but great things. From what I’ve learned, your spirit is even more beautiful than your external.”

“Well, thank you. I’m so glad that I’ve been given a rave review.” Both women glanced in my direction and in that moment I no longer wanted to slide under the desk. The urge to be Spiderman and jump out of the window felt far more appropriate. The smirk on Stacey’s face frightened me more than it ever has because I know just how far her sarcasm can go when she’s attempting to push me to the edge. She refuses to let up and now that she’s in front of the very woman that has become the focal point of our latest conversations; God help me.

“Stacey, did you really come here over a missed phone call?”

“No. I needed to access some information that your little temporary assistant couldn’t find even if it slapped her in the face. I don’t know why you didn’t just let me find you someone. No one’s better than me, but I could have done better than her. She’s been working here for three years now and still can’t get her shit together. Anyway, I changed the hotel arrangement. She originally had you all booked for the MGM Lofts, but those shits are horrible. I don’t know where the hype is coming from. You all will be staying at the Wynn. You, Mike, and Fredrick will be staying in the three bedroom duplex in the Encore Tower and Autumn you’ll be in the two bedroom apartment just one floor down. You all get housekeeping twice a day, butler service if you want it, a cabana for everyday that you’re there, daily access to the spa and fitness center for no additional charge, and priority on shows, dinner, and some other shit that I’m sure you’ll find out about when you arrive. You’ve stayed there before so you know how awesome those Wynn Towers are.”

“Yeah, they’re probably the best of the best when it comes to Vegas.”

“Exactly. Oh and your birthday. You’re turning thirty. What do you want to do? I may not be working right now but I’ll be damned if I’m not involved in planning that.”

“I know I don’t want a party. So don’t try it.”

“How about a destination birthday celebration? You can celebrate here over a nice dinner or maybe even a barbecue at Mike’s house and then you go somewhere that you’ve never gone before. I can plan it and make sure you have the best of the best.”

“What’s with the vacations? I have my mother in one ear nagging me about a family vacation and then you in the other one for my birthday.”

“You need one.” My eyes widened at both Autumn and Stacey making that statement in unison. I couldn’t help but to jerk my head back and playfully cut my eyes at the both of them.

“Okay, I’ve officially gone from liking you to loving you. Welcome to the family.” Stacey shook Autumn’s hand once again as they shared a laugh over their common agreement for what I need in my life and both women returned their attention to myself.

“You two are hilarious.”

“What about Santorini, Greece or the Maldives? Bali is lovely too.”

“Sounds like honeymoon locations.”

“Well, you said it, I didn’t.” My body froze in astonishment as her statement. What it suggested quickly registered in my mind and I locked my eyes with her own. The smirk on her face wasn’t as playful as it had been. She transitioned into a devious character and slightly panned her eyes in the direction of Autumn who thankfully wasn’t looking at her anymore.

“Is there anything else that you want?”

“No. Just wanted to make sure things are going well on the work and personal front for one of my favorite people in the world. I’ll go now. Do you need anything before I do? Autumn are you hungry? We have an amazing cafeteria downstairs. In addition to that, there’s a Subway and Pinkberry on the ground floor. Are you interested?”

“Pinkberry? Seriously?”

“Oh yes. We have that. You want some?”

“Absolutely. I love frozen yogurt. I enjoy the coconut milk coconut flavor with strawberries, granola, and almond nuts in it.”

“Got it. Dante, are you hungry?”

“No. Autumn made me a big breakfast. I’m still full.” Her eyes widened at my revelation. I said it on purpose. Now that I’ve given her some type of information, she’ll stop being purposefully invasive. It’s always a give and take type of situation with that one when it comes to my business. I poke fun at Mike being a gossiping female but even he knows when to cut the shit and fall back for the sake of not being overbearing. He knows I’ll inform him of what he wants or needs to know eventually. There’s no waiting game for my assistant. If I’m not willing to tell her when she needs to know something, she’s going to pull out all of the stops to get it out of me. She’s what I call a nightmare of a therapist. Often times, I’m appreciative of her forcing bottled up tension out of me but this subject matter? It’s brutal.

“I lost a race against him and his bet was for me to buy him breakfast. I decided to just cook it for him instead.”

“You slaved over a hot stove for…him? That’s impressive for the both of you, honestly.”

The gratified expression on her face earned a smug look on my end and she merrily walked out of my office with the sound of her heels clacking the marble flooring.

“I like her. She’s so sweet.”

“Sweet? Just imagine dealing with that personality for hours.”

“I can tell she’s one of the genuine people in your life. I can already tell there’s a big sister and little brother type of dynamic there.”

