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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 78: The Great Provider

Chapters: 78/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, Alarr Is A Little Bitch Now And Forever, Seriously Bull Cults Are Super Old, And Super Important

Summary: You face the bull.

“There's a lot of people looking at me.” Your father whispered to you, fiddling nervously with a crumbling slice of dark buttered bread. “Your asshole beau got me good this time.”

Seated on the other side of you, Loki sighed. Of course he could hear, even with the din of the First Feast all around. You shook pepper onto a peeled, boiled egg.

“It wasn't planned like that.” You whispered back. “All of the humans are seated on this side, me included. The planners just thought you should be next to me.”

On the one hand, you were glad your father was acknowledging your relationship without major pushback. On the other hand, insulting a prince within earshot of that prince, and many of his vassals, was probably not such a good idea.

“I mean, I can ask them to change the seating order. Put you down at the farthest table, with a bunch of Asgardians you've never met.”

He shuddered. “You wouldn't. My own daughter wouldn't do that to me, her poor old father, who has so few years left to him. You wouldn't show such cruelty to a vulnerable old man.”

“Yeah, yeah, you've got one foot in the grave already. You could fall over dead any minute now. You're practically dust.”

“Well, that might be going a little far.” he huffed. “I've still got some vinegar in me.”

“You even talk like an old man.” you teased. “Besides, you don't get to pull the Old Man Card, and then complain because I play along. Make up your mind.”

You passed him a serving bowl full of bilberry porridge, and he dipped some out. One thing your father was always willing to do, was try new food.

“Speaking of, what counts as 'old' to these folks?” he asked. “You've been saying some stuff about that, but it seems unbelievable.”

“You gotta start believing this stuff, Dad.” you chided.” It's all real. I know it's hard. My head has been swimming for months. But it gets easier to accept the more you learn. Anyway, for an Asgardian, about five thousand puts someone firmly into the 'elderly' category, but for an Aesir, like the king, or Saga, or Loki, the sky is the limit. I can count the number of kings Asgard has had in it's whole history on one hand. They just live that long.”

“Five thousand? Damn. That's...That's like, pyramid building times, isn't it? Say...did they...?”

“No, they didn't build the pyramids. I already asked. And even if aliens did build them, it wouldn't have been Asgardians” you pointed out. “They would have been in the north, making, I dunno, runestones? Longships? Something like that. The people in the north never really did the large-scale monument building like they did in Egypt. But Asgardians sure did. You saw the paintings of the old palace?”

That thing that looked like a pipe organ? Yeah.”

“So, if they were building our monuments, they'd have looked like that, wouldn't they?”

“Okay, but what if it was different aliens? We know there's more than one kind of alien.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but...I never found out if the other gods of the world were aliens or not. But even if they were, I'm pretty sure the pyramids were built by humans, even if they were built for their gods.”

“They were.” Loki interrupted. “But they also made for interesting sight-seeing expeditions for many peoples across Yggdrasil, so yes, aliens visited Earth quite often in your distant past.”

Your father clammed up and glared. After a few awkward moments, Loki turned back to his plate, passing along a crumbly cheese that turned out to be similar to feta. You added some to your grain salad.

Just get through dinner, you thought to yourself. Why did the men in your life always have to be so difficult?

Time was left between courses for the making of toasts, and there was a lot of back and forth-between the Icelandic dignitaries praising the Asgardians for being such gracious hosts, and the Asgardians praising them for hosting all of Asgard in the first place. There were toasts for the Avengers in attendance, though they were somewhat subdued; the Maximoff girl was still a fairly controversial figure, Dr. Banner continued to be visibly uncomfortable with the attention, and the Vision was simply not as well known. But they were dutifully honored nonetheless, and then the humans of Trolerkaerhalla turned their adoration on you.

'The People's Seidkona', they called you. 'The bridge', and 'the Huldra shield'. Even 'the Sapphire Brand', a kenning Loki had invented for you, which made you wonder what he had been discussing with his worshipers when he was out working on the longhouses.

The dessert course was mixed dried fruit, cooked down into a compote and served over bread.

It was also the last course before the slaughter of the bull, for tomorrow's Second Feast.

You'd told Tara and your father about it, to mixed reactions. Tara was repulsed, but your father, who presumably saw more dead animals along the side of the road than you would be comfortable with, seemed to take it in stride.

“Someone has to do it.” he'd said, “They gotta get to the plate somehow. Sucks, I know. There's no way out of it?”

“It's tradition.” you'd sullenly explained. “And it's really old. Like, Proto-Indo-European old. Back when kings used to be worshiped and held responsible for everything. If the crops failed, they sacrificed him. So it was in a ruler's best interests to make sure his people were provided for. I think, eventually, the bull became a stand-in for the king. I don't know if the Asgardians influenced us in this case, or if it was the other way around, but there's a whole deep layer cake of symbolism involved, and I really do have to participate.”

The bull and the ruler. Symbols of power, fertility, plenty, and prosperity. It was poetic, in an ancient, rustic kind of way.

You had thought that you had it all together, but when you heard the bellowing sound of the bull somewhere close, and your heart clenched in your chest.

Suddenly dessert didn't taste so good.

******

There had been an arena built between tables for the bull to be driven into, with a raised platform that you were currently perched on, holding a goad with a trail of ribbons at the end. You would be enticing the bull towards you with the movement of the ribbons, and once it was within range, Loki would strike.

Then the beast would be butchered on the spot, to prepare for the next nights festivities. It would be very educational.

The human guests had been informed of what was about to happen, and of course, the Asgardians already knew, but they still cheered you on anyway. Skaldic students picked up a slow drum beat, that pulsed like a heart.

How many thousands of years worth of rulers and seidkonas doing this? Odin and Frigga had done it. Bor and Bestla had done it. Buri and Audhumla had not-the holiday hadn't been declared until after Buri's passing. But one had to assume that they all gazed out from Valhalla, within it's great black hole, and saw what their descendants were doing. Presumably, Buri could now see that two people who had no true relation to him, were now the ones honoring him. How would he feel about that?

The bull bellowed behind the gates, the sound echoing and distorting strangely. Loki lurked next to the platform, waiting. This wasn't going to be like a matador facing down an angry beast. This was going to be an ambush.

The gates slowly begin to open, and your adrenaline spiked into the sky.

Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes

The bull entered the arena and you froze in shock, almost completely forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

The bull was...wrong. It was completely still, standing on a board on wheels. It did not walk into the area, but was pushed. It's head was oddly textured, almost shiny, and strangely shaped. It bellowed again, weird and distorted, but did not open it's mouth.

Its strangeness blended into your anxiety, becoming a potent cocktail of revulsion and dread. Loki patted the platform next to you, and you started, jerking your ribbons to and fro. The bull bellowed one more time before Loki strode up to it, and, with one smooth and elegant swing, beheaded it.

There was no blood. The wound was hollow, and the head sprouted the legs of a child as soon as it hit the ground, running around and mooing irreverently to the amusement and obvious confusion of the audience.

It was fake. It was a fake bull. Loki had mentioned to you that you need not worry because he had taken care of her bull problem, but hadn't had time to elaborate before you'd had to scramble up the platform. You would have never guessed he meant this.

With a flourish, Loki whipped the tanned hide off the bull, revealing a hollow armature beneath, within which was an ice-covered table, piled up with cuts of meat, bowls of organs, piles of stew bones, and a bucket of blood. The bull reduced down to its edible parts, all ready for tomorrow's feast.

The drums stopped abruptly, the child who had been hiding in the paper-mache bulls head discarded it to the side and ran off into the cheering crowd, as people came forward to carry away the bits of bull.

Loki draped the bull's hide over his shoulders and helped you down from the platform.

“Did I not tell you?” he said smugly. “I took care of it for you. Truly, the symbolism is the most important part, and this speeds the process along so that we may get to the dancing all the sooner!”

“That was freaky as hell!” you scolded. “You shoulda told me it was gonna be a fake! I spent that whole time all bent out of shape because of it, ugh, what a lot of wasted sleep!”

“In my defense, I didn't find out that you were troubled about it until yesterday. I had only a limited time to come up with something.”

“And you decided to stuff a kid in a fake bull's head? That's what you came up with?”

“That's Beli's youngest great-great-great-grandson, and he volunteered! My dear, what's wrong? I thought you would prefer it this way?”

“I do!” you huffed, irritated. “But I need you to start telling me when you do things like this! How am I gonna do my job if you already make all the decisions by yourself? Stop trying to surprise me all the time. I froze out there because of it! What did that look like to everybody else, huh?”

“I think they were too captivated by the bull to take notice...” he didn't sound so sure. “But yes, you are right, of course. It is a bad habit. I will be better.”

Somewhat mollified, you took his arm and allowed him to lead you to the dances.

*******

“It's an insult!” Alarr raged. “He reduces our history to mere spectacle!”

“It may have been for convenience.” his wife pointed out. “Our Midgardian guests need more frequent rest. It wouldn't do for his Highness' little seidkona to collapse from exhaustion.”

“Do not call her that!” he snapped. “She doesn't deserve the title! What part of her is a seidkona? The part that graces Loki's bed? Or the part that gets into cat fights with her betters? This is exactly what I am talking about though! The Midgardians are weak, but we are the ones expected to lower ourselves to their level? If they cannot keep up, they shouldn't be here! The prince is a fool, and the Allfather merely enables him. Together, they will reduce us to infants.”

“Watch your tone with me, Alarr. I tire of your temper.”

“And I tire of watching our culture and people be diminished for easier consumption by outsiders. When does it end? If even our holy days aren't exempt from foreign influence, then what part of us can we really expect to keep? How much can we be diluted, and still remain Asgard?”

“Alarr, this obsession has already cost you dearly. And not just you, the whole family has been impacted by it. You are so preoccupied with everything you're afraid we're going to lose, that you don't see the harm that you are doing to us yourself! Now you may sit here and let your rage rob you of your Buridag, but I'm going back out there to enjoy myself! Stars know, I've had precious few chances to do so lately!”

She stormed out, leaving him behind to seethe.

******

“That was so weird.” Todd said. “I thought it was going to be a real cow.”

“I'm glad it wasn't!” another camper exclaimed.

“Yeah, me too, but why did they go through all that rigmarole about what was going to happen, explaining the whole thing, telling us not to fear, and then wheel out a meat-filled piñata instead? Did they think we were gonna think it was real? Like, are we toddlers to them?”

“Maybe? They're all hundreds of years old, aren't they? Even the kids.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I feel like that's a problem though. I mean, think of the advantages they have over all the rest of us! I can't help but feel like they will eventually have a disproportionate amount of global influence, just because of the monumental projects that they can put together with that longevity. And like, I know the longhouse squad might not mind having alien overlords, but I'm sure not excited about it.”

“Global superpowers rise and fall. That's just history.” another camper said. “Are you sure you aren't just worried that yours might be overshadowed?”

“No need to be rude.” Todd chided. “People were rightly worried about super powered individuals before these guys even showed up. I mean, look at what happened to Sokovia! When I was a kid, that kind of thing was unthinkable! Now we've gotta worry about nukes, and terrorists, and school shootings, and climate change, and now alien invaders and supermen on top of all that? It's no wonder people are so worried. Did you know these people haven't even signed the Accords? What do you think that says about them?”

“Hey, I'm not disagreeing, man. I'm skeptical too. But they're refugees all the same, and it's only been a couple years. I figure they're just trying to get adjusted before they go committing themselves to anything big, you know?”

“And that's fair for the average Asgardian. As far as we know, they didn't do anything wrong. But Thor...you know, as much as I like him, he's been involved in some pretty destructive events. And the least, I mean, the very least he could have done to show some kind of good faith with Earth, would be to turn his brother over to some kind of justice. But he hasn't; he's just let Loki flaunt every authority. The man committed a felony, he kidnapped my girlfriend, and...nothing! He's not allowed on United States soil, but he did it anyway, and nothing has been done. I can't help but be resentful, who wouldn't be?”

“I know what you mean, but then why did you come to this shindig, anyway?”

Todd shrugged. “I just wanted to see that she was okay, you know? We weren't perfect, but we really had something, and I just want to make sure she's okay. She didn't look okay, up there with that fake bull, and I don't like it. I know her; she's kinda delicate. All this is gonna be too much for her.”

“You have a lot to say.” interrupted an unfamiliar, accented voice. The little knot of campers jerked to attention. A young man stood nearby, arms crossed, glaring.

“Uh, yeah...” Todd said. “To my friends. Who are you?”

“Fritjof.” the stranger said shortly.

“That's the mutant.” one of the campers whispered urgently. “We saw him out in that fight, remember? He throws fire!”

“Oh.” Todd held his hands up in front of him. “Hey man, we don't have any beef with you. No need to lose our tempers or anything...”

Fritjof snorted. “Somehow, I doubt this.” he sneered.

“Frit!” A woman cried, then rattled off a quick sentence Todd could not understand. Fritjofs intimidating stance softened, and he answered back.

“I'm going to dance now.” He told Todd. “Be a more gracious guest.”

Several of the campers let out the breaths they'd been holding, as he left.

“What a freak.” One of them muttered.

“Don't know what his problem is, but I think he could use a class on minding his own business.” Todd said.

“So, you wanna go dance?”

“Not really, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to go see what it's like.”

******

The dancing was energized and frenetic; stomping, clapping, twirling, leaping. It was full of laughter and celebration, messy and unchecked. The commoner's dances were danced by all, and you had thrown yourself into them with relish. From arm to arm you passed, jumping and shouting in time with everyone else.

You danced, and spun, and bounced, finally ending up panting back in Loki's arms.

“Come, sit with me.” he said. “You need a breather.”

He sat you down in one of the covered seats, wrapped you in his cloak for extra warmth, and pressed a cup of hot cider into your hands. The community continued to dance, some breaking off to rest, some jumping back in. You simply watched, sipping your cider as Loki twirled Sjofn, Thor kicked with Wanda, and a very tall Asgardian lady tried to entice an increasingly uncomfortable looking Dr. Banner. Even Gloa seemed to be having a good time, though you noticed Alarr was nowhere to be seen. Andsvarr, however, was dancing for all he was worth, and rarely let Saldis out of his grasp. It was cute, but not as cute as Tara, slightly drunk off buttered rum, flirting openly with several very confused Asgardians, or your father, trying hard to avoid Dr. Banner's fate.

Loki whirled his way back to your side, and plopped down next to you, but must have noticed you were fading.

“It has certainly been a long day, hasn't it?” he asked. “Would you prefer to return to our rooms?”

“Yeah. As much as I'd like to stick around, I'd really need some sleep.” you admitted. “Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow too.”

“Then shall we?” He offered his arm, and somehow the two of you slipped away without much notice.

“Are you going back out?” you asked, as he tucked you comfortably into his bed.

“Yes, for a little while longer. It's best that my brother and I be seen out among the people for as long as possible. I'll be back later. Sleep soundly, my dear.”