“Yes, that’s accurate. She’s family at this point and she’s taken on the role as the bossy and overbearing big sister who I can’t help but love. She keeps me in check for sure. I always playfully shut her down when she calls herself the other half of my brain but in some aspects, she actually is. She keeps me sane in this place and makes sure everything is in tact. She’s damn good at her job but she’s an even better person. She’s just loud as shit.” Autumn chuckled at my over exaggerated facial expression in reference to Stacey’s personality and nodded her head in understanding.

“Well, I’m glad you have her. You need it. You need people to force you to have an actual balance. I’ve noticed that about you. Your boys aid in you letting loose and actually enjoying yourself. That’s what friends are for, of course, but I have a feeling they work a little harder at getting you to go along with their shenanigans but when you do decided to do so, you up enjoying the hell out of yourself. Stacey’s the reinforcement.”

“And you.”

“Me?”

I cannot recall the last time I’ve actually gone out with a woman and thoroughly enjoyed myself from start to finish. There have only been a handful of outings between the two of us, but each one holds it’s special place in my memory. Our time together has only gotten better and far more exciting as we’ve gone along, instead of regressing or turning into a bore. I would have never gone to Disney World Paris, Crazy Horse, or to the Parisian theater if they weren’t interests of hers and most of all, had she not been there. I probably would have never sat around sipping a glass of cognac while enjoying the bay at Palmeiras had she not been sitting across the table doing the same. I’m laughing more. We’ve been addressing aspects of my life that I barely ever touch on through simple discussions and the tasks of keeping my guard up to the highest peak is alleviated around her.

“Yes. You tend to be a reinforcement too aside from being apart of the fun. Whenever we speak, you always make note of me needing to add some play in-between all of the work.”

“So if I’m reinforcement, then I’m family like Stacey? Maybe like a cousin?” She smirked and that gleam in her eyes only aided in the laughter that was already happening from the question by itself.

“A cousin? Nah.”

“Then what?”

We stared at one another in silence as she awaited her answer. Her mauve painted finger nails lightly tapped the surface of the hardcover book she’d been holding in her hand since she plopped down on the couch.

“I’ll let you know with time.”

“Don’t take too long.”

She flipped open the book and began to admire it’s colorful pages while I remained astonished and enamored by her response. It was effortless on her end. Four words knocked the wind out of my chest, turned my insides into knots, and sent my mind into a frenzy. She’s more than a reinforcement.

If all of the listening to Stacey’s obsession with all things involving love, soul ties, and horoscopes was worth it, then I’m assured that the woman relaxing on my couch has been placed in my life to capture every aspect of me and I’m going to have to allow her to because it’s beyond my control.

Luminous lights bounced off of the regal like gold setting as the bass to Diddy’s “Bad Boys For Life” blared from speakers in every single direction. The pompous Hip-Hop mogul had been standing on the stage in all of his grandeur since his arrival and has yet to stop his onslaught of egotistical promotion of self. Occasionally, he’d throw in a statement about the vodka but overall, he’s selling himself just as most of these artists do. Along side him stood his model girlfriend Cassie and I couldn’t help but to chuckle and shake my head at how much of a prop she appeared to be. I’ve yet to see him glance in her direction to be assured that she’s comfortable and content with her surroundings. He hasn’t even thrown an arm around her shoulder to stake claim on his territory. I suppose he expects people to just know. Given the way her eyes have slyly followed Fredrick around this room, maybe their arrangement isn’t exactly what I expect it to be.

As the crowd covered the dance floor, I choose to lean with my back to the bar while inhaling the aroma of cinnamon and berries and feeling natural sultriness radiating from the body covered in the scent. As her shoulders rocked back in forth to the beat, the right one continuously lightly brushed against my side and garnered my attention each time. While readying herself in my closet, she opted to take her ponytail down and flat iron her long hair so it’d cascade down her back flawlessly. She kept her make up minimal with the exception of the deep red lipstick she coated her lips with. While her face is certainly an attention grabber by itself, tonight, it’s the dress and her body in it. It’s the cause for the numerous bottles of Armand De Brignac and Dom Perigenon that have been sent her way in hopes of her joining the sections containing the men who were dumping money into dozens of bottles of champagne. It’s the dress that had Diddy’s security guard whispering an invitation to his section in her ear. It’s the dress that left me frozen in my closet as I walked in while she was exiting. It’s the dress that put a whole new spin on what little black dress is supposed to mean.

“Step over here for a second.” Fredrick stood to the left of me for a second and eventually, I stepped away from Autumn and walked just a couple of inches down so he’d be able to say what he needed to. Mike was already awaiting us, with a silly little smirk on his face.

“I have to ask. How are you going to bring her on a date to our club? I didn’t think anything of it when y'all had a quick bite to eat upstairs. That could have been corny but it’s whatever. The club though? Really?” I bid my gallant best friend the blankest stare I could muster up and Mike erupted into the most ridiculous fit of giggles. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was the one to plant the idea in Fredrick’s head to question me.