The rigors of the day caught up to you quickly, and you had no inkling of how much time had passed when you finally felt him slip into bed next to you, smelling of sweet crystal mead.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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racheljchen · 3 years

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story vomit

-hong kong runaway idea reality in mental hospital? mr robot perfect blue -blue hour love "i wanna be scary" heart break shaves eyebrows red lipstick black panther for asians space? dreamjng of home story about learning to let go and putting yourself first story about choosing happiness, prolonged misery JYN AND CASSIAN IMMORTALS her fingers ruffled through soft locks of his hair, and her heart swelled. it was too little and too much all at once, after all the years apart, how could she have ever doubted wanting to be by his side again? Now that he was in her arms the certainty seemed to settle into an unshakable truth, that she and he were meant to return to each other, circling each other, standing by the other's side no matter the circumstances of the rest of the foolish world. the girl from before, who only knew of solitude, of running, looking over shoulder at every turned would have thought this new certainty unthinkable. it might have terrified her or disgusted her, but the Jyn of now was a different woman. his eyes caught her transfixed gaze and crinkled with a smile she knew better than her own. no words needed to break the cozy silence for the understanding to pass between them. there was nothing she wanted more than to crush his body to hers, to hold him gently and never let go again but the feeling overwhelmed her and she could only continue to cradle his head in her lap, stroking a finger down the jawline she loved. mine. mine. her heart said, touching a body that was not her own, this skin which would pierce me to be bruised, these bones which would shatter her to be broken. hours later, after many hushed words had passed between them, describing in few short words the many hard years that had passed for each of them, as the sky began to flush lilac with the rising sun, they broke apart with much hesitance. after several failed attempts on cassian's part to urge her to the fresher for a much needed shower, she finally relented breaking the connecting touch betwen them. jyn couldnt contain the tiniest childish pout. how could she miss holding him within seconds of relinquishing the contact? annoyed at feeling like a childish teenager but still petulant to let go. "go!" urged cassian, his eyes crinkling with a grin, and then, of course how she resist grabbing his smiling face again and kissing those grinning lips. cassians arms could not help but to circle around her waist but of course he was the one with the greater self restraint and he withdrew them after a few moments, pushing her gently towards the fresher door. under the hot satisfying spray Jyn allower herself the luxury of a quick moment to just enjoy the comforts of a life not based on the next meal, next job, and the overhanging urgency of survival, before she got to work scrubbing off the unholy layers of grime on her body. as she lathered suds into her hair, the fresher door clicked open with a soft hiss, and she peered through the fogged shower door at cassian, who of course smiled at her again, and she marveled at the ease of his surrending unlimited smiles for her when he was a man of few smiles for the rest of the universe. and with that her traitorous heart was off again, squeezing with the overwhelming painful joy of having him by her side again. cassian rinsed his toothbrush, finished with brushing his teeth. with a mischievous grin he peeled of his under shirt and dropped his trousers to the floor. steam poured out of the fresher as he slipped in beside her, putting his rough hands on the soft slick skin of her waist. jyn hooked her arms around his neck and tiptoed up to kiss him, soft sweet and slow, and they stood under the spray, feeling each other up like teenagers until suddenly Jyn shrieked. "Ah! Sorry, sorry, the boiler tank is small, I've been wanting to install a bigger one-" Jyn laughed despite the freezing spray erasing her comfortable warmth by the second. "get out you horn dog i still have to rinse out my hair" one of them gets executed but comes back to life cassian? comes back to find jyn and their child // cassian as a fire breathing bar tender modern au where they're divorced drug cartel AU krennic and galen in the cia/dea jyn smuggles or deals arms or something cassian is an undercover DEA agent cassian riding a horse, wearing a cowboy hat, smoking patron notices cassian is into jyn and 'gives' her to him "you're a lucky guy" thats just a nice way to say i want to fuck your girl jyn if you do this i can't protect you ive known these guys my whole life and you think you can get into this game for a couple months and i need you to protect me from them i dont mean from them cassian joserra jerome antonio anglés andrez after they settle down: oh where did you guys meet jyn: tinder // divorced soulmates when they meet jyn can tell its something special. she's been around the block enough to know that this one wasn't for messing around, that they meant too much to each other. cassian tamed her and she brought him to life and his friends were all supportive of course, relieved he had found some joy at last, that he finally had a reason to leave the office without putting in overtime more days of the week than not, a reason for brief smiles to stsrt escaping his serious outward demeanor. all they saw was cassian hiding a smile in a tumblr of mezcal st the bar with them, watching jyn dance with han and kes, twirling around them with smooth confidence as they tried not to trip on their own feet. how could it be anything but good? jyn knows cassian would never hurt her on purpose so she lets herself fall too easily, then slowly her life revolved around him. he occupied her throughts, her space, and she became nothing more than a part of cassian, his wife, as honoured and respectable as the role was she became suffocated with being introduced as his wife, people telling her what a great man her husband was, and she became defined by him, strangers assuming insight of her. when she leaves she finds herself all alone, realising all the friends she had were gifted to her by cassian, and the thought infuriates her. not at cassian, never at cassian, but at her past self for allowing this to happen, blind to painfully learned lessons to always have an escape route in sight, to rely on herself first and foremost. when she leaves, the pain is unbearable. she cries and she cries herself to sleep, and when she wakes up she's temporarily soothed her mind betraying her with the false sense that all the pain was just a bad dream and she would roll over and see cassian there, soft and warm and comforting and ready to hold her close and kiss the nightmare away. but the realisation came quick and she would be sobbing again. in the end it was only her stubborn pride that saved her the indignity of crawling back to him on her knees begging. or maybe it was the stone pit on her stomach that said you did this. you hurt him like this, and for what? how can you deserve to try and salvage what was perfectly good before you picked it up and smashed it on the ground just to see how the splinters would fall? when the fog of misery starts to fade though, she is relieved. even as she sits in her crappy, hole in the wall apartment, eating left over pizza for a undignified amount of times in a month, she is so relieved to be free. even if the AC keeps crapping out and she's sweating in February and bodhi has been the only other person to visit her apartment she is so relieved. her thoughts were her own again and she was so happy she could cry "jyn you will always be my family. you know that right?" she doesn't deserve it cassian walking barefoot in the shore wash at blue hour this pain wasn't unbearable but it was a unique brand of torturous. knowing exactly what she wanted was right in front of her, seeing it, touching it in soft polite embraces that lingered just on the dangerous end of perfunctory hellos and goodbyes. she's already had a taste of exactly everything she wants (not needs, not anymore, and that made the pain tolerable but a new unique brand of torturous), and she couldn't have it. she threw it all away. no regrets could be had, she would have never made it here without giving it up, but it certainly didnt help when they sat on the opposite ends of the friends spanning a bar counter and her attention still strayed from whatever kes was talking about to start at his lips, soft from worrying at the glass tumbler in his hand, hearing the memory of the laugh she only watched escape from him in real life as it was lost in the din of the bar. "i forgave you for literally tearing my heart apart the first time, but as much of a masochist as i am, I can't give you permission to do it again. so what is it jyn?" "come on jyn. it doesn't take an idiot to see how much we still care about each other" their scars are the only soft and tender part on them, new and innocent skin next to hard won calluses cassian's ex wife meet first time when cassian gets backup for his mission huge sexual tension competence porn celebrating successful mission, cassian shoots his shot she reveals she used to be in intelligence "understand this captain andor. i have a lot of respect for what you do. it's horrid work but it needs to be done. matter of fact i started in intelligence. but the one thing i know, is the kind of person that can stand that line of work, the kind of person i was back then, thats not the kind of people i want to break bread with" she pulls rank on him despite him being older and more experienced. "in my branch you get promoted fast because you die fast" cassian was being pessimistic/realist sbout expected bad outcome but young recruit is horrified more massive sexual tension at a bar or something, she goes outside to make out with some rando guy, cassian follows her and chases him off and kisses her. not nice and tender, hatefuck in an alleyway but it's so hot doesn't see each other again fuck in a tent, fuck in the showers start to bond, see each other's honour and kindess. after a bad mission she's doubting herself, unable to sleep, cassian takes her to a secret vantage point. "sometimes i think i'm a dispicable person" "not to me" he kisses her "what, really here?" where they're in constant threat of being walked in on "no." they just make out and its tender snd loving and it scares her off and she avoids him for a while cassian gets captured and held in solitary confinement for months, mentally tortured, starved. tries to escape, gets punished. gets fucked up in the head. draven and elkie are the only one pushing to find him and break him out. after cassian is found and returns to base he's a shell of himself, spooked, makes intense eye contact with elkie as he passes her but no aknowledgement of their signifigance to each other. after medical checks he's left alone and starts to panic, but before he freaks out fully, she comes into his room with shaving kit and a peach. she cuts a few slices for him to enjoy because hes not really allowed fruit, talks to him and shaves him as he heals she arranges for him to be put in a room with a chatty old soldier who keeps telling him old war stories, and visits him whenever she back on base. after a particularly bad mission. she crawls into his hospital bed in the middle of the night. after he's discharged, she sleeps with him whenever she can, calming him down after nightmares. one night he knows she's sleep deprived and needing to wake up early for important things the next day and tells her to stop sacrificing her sleep to help him. she's quiet before she asks if he is making her leave. he says no, so she just snuggles up to him. he realizes she prefers being woken up all night to sleeping without him. one say when cassian's feeling like he cant stand being amongst the people on the base in the mess hall, she brings him back to the vantage point to have lunch. they fuck but it's making love. something in between she gets captured and tortured. breaks leg. cassian rescues her. cassian cares for her in the immediate aftermath, she wakes up to him asleep in the hospital chair after he comes back from his own mission back on base, superiors want to send her off base to recuperate and get better PT, she really doesn't want to go, she knows she might never make it back and lose her nerve and her mind. their sleeping in cassian's bed and she admits this. he says there's desk work she can do on base. "married officers get first choice of postings" she's stunned by the insinuation "i need to know you arent whoring yourself out out of some misplaced need to take care of me. just because you slept with me a couple times doesn't mean i'm your responsibility." "i need to know you aren't... offering... out of convenience. just a loophole to help me out" "i'm not. i can't live without you anymore" they get married, she takes his name. captain andor and captain andor she drops off the grid for an extended period of time, she sees him in a crowd and he thinks she's a hostile, tries to take her down but she takes off her mask and goggles she dies in his arms CASSIAN'S LITTLE SISTER/DAUGHTER cassian's 16 she's 8, he saves her and has to babysit her for a while around rogue one she's 18 starting to do field work as an agent cassian as fulcrum is not nice or friendly but mentors her and takes care of her she just starts acting like a friend even though she has no reason to treat him like one bonds with jyn they go to each other when they're concerned about cassian, jyn tells her about a miscarriage, she tells jyn about PTSD she doesn't want to admit to cassian later as peace becomes more viable and cassian less cold and jaded, he starts to act like her family and at first it scares her off a bit she's hostile, says you don't have any right treating me like a child considering how you treated me in the past CASSIAN JYN F1 bodhi jyn both trained by legendary race strategist galen erso (betrays imperial team and orson krennic?) bodhi was trained to to compete and be great, jyn was thrown in and not expected by others to be a real competitor jyn joins f1 with saw gerrera's partisans, low midfield team, strapped for cash bodhi drives with his brain jyn drives with her gut bodhi tells her she can be truly great when she masters melding the thinking and control with her raw talent jyn podiums once and is over the moon but cassian isnt happy for her and she doesnt understand cassian says she doesnt understand racing yet, put herself on the line for revenge, had no way of knowing she was gonna survive her dirty trick and she only won when almost half the field retired calls her hotheaded and not ready cassian was an excellent ruthless driver, would drive dirty to make the win very good (champion?) gets into bad crash (jyn saves him?) and retires, join rebellion as race strategist cassian suggests jyn as new driver leia backs him up jyn helps cassian with his PT and tells him he doesn't have to put on a mask for her and he allows himself to show that he's in pain jyn falls asleep in cassian's hotel room and when he tucks her in she grabs him and they fall asleep together at a party after a good win jyn's tipsy and grabs cassian and starts singing and dancing in his face and cassian is laughing and loving every moment jyn's championship title comes down to the last race she gets a rough bump that physically takes a toll on her she has a good lead but she blows a tire and limps home (krennic gets on the radio somehow to try and break her confidence?) cassian: "do your best, bring her home. i'm right here jyn, I'm with you to the end. I'm not going anywhere" jyn wins a championship and retires she's proved herself after no one thought she would, defeated vader for a season she knows she doesn't have a strong chance of doing it again and wants to make room for luke and han so they don't join imperial F1 STORY young hotshot female driver gets put into falling from glory ferrari with him he used to be eyed as the next great talent but in a shit car he doesn't have any accomplishments to show and is starting to lose the hype and his drive to win she idolizes him, after a race where she does very well for a rookie and he delivers good but not great results, she goes into his driver's room and congratulates him on a good drive out of a need to assert control he fucks her he's trying to massage his own shoulder, she says here let me help, get close, talking, he turns to catch her eye and realises how close they are and kisses her fucks her on the desk, hot and dirty after their lustful scramble he comes back yo his senses and is a bit ashamed of what he's done kisses her on the forehead and leaves, saying see you tomorrow they keep hooking up throughout her rookie season, and spending time together in the public eye, her sweet genuine humorous personality tempers his steely cold and focussed persona and media and fans eat it up, everyone loves them as old gruff dude and young hotshot jokester duo two seasons like that as they grow closer there's a picture of him as a f1 rookie giving 14yo her a trophy forehead kisses become a meme she tells him what he already knows, he needs to jump ship from the team he loves in order to win he signs with a top three team as she continues to get more experience at their old team throughout the season they continue hooking up and hanging out in winter break they spend a lot of time with each other, to the point it seems like they're dating but theyve never discussed it he wins a world championship, realises the only person he wants to celebrate with is her she gets signed to a title contender team next time they hook up he's being a tender and says something commitment related she freezes up "what did you think this is" "yeah of course anyone would jump at the chance to fuck their idols, that doesn't mean their idols would be a good person to settle down with" "did u think i would fall in love with you just because i look up to you? im not some groupie. as if you weren't just taking advantage of me the first time, cheating on your girlfriend. im smart enough to know I'm not special, if you did it to her you certainly have it in you to do it to me" "i think we should stop doing this" breakup, theyre both heartbroken he feels betrayed, thinking the girl he's in love with just used him she doesn't want to admit she really did fall for him he gets signed to the same team as her the whole world is super excited to see their chemistry again but they're super cold, barely together, barely acknowledge each other press conference she blows off the question of whether she's excited to be teammates again he gets into tabloids rumored to be dating hot celebs they have a bad rivalry on the track fighting for positions gets double retirement and other bad things eventually he realises she only pushed him away out of self preservation and she mist have loved him to have done so much and cared for him the way she did he apologizes and asks her to give them a chance she's shocked but she agrees, but she says they shouldnt be together until the season is over cue sexual tension she misses him too much and he comes into her hotel room to get a fright shes in his bed and they cuddle she wins the championship after 5 years of being together and racing, he retires proposes to her, to the shock of the world