“First, shut up. Second, we’re not on a date. We went running this morning and I invited her to hang out with me for the day. It’s exactly that. Not a date.”

“That dress says it’s a date. Do you see it the way I see?”

“And how exactly do you see it?” My facial expression hadn’t contorted into anything else. If anything, it unexpectedly hardened.

“He’s about to fuck you up. You better watch your eyes dog.” Mike rested his arm over Fred’s shoulders as he continued to cackle like the Lion King’s hyenas. He looks like them as well. He looks like all things that are irksome right about now.  

“Wait, y'all went running? Like young rich white couples? Wow.” That statement earned a laugh out of me. I knew Mike would get one and that statement was worth it. That was a joke between all of us since our college days. We often differentiated the difference between white couples and black couples and running together was considered super Caucasian.

“Okay. Y'all can go about your business.”

“Oh no. We’re good right here. Everything is handled. A tense, flustered, and lusty Dante is far more interesting than sitting up in the office or being out here and watching Diddy act a fool on stage. I want to see this in person; not on security footage.” Fredrick slap his hand into my shoulder and winked before walking around me and smothering Autumn with a hug and making her smile with whatever suave shit he said.

“I’m happy for you man.”

“Mike, shut the fuck up man.” I couldn’t stop laughing at him. His facial expression paired with the commentary couldn’t be taken as anything more than pure jokes, though he’s as serious as a heart attack.

“Just say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Because I’m happy for you. You thank people for that, even though I’m supposed to be automatically happy for you because I’m your best friend and brother. Thank me.”

“Mike…” He cut me off.

“Thank me.”

“Thank you.” He like Fredrick, slapped his hand into my shoulder in jest, and left me to stand there as the outsider while they showered Autumn with admiration. Much like my own, she lit up their eyes, as they leaned in close enough to make out every word that spilled from her red lips. I expect the both of them to form some kind of bond with her over time. If she’s going to be around, why wouldn’t they? They’re my family and I’d rather her take a liking to them over the people who are biologically tied to me. She’s safer in that manner.

The atmosphere within the club lightened up and became more of a loose fun type of vibe when Diddy and his fifty person entourage made their exit out of the back door. He didn’t leave without showering the three of us with a drunken thanks and praise for the service and nicely tipping every bottle server that worked the V.I.P section. With him out the door, the intensity amongst the staff eased and the smiles returned to their faces as they cheerily walked and even danced around the club serving bottles and drinks to guests. We continued to occupy places at the bar, the three of us standing, while Autumn remained in her seat surrounded by the three men who most probably thought were her bodyguards if they couldn’t identify us as the owners. We all chose to have drinks; even her. The Jack Daniels and pineapple juice in her glass served as kryptonite for her hips and thighs as she moved in her seat along to whatever beat and melody that pleased her ears. What I didn’t expect was for it to carry her out of her seat. In a trance, I looked on as she danced along to DJ Envy’s ode to Atlanta by herself, and eventually both men who were on either side of me left me to take in the sight all alone.

The black uninhibited silk elegance stuck to her body like the fluidity of a second skin and carved out the shape of her frame with every move that she made. The deep open back, steep neckline, and slit up her thigh exposed her blemish free caramel skin and her left cool enough to not break a single sweat. Instead the perspiration was showcasing itself behind my own neck. One wrong move could expose plenty and yet it worked so well against her body, I’d believe the designer made it just for her if she told me. With every sip of my preferred potent brown liquid I took, my thoughts became less about her dancing and more about if she had anything on the lower half of her body aside from the silk of the dress.

“Come and dance.” She shouted her request loud enough for me to hear as the music suddenly switched to the ninety five underground club favorite “Freaks” by Doug E. Fresh. Reluctance filled my mind quickly and I started to deny her of what she asked for until she extended her hand to reach for my own. To kill the last of my nerves, I downed what was left in my glass and pushed up off of the golden bar to follow her as she headed towards the crowded dance floor.

Playfully, she bopped her head and rocked her body to the infectious beat as I did the same. Every bit of it was platonic, even the moment when she grabbed my arm and came closer. A few turns happened and she playfully bumped my hip with her own. I couldn’t help but to wrap my arm around her waist as she did so and I drew her body close to mine. The bopping and rocking continued while the warmth from our bodies and mouths enhanced the allure and abrupt intensity. The tips of my fingers dug into the softness of her hip and the nervousness I believed had washed away with the Hennessy returned when she suddenly pulled back from me. Thoughts of some type of way to make a quick getaway immediately flooded my brain until her plump backside met my body in a force that nearly caused me to stagger. My hands locked on her hips as she twirled and popped herself against the part of my flesh I’d been trying to keep in check since this morning. As if her hair could read my mind, it fell over her shoulders and gave me the perfect view of the side of her face each time she lifted herself up and laid her entire body against my own.