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emotionalsupportfiction · 4 years

Text

Stages of Love Lukas

Wow this is long. Most people would say Python is hard to write but in my experience Lukas is where I struggle. I hope I stayed as in character as possible and did him justice

Attraction:

• Lukas falling in love with you was a long process as his priorities were elsewhere • You came from a noble family but had abandoned them. Now a priestess from the Novis Priory, you enlisted into the Deliverance. Your family had aligned with Desaix, bled the common folk in your area dry with cruel taxes, and hired brigands to harass the nearby towns so the common folk would seek help from the nobility. Your family, in their greed, crippled the people they should’ve been protecting, so you left them for the Priory. • You and Lukas would often strategize together, your family had a sizeable personal army and if you came to blows, it would be disastrous for your side. You were Lukas’ assistant in terms of managing the army. Spending so much time with each other brought you closer together and he mentioned in passing that he’d met you before at some celebration, you apologized for not remembering as you hated going to those parties and often your mind was elsewhere. • A friendship developed as both of you had roughly the same background. Coming from noble families but ultimately leaving them. Both of you didn’t care much for social status but wanting to find their place in the grander scheme of things. You had an uncanny ability to peel back some of Lukas’ defensive layers and pick up on what was happening with him internally. • You shared one of your observations of him, how his eyes have this different look to them out on the battlefield. “Quite the observation, I admit, it’s one of the few times I feel… something.” He folded his arms behind him and twiddled his thumbs “Does that frighten you?” he quirked his head to the side trying to read your expression. “More saddened than afraid really… Lukas, I wonder what could’ve happened in your past that caused you to be this way. To only come alive when your life is in danger.” He closed his eyes, purveying his thoughts “I can’t say with certainty if it's my upbringing or if something in me is broken. Perhaps I’m not normal.” There was resignation in his voice, you reached and presented your hand to comfort him. He looked at it perplexed “You don’t need to hold it if you aren’t comfortable Lukas. But if its any consolation, I don’t think you’re broken and I’m here for you if you need a companion as you try to figure out life.” He gave your hand a tentative touch then pulled away, folding his arms behind him once more. • He picked up the conversation about not being normal, it was freeing to talk to you so openly. He confided about his insecurities regarding his personality, his coldness, inability to express emotions freely, his desire to feel something intense for once, all of which he deemed imperfections in his personality. You assured him they weren’t defects, that these “flaws” are what makes each of us a unique human being. That feelings aren’t to be forcefully felt, they just happen in varying intensities depending on the person. • Lukas was drawn to how understanding you are and how you didn’t color his kindness towards you. As the friendship deepened you were slowly able to gauge what his boundaries were and the little tics in his personality. As he opened up more to you you never met him with comments like “See you can express emotion?” but you responded with gratitude he was opening up more to you and assurance he can take things at his own pace. • After the war and Duma’s defeat, you and Lukas started teaching new recruits basic education (reading, writing, arithmetic, and history.) Most of your pupils were commoners but you both enjoyed spreading education to every social class. • Lukas began noticing very unfamiliar feelings within him, catching himself staring at you, little things would remind him of you, and the sound of your voice and your smile was always on his mind. He’d feel “something” whenever your hand would brush against his or when you’d give him a pat on the shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to share the same space with you and he knew he had feelings for you but he wanted to make sure if it was romantic or leaned more on platonic.

Confession:

• It took time for Lukas to fully process his feelings for you, never had he anticipated he’d develop any form of romantic attraction/affection towards another person. So he gave himself ample time to let the feelings sink in, to accept and be sure that his feelings were romantic. Lukas did not want a repeat of pursuing someone only to find out he was not emotionally invested whatsoever. • He began courting you by spending more and more time with you ( just the two of you ), doing small favors, or giving you tokens of appreciation. You’d have tea together while going over lesson plans, spar, he’d gladly accompany you if you wanted to visit the priory at Novis from time to time, or you’d find gifts of either flowers or food you like on your desk with a note from him “You’re always on my mind.” “I thought of you when I saw these.” “Have you eaten yet? I hope you like these.” Are some examples of his notes. • Lukas had never outright asked you if he could court you and this had been going on for a few months. You opted to confront him, he dropped by your desk with his usual care package then you asked “Lukas, be honest, are you courting me?” he folded his arms behind him and began to twiddle his thumbs, finding the right words to say “I am.” A succinct response but you wanted more out of him “Well this is unexpected. You never mentioned being attracted to me or wanting to court me before… I’m just surprised.” He cleared his throat and looked at you sincerely, there was anxiety in his eyes “Perhaps I wasn’t being honest with myself in the past or I kept denying my affections for you. Granted everyone had described me as cold and emotionally subdued, I thought that was who I am, unfeeling. “ he reached out to hold your hand, you didn’t pull away. He intertwined his fingers with yours, the warmth of your hand giving him confidence. “I’ve stared a crazed dragon god in the eyes and felt little to no fear, yet when I look at you I feel so many emotions all at once. Happiness, longing, fear, and so many others. I am certain my feelings for you are romantic and I’d like to explore this side of me, hopefully, with you by my side.” You squeezed his hand “Of course Lukas.” This was the first time you ever saw Lukas smile up to his eyes. Layers of repression crumbling away, he finally found someone he could be wholly open to.

First Date

• Lukas isn’t one for grand gestures and overly fancy dates. He prefers very intimate and private ones. Having a dinner date where both of you cook it together is very much his speed. He admits he prefers making desserts but doesn’t mind helping and learning how to cook your favorite meal and you don’t mind learning how to make his favorite desserts. • He has his own brand of playfulness, you’ll ask for an onion to chop and he’ll roll it slowly towards you. Or if you ask him for a utensil (that’s not sharp or pointed) he won’t let go of it immediately, initiating a light tug-of-war with the faintest playful smile on his face. • Dinner is enjoyed with deep conversation and warm banter. At this point, Lukas is comfortable with holding hands to the point he doesn’t let go of yours. After the meal, he’ll offer to do the dishes, pressing a soft kiss on your head. It warms your heart so much that Lukas is more giving and accepting of physical touch, it shows how secure he feels. • He walks you back to your room in the barracks, hand in hand enjoying the moment. Walking about while holding hands would’ve been scandalous for Lukas’ past standards, now he isn’t so conscious about that trivial things, he’d rather enjoy every moment with you at his own pace. Right before you reach your room, he gets this sudden impulse. He quickens his pace, leading in front of you and in one fluid motion twirls you as if you were dancing. The gesture is sudden but romantic, your face is flush but with a wide smile on your lips “Well… what’s that all about Mr. Romantic?” you giggled, he cups your cheeks and slowly presses a kiss on your forehead then resting his against yours. “I’m not too sure myself… But I’d do it again,” Lukas gave you face a light squeeze before pulling you into an embrace.

First Kiss

• Your first kiss was an accident. You were hesitant to push Lukas and make him uncomfortable while he was surprisingly bashful about asking you for more physically intimate interactions. • Although at this point Lukas was comfortable with hand-holding, embraces, and kisses (on the cheek, forehead, hair, and hands) minimally in public. He was very forward when asking for cuddles during your one-on-ones • Both of you were cuddling in bed, he had one arm wrapped around you as he read a book while you nuzzled into his shoulder. Maybe he was too engrossed in reading his book he didn’t notice you staring at him lovingly, thinking about how far he’s come opening up and being more comfortable with intimacy. You whisper his name and go in to kiss him on the cheek or jaw, whichever comes first except that doesn’t feel like his cheek. Then it clicks what had just happened, he heard his name and turned his attention towards you, your lips clumsily catching half of his. You quickly pull away, you feel like you overstepped his boundaries “Gods! Lukas, I’m so sorry, I only wanted to kiss your chee-“ he’d went ahead and kissed you right then and there, parting just enough to get some words in “You don’t have to be so hesitant with me love. I appreciate you being so considerate but we’re well past that.” He molded his lips onto yours with more passion “You’re the only one who’ll see this side of me, you’re the only one who can bring it out…” he locked you into a deep passionate kiss, pining you onto the bed…

First Time

• Your first time together was also your first kiss, this intimate moment was many months (or up to a year) in the making. There was much build-up and one kiss was all it took for the dam to break, perhaps a little spontaneity was required to things going. • Lukas is a simple guy, not one for tricks or adventurous positions for your first night together but that did not diminish the fervor and passion. You won’t hear him talk dirty but his kisses on every inch of your body spoke volumes of how much he adored and “needed” you. • His gaze was intense as he hovered over you, one hand keeping his balance while the other was clasped tightly around yours, your grips growing tighter with every thrust. You couldn’t decide what to do with your free hand, it alternated between covering your mouth or entangling it in his hair. The way he looked at you and his focused silence melted your insides, you just knew “that” look was reserved for you and you alone. His breathing grew more and more labored, a moment later you heard his breath catch in his throat as he stopped abruptly. You felt him pull out of you and you whined in response to the sudden emptiness. Lukas spread your legs wider and went down on you, lapping at you with his tongue. He put his neck into, nuzzling deeper in between you sending shivers down your spine making squeeze his head with your thighs. He grunted then gripped your thighs to keep you steady, his hold was tight and you knew it would leave a mark. You felt your core tighten more and more then you just felt yourself melt into his mouth, Lukas gladly drank you in. Though spent from your orgasm, you’d gladly return the favor but Lukas said he’s in a giving mood that night. The sight of him looking at you, framed between your thighs stirred you once more. Lukas was certainly very generous that night and you’d repay that generosity once he was in a receiving mood.