Her beautiful torment of my body never ceased as we danced through song after song to the surprising and yet fitting reggae set. I hoped my stiffened flesh would serve as a form of discomfort for so she’d stop what my mind and body swiftly became addicted to but it seemingly served as motivation for her to continue. I hadn’t spotted Mike or Fred ever since they walked away but I’m assured in my theory that one of them told Envy to refrain from changing the genre of music for the remainder of the night. I had Autumn against my body for two hours because of it.

For two hours she snatched just a little bit more of my soul.

“Any stops?”

My head leaned against the cool window of the SUV and I shook it in hopes that Marv noticed it through the rearview mirror. The heaviness in my tired eyes worsened although I had a constant rush of cool air smacking me in the back of my neck and on the top of my head from the overhead air conditioning vents. I don’t typically run behind schedule for flights but this morning was a first, as I could barely drag my exhausted form out of bed after having only taken a two hour nap since arriving home. Had I left the club and went straight home, I would have slept for a possible four or five hours, but instead I contentedly sat in my car outside of Autumn’s house having the most trivial banter with her. Her heels were off, my blazer sat sloppily in the backseat, my tie loosely hung around her neck, and our seats were reclined as we idly lay there going back and forth with jokes that probably wouldn’t have been as funny if the alcohol wasn’t still in control of our systems. Honestly, the funniest part of the early morning may have been the thirty minute nap we took, and the both of us popping up damn near simultaneously to laugh at that happening. We parted ways shortly after; her slipping inside of the house under the gaze of her nosy neighbor and me doing my best to quickly get back into Manhattan before the morning rush.

That was nearly three hours ago. Just three.

“I have your newspaper here. You want it?”

“No. I’m alright Marv.”

“Music?”

“No.”

“Rough night?” I erased the concern off of his face by lightly laughing.

“Crazy night, in a fun way.”

“Really?” His eyes widened in surprise as would anyone’s who knows me well enough would do. “Hungover?”

“Slightly.”

“My man.”  He slid his right hand in between the driver and passenger side seats and I quickly slapped my own into it before returning to my slump position against the window.

In understanding, he left me silence the entire ride to BlueStar. That hour ride was another nap; a teaser leading up to the next one that I’m sure to take on the flight to Vegas.

“Good Morning Mr. St. James.” With a nod of my head in greeting to the service worker, I looked on as he retrieved both of my bags from the trunk of the SUV and I bid Marv a quick goodbye. Usually I’d be jogging to cease any further lateness but I couldn’t. The guy and my bags were a long way ahead of me, as he quickly moved to board them onto the plane. Mike and Fredrick were already on board. I could tell by the cup holder in Autumn’s hands as she stood along side her brother. There would have been three Starbucks drinks in it if they weren’t already here. Instead, there’s my lone cup of coffee waiting for me in the hands of the woman who made my day, night, and morning.

“Why are you lagging man? Age catching up with you?” Issac voiced his joke loud enough for me to hear and a smirked danced along my lips but never quite formed as I reached the siblings.

“Long night.”

“Oh yeah? It was one of those nights huh?” My eyes narrowed and quickly normalized at what he was suggesting may have happened last night. It felt like one of those nights without it being one of those nights.

“Nah. None of that. It was just a late one at work.”

“Oh yeah, I know how that can be. Your flight attendant here picked up some Starbucks for you and I’m sure she’ll whip up a couple of extra cups of coffee for you on the flight so you’ll be nice and perked up for Vegas. Right Autumn?”

“Yes, I can do that. Good Morning Mr. St. James.” Our eyes locked as she handed over the coffee and the ever expected flutters ignited within seconds. The sight of her in that dress suddenly replaced the current sight of her in her uniform and the vision her long tresses swinging over her shoulders superseded the low ponytail in her hair now.

“Good Morning.”

I sipped the now slightly cool drink to begin the effects of the espresso and continued to take in her being though she’d already pealed her eyes away from me in an alarming and pointless nervousness.

Am I a dirty secret?

I know we’re nothing and yet we’re something. Well at least I feel that way.  It’s what I want to believe or maybe I’m hoping for a lot. Either way, this is a beautifully weird dynamic.

“Well, you’re behind schedule so why don’t you get going.” My eyes panned to Issac and his eyes no longer held the playful gleam that’s identical to his sister’s. As his eyes narrowed, I could sense him assessing me.

“Right. See you soon man. Sorry for the hold up.”

“Right.”

As I ascended up the steps, I could feel a set of eyes burning a hole into my back.

They weren’t the eyes that I wanted on me.

They weren’t the eyes that I needed on me.