Proposal

• Another year into the relationship and Lukas brought up the topic of marriage. He’d become more forward with things he wanted to do, happen, or try out in your relationship. While you were open to getting married, both of you were preoccupied with serving the One Kingdom as knights. The thought of having your knightly responsibilities conflicting with wedding planning or married life wasn’t something you looked forward to. Lukas agreed on that point, he didn’t see himself staying a knight for the rest of his life and he had another long term goal in mind aside from marrying you. • He asked what you’d do after retiring from knighthood. You enjoyed teaching recruits and wanted to do that full-time once you retired. It made Lukas very happy that your long-term goals were exactly like his, he suggested opening a school together. The way his face lit up made you ecstatic, you wanted nothing more than to do this together. • Both of you filed your retirement, while Clive and Alm were slightly saddened with your departure they both respected both your decision. Clive went ahead and found a building that could be used for the school, both of you were grateful for the investment. You inspected the building on your last day of service, it had 2 floors, the first floor spacious enough for two classrooms. The second floor, as per Lukas’ suggestion, could be modified to be your shared living space. That word “shared” caught your attention, perhaps it would’ve been more convenient and cost-effective to co-habit than find separate housing. • He had one more place he wanted to take you that day and to your surprise, it was the goldsmith. “Lukas…” he turned to face you “Not the most romantic and this is a round-about method.” You interrupted him “It doesn’t have to be fancy, we both made sizeable down payments for the building because we didn’t want Clive to pay for it all.” He inched closer to you and placed something in your hands, it was a ring. “That’s my family’s signet ring, that’s the only token I have proving my lineage. As you know I hold no familial connection with them since my enlistment to the Deliverance, that ring, in its current form, has no sentimental value.” You enclosed the ring tightly in your hands as he cupped your face and looked deeply into your eyes. “You’re my family now, I’d gladly melt that ring and forge a new, much more meaningful one with you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous in thinking we both want to spend the rest o our days together?” you couldn’t help yourself, you wrapped your arms around him “YES! YES! I’d be more than happy to Lukas! You know what? I have a family heirloom as well, we can melt that down too!”

Marriage

• The ceremony was simple and private, only your closest friends were in attendance and Lukas was stern about not inviting anyone else much to Clive’s dismay. You both requested that you’d both take a new surname, both of you had cut ties with your families. • Married life was absolute bliss, both of you were pursuing your passions together. Your students were very appreciative and felt part of your family. Later on, the school had taken in a few orphans, you and Lukas made for excellent foster parents. • Something about Lukas changed, he seemed more alive now that he had settled down and taught full-time. There was a certain “fire” in him now, not raging but akin to a well-kept flame in a fireplace, cozy and peaceful. No one would ever describe him as “cold” anymore. He was animated when he taught, a few hand gestures here and there, moving around the classroom, and more inflections in his voice. A stark contrast to the way he was in the Deliverance, hands always folded behind him and speech almost monotonous. This was Lukas’ “water”, this was his element, this is where he meant to be. • His eyes lit up when students would ask him questions or he’d see improvements. Your students adored the both of you to bits, some wanted to board and stay in school forever, which caused a few problems but it was just a sign of how great you two were as instructors. • Some students even slipped and called either of you “mother” or “father”. Neither of you complained though. “Dear, I heard little Timothy call you ‘father’ in class. Did you really have to tease him so?” you poked your dear husband’s side “I can jest every now and then. It isn’t the first time he’s called me that either.” Lukas smiled as he put away some books, as you laughed “But you said ‘excellent answer my son’ I swear Timothy went beet red!” you playfully tapped a roll of parchment on Lukas’ head. He turned his attention to you and squeezed both your cheeks “I only tease those I’m very fond of. You’d know this because you receive the brunt of it.” He pressed a kiss on your lips he then smooshed your face. You swear he’s been getting pointers from or being influenced by Python. • Now married, Lukas is more comfortable with physical touch. There was never a morning or night he didn’t greet you with a kiss. If you were in separate rooms doing your separate thing, he’d come in at least once and kiss your hair. If he’d run into you between classes, he’ll give your hand or shoulder a squeeze. These were new ways he’d show his love for you but there were the standard little affectionate notes on your desk or treats he’d find time to get you that he’d been doing before. • While you weren’t the overly lovey-dovey kind of married couple it did not diminish the depth of your bond. Both of you felt loved and most importantly, understood. You couldn’t have asked for a better half and Lukas felt the same way about you.

#fire emblem echoes #fire emblem echoes: shadows of valentia #Fire Emblem Lukas #FE Lukas #Lukas Fire Emblem #Reader x lukas #fe lukas fiction #fe lukas x reader #Fire Emblem Echoes fiction #reader x lukas fe #fire emblem echoes reader insert #fire emblem fiction #DUDE this was 3K words #I said I wouldn’t indulge to hard but I still did #writing lukas sexy times is damn hard

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 5 years

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A Year Without - Part Six

Warnings: Some smut

The red brute lay unmoving on the grey linoleum floor in an unnatural position a few inches from you. You couldn’t believe this was happening. The horror of the moment replays in your head over and over, Raphael’s large green eyes gawking at his brother as he succumbs to the darkness. You try to rip yourself from Leo’s iron grip but failed miserably only managing to amuse him.

“That was rather easy.” He growled seductively into your ear twisting both your arms behind you painfully to clasp metal cuffs around your wrists. “I think this tactic will be useful in the apprehension of the last two.”

You could tell he was addressing the kunoichi who was still glowering at you while a medic reached her side assisting her with the oozing injury. Her bloody hand was peeled away and a new rush of crimson poured from her side. “Very well, she can keep her life for now.” Stepping into your space her bloody hand took your chin and leaned in close. “I’ll repay you for that you little cunt, with blood and in flesh.”

With an improper snarl you dug deep and spit right in her face, “Fuck you, you sadistic bitch!”

Turning just slightly Karai grimaced as your saliva connected with her porcelain skin with an indignant smack. The room fell silent as she wiped the thick wet deposit from her cheek and the laughter that followed did not bode well with you living past the night. The green swirling abyss that was Karai’s tormented gaze found yours and as if nothing had just transpired she gave you the most sickeningly sweet smile she could produce.

Then before you had even registered she had moved Karai swung the same hand that had collected your spit and collided with your cheek in brutal precision. The resounding crack from her blow echoed within the spacious room and produced stars in your line of vision.

It took a minute for you vision to return completely but as it came back into focus an over sized gurney rolled in accompanied by eight large burly men, their sights set on the comatose brute lying at your feet. You tried again, twisting and turning but Leo held fast, they were going to take Raphael and do what they did to Leo.

“One down, two more to go.” Karai cooed to Leonardo brushing her fingers delicately over the scaled skin of his cheek. “Take her with you as an insurance policy. They will come willingly with just your presence alone but with her life in peril that will seal the deal. I don’t want any more delays. I want those other two captured within the hour, is that understood?”

“Yes mistress, I won’t disappoint you.” With a hard shove you stumbled to keep up with Leonardo’s long legs as he ushered you down the hallway away from the helpless body of Raphael. You craned your neck just in time to see all eight of the men struggle to lift Raphael’s limp body up onto the gurney and began to wheel him from the scene.

This was all your fault, if you hadn’t went up on that roof you wouldn’t be in this predicament, Raphael wouldn’t currently be carted off to get his mind wiped and Donnie and Mikey wouldn’t be in big trouble.

Leo could sense your inner turmoil and chuckled as he drug you along, “All of this wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for you. Now Karai will have all of the experiments back in her possession.” His fingers dug viciously into the muscles of your biceps eliciting a yelp of pain.

It didn’t take long to locate the other two terrapins; a ruckus had been reported in the central hub of the compound followed by an obscene amount of unmanly screaming. You could hear Mikey laughing in the background while the men hollered for back up through their coms.

Stopping abruptly Leo pressed your front to the wall and felt his plastron press into the back of you. After some shuffling behind you a cloth was forced between your teeth and tied tightly behind your head rendering you virtually voiceless. “We wouldn’t want you to spoil the fun, now would we.” Just as quick you were spun around to face the ex leader and grey eyes sized you up and down gripping the front of your pants with his green three fingered hand. “You look so good like this, bound, gagged and fear rolling off you in waves. It is intoxicating!”

You had to warn Don and Mike, you had to find them before Leo could get his hands on them. They didn’t know what had happened to him, they didn’t know he was working for Karai. Your knee came up swiftly intended for the soft parts between Leo’s legs but the ninjutsu master had anticipated the move and blocked the attack. “Uh uh uh, that’s not very nice; I’m going to need that for later. Someone needs to be taught some manners. Unfortunately, now is not the time, I have duties to fulfill.” With a shove he started you walking again and his hands returned to you biceps gripping them with authority.

The small force that followed Leonardo prepared for the fight ahead loading their tranquilizer guns. Already you could hear the fight coming from just beyond the next bend and when you took the corner Donnie and Mikey came into view finishing off the last two soldiers.

With a final swing of Mikey’s nunchaku the last man fell and the two terrapins turned to face the new threat. Their once smug smiles contorted from shock, happiness to horror.

“Leo?” Donnie called hesitantly holding out his hand, “What’s going on? Where have you been?”

Leo didn’t respond but slowly pulled a katana from its sheath.

Mikey watched in disbelief as his eldest brother slid the blade to your neck pushing it against your carotid, “Leo? Brah w-what are you doing?”

You watched the youngest of the four brothers tighten the grip on his weapons, unsure of the situation. Stepping closer to Donnie, the orange banded turtle narrowed his eyes on you watching the tears spilling from your eyes and knew something was definitely amiss.

A muffled gasp against the wet fabric edged between your teeth was heard when the blade of Leonardo’s katana tilted digging into your throat.

“Drop the weapons boys or this one gets a brand new smile.”

The crackle of electricity snapped in the empty space of the hallway as Donnie activated his weapon. “What did they do to you? This isn’t you Leo; you would never hurt Y/N.”

“Donatello is it?” Leo snarled next to you. “I heard you’re the smart one, so why don’t you live up to your name and put the weapons down so this can go smoothly and without any bloodshed?”

“Not gonna happen, let her go.”

“Have it your way, if she means nothing to you, then she is no longer of use to us.” Leo took his eyes off of the two mutants several feet ahead and adjusted his grip on the hilt of his weapon and began to drag it over your flesh.

The pain was gradual as he added more and more pressure. His blade was so sharp you could have sworn you felt the metal separate your molecules one by one. Then the all too familiar warmth of blood began to pour from the severed flesh adding to the already coagulated layer coating your collar bone. You whined pitifully through your gag unable to hold back the urge to scream, it fucking hurt and the pain was enhanced by the notion your loved one was the one inflicting this pain.

As the blood seeped down your throat and your muffled cries reverberated off the walls of the confined space, Donnie and Mikey held their hands up, “Ok ok just stop!” Donnie reluctantly switched off his bo staff and threw it towards Leo. “Mikey.” Donnie’s voice was firm and Mikey hesitated for only a second eyeing his weapons before he obeyed tossing them along side Donnie’s bo.

When they were unarmed the solders raised their guns and fired upon the two brothers pumping them full of tranquilizers. You screamed as the two turtles grasped for the darts in vain and toppled over falling quickly into slumber. The sight of their bodies slowly stop twitching as the drug took hold broke your heart. Leo allowed you to kick free falling to your knees screaming as you watched Mikey’s blue eyes flutter close.

“Give her a dose.”

The sharp sting came next and the drugs swarmed your senses making you nauseous and light headed. The hallway spun and your body gave out falling to your back. His piercing grey eyes were the last thing you saw closing in as he reached down to collect you.

*****

The darkness gradually broke, filtering in light and sound as your brain awoke from your drug induced catnap. As you slowly came to you noticed something was off, you were cold and your mind started to realize you lacked the feeling of being clothed. Your wrists and legs were bound again but the weight of gravity pulling you down was missing. Then the sudden realization hit you like a freight train, you were on your back.

Your eyes snapped open and immediately sought your body finding the only remaining pieces of clothing you wore were your underwear and bra. Your arms were above you head and your legs spread wide tied at the corners of the table you were restrained too. Dread ripped through you and your heart started to race uncontrollably, nothing good could come of this.

The sound of metal clinking to your far left caught your attention momentarily distracting your from your current situation. Turning your head to meet the sound you tensed at the sight, there on the wall hung Raphael, Michelangelo and Donatello divested of their gear, shackled to the wall. Each one was still blissfully unaware of their dilemma still sunk deep into the void of unconsciousness.

“This is not good, this is not good.” You chanted to yourself tugging on your restraints. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“W-wha….where…..fuckin shell.”

Of course the brute woke up first, “Raph?”

“Y/N, what’s going on and why are you in just your fucking underwear?”

Now that you were no longer alone the gravity of the situation hit you and hit you hard. Your body started to tremble and your voice broke as you spoke, “R-raph, I’m scared.”

“I know honey; I won’t let anyone hurt ya. Can ya tell me what’s going on? Why was Leo holding you for Karai to filet?”

“They fucked him up Raph; as soon as they had him they shipped him to Japan first so we couldn’t find him and they made him believe we were all dead with some photo shopped bullshit. I saw it and if I didn’t know you were alive myself I would have believed them. They took pictures of us and put them together making it look like we had been slaughtered. She made me watch them Raph, watch the videos of them breaking him, beating him. And then they sent him to some doctor named Dr. Langston who did the rest. He’s not himself right now, he’s brain washed and they’re gonna do the same to the rest of you.”

“They ain’t gonna do shit to me, Donnie or Mikey and we’re gonna get Leo back. I promise you that!”

“Did anyone get the license plate of that bus?” Mikey’s groggy voice sounded in the small room.

The genius groaned softly adjusting himself in his shackles, “This was not part of the plan. Did anyone else put getting captured somewhere in the plan, cause I sure didn’t.” another shift of his large body and you heard the genius growl uncharacteristically. “Why do they have you practically naked?” You had never heard him sound so angry, so……dangerous.

“Guys?” Mikey started, “I have a bad feeling about this, where did Leo go?”

Raphael quickly filed in his two brothers on what you had told him. With each revelation their mouths hung further open and the shock was enough to keep the two youngest quiet for a few moments and then Donnie’s voice filled the uncomfortable void of silence. “I need to find out how they altered his brain, was it chemical or physiological we have to get them to tell us how. I won’t be able to bring him back if we don’t.”

Just then the door swung open slamming hard against the wall startling all four of you. Lurking in the door way stood Karai dressed in a simple black dress hitting just above the knees and three inch black heels.

She ignored you on the table her eyes drinking in her three new trophies hanging from the wall. “I am so pleased. Look at you three, so unique, highly trained and exquisitely muscled power houses.” She left the doorway; her heals clicking against the cement floor as she approached Raphael first. “You, I am most excited about, of course after Leonardo that is. Leo was my first choice.”

“Where is he?! Where’s our brother?!” Donnie demanded trying to yank the metal shackles free of the wall with his heightened strength.

With arrogance etched in her features she ignored Donatello questions and looked up at the impressive mutant glaring daggers at her. Karai’s slender fingers skimmed over the top of his plastron and slid down tracing the long divots of his weathered plates. “I’ve experienced Leonardo’s sexual prowess, endured the decadent stretch as he filled me to the brim. His stamina leaves me a blubbering mess unable to move for at least an hour each and every time. But seeing the sheer size of you Raphael makes me dripping wet with anticipation. I can only imagine you’re larger than the rest of your brothers.” Her wandering fingers dipped below his waist band in search of something to grasp and when the red brute gasped wide eyed you knew the kunoichi had found what she was looking for.

“Stop.” Your voice was unsteady uncertain if the scene enfolding a few feet in front of you was actually happening.

Never had anyone else but himself touch that part of his body, not even Donnie, their family physician. Raphael couldn’t help close his eyes growling at the feeling of a woman’s hands wrap around his rapidly swelling girth.

The guttural sounds that emanated from his chest gave your body chills. Then the scent hit you, a musk that was unmistakably Raph.

“My god.” Karai’s voice was a trembling mess as she tuned to face the massive turtle further concentrating her whole self on the beast. From the movement under his pants it was apparent she was pumping Raph to full mass and from the sounds he was making he couldn’t help enjoy the unwanted attention.

“S-stop.” Raphael hissed as she worked him harder. He was trying to resist the overpowering pleasure of it but being an alpha male having his first sexual experience he was having trouble making his treacherous body obey his commands. “Get your hands off m-me you fuck—fucking bitch. Oh fuck..”

Karai leaned up on her tippy toes bringing her ruby red lips to the struggling turtle’s face, “Your lips may be saying ‘NO’ Raphael, but the impressive rod of flesh in my hand says otherwise.” A quick movement of her hand made Raphael yelp rocking his hips into her hands. “I simply cannot wait to have you inside of me fucking me, ruining me with this giant cock of yours.”

“Get your hands off of him!” you could see Raph’s eyes hooded with lust and the over powering aroma of his arousal was beginning to affect you.

Your scream seemed to break the spell surrounding Karai’s and her unwilling prey, her head snapped around glaring at you with hatred swirling in her green iris’s. Her anger quickly quelled and a smile replaced the frown which only petrified you more.

“Thank you my dear, you made me forget the order of things. You are alive for one reason right now and one reason alone. I must break them first before Dr. Langston can work on them. Then I can have them and you are a pivotal part of that plan. But I am finding it a little hard not to sample to goods before I get to bring them home.” Freeing her hand from Raphael’s tented pants she leaned back up kissing his cheek leaving a ruby red print on his green skin. “I’ll be back for you in a little bit Raphael, but I want you to witness something first.”

Taking a shuttering breath Raph tried to regain his composer trying desperately to ignore his screaming cock begging for sweet contact again. “You keep your fucking hands off of her. If you hurt her I’ll make you a pin cushion with my sai!”

“Such big words from someone who’s at my mercy Raphael and who said I was going to hurt her?” Karai crossed the room to you and her hands rose clapping. “I need all of your emotions out of whack for this to work.”

Then another large body entered the room and the space erupted into chaos as all three of the bound brothers called for their eldest brother. Their pleas went unheard as their ex leader crossed the room his attention trained in on the two woman in the room.

You didn’t hear the three brother’s words just muffled yells; the only thing you could concentrate on was Karai and Leonard stalking you from across the room. Her fingers found the flesh of your thighs roaming up and down of your uncovered skin. The look in Leonardo’s eyes started the uncontrolled heat rushing to the apex of your thighs, it was animalistic and frightening like he was about to consume you whole.

Karai skirted Leo reaching your spread legs before he could, bending at the waist placing small tender kisses to your bare midriff. A wicked grin spread over her beautiful features as she edged lower to her intended prize. “Y/N have you ever had a threesome before while being watched?”

Part Five

@southernblossoms @imthegreenfairy88 @blossom-skies @moonlightflower21 @naturigurl @midnightrebel669

#TMNT #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt fandom #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #a year without #part six #foot leo

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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Last Straw (5/12)

Newly married to your high school sweetheart Kylo Ren, the two of you move into Skywalker Ranch, a farm recently passed down after the death of Kylo’s grandfather. The place is charming, and the people seem friendly…but are they?

Content Warnings: Animal death, animal injury, animal cruelty, gore

-------------------

The first option is just too horrible, too gruesome to believe. These people were strange, but they weren’t crazy, weren’t torturous. No, you decide, it had to have been an animal attack, had to have been. You can’t stop the tears from spilling once more, and you let Kylo hold you tight, so tight, because the poor thing, that poor cat – you hadn’t even had a chance to give it a name.

“Do you think we have wolves?” You ask seriously, trying to think of what kinds of animals would go after a barn kitty, what kind of creature would be so brutal, “Do you think the Huxes might have seen, might know something?”

Kylo just squeezes you tighter, and you cry, sniffle into his neck, into his shoulder as he rubs your back. The sun is starting to get very low now, the oranges fading to a mottled purple color, the blue-black of night beginning to creep in.

There are so many stars, you think to yourself, so many that you can practically see the edge of the galaxy.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Kylo says, before gritting his teeth and tensing his hands into fists against your back.

He steps away, but you grab his wrist, pry his hand open and twine your fingers together.

“I’m coming with you.” You say, insistent.

Kylo only looks at you, and you look right back. You were no stranger to the brutality, the violence he could commit when he had to, when he needed to. You didn’t want him to confront these people alone, you weren’t sure of them, you didn’t like them.

You didn’t want Kylo to get hurt.

But you weren’t sure if you didn’t want Kylo to hurt them.

Luckily for the two of you, the father is standing outside the barn when the two of you walk up, he is standing there with a big friendly smile, too friendly of a smile. It showed off all of his teeth.

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t think people had that many teeth.

“Brendol! Excuse me, Brendol.” Kylo calls when you’re only a couple yards away, throws up a hand to wave to him.

He waves back, cheerful as ever.

“Kylo, what can I do you for?” Brendol asks, and Kylo wastes no time in cutting to the chase.

“Something attacked our cat.” He says, and your heart breaks all over again, when you think about her body, cold and alone on the front porch.

“I didn’t know you had a cat.” Brendol replies with a furrowed brow, sounding very much like he was telling the truth.

But he wasn’t, of course he wasn’t, and something felt wrong to you, something felt…off.

“Yes you did, the calico one. The one who always sat on the windowsill while you worked.” You say, hoping to jog his memory, hoping let him know that you caught him in the lie.

“You say something attacked it?” Brendol asks, and now his smile begins to fall.

“Yes, something big, it took her head clean off.” Kylo asks, and he is starting to lose his patience, and this worries you. You don’t like what happens when Kylo loses his patience, don’t want him to explode on these people, don’t want to antagonize them. He takes a deep breath through his nose, “Did you hear anything? Have you heard anything at all the past few nights, wolves, bears?”

“No, no.” Brendol is entirely too nonplussed about this, you think, as he crosses his arms over his chest, as he taps his foot, twists his mouth in thought. “That’s so strange. A bear or wolf wouldn’t bother with some innocent kitty-cat.” He scratches his chin, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Did your sons happen to hear anything?” You ask, moving to step around Brendol, to go into the barn. William had always seemed nice enough, “Maybe we can ask them instead.”

“No!” Brendol steps quickly back in front of you, blocking your path. Your frown only deepens, because that is something suspicious, that is something someone does, when they have something to hide. “No don’t go in there, they’re taking a nap. Wouldn’t want to wake them up, they work so hard, afterall.”

You look at him, look into his eyes, and are chilled when it almost seems like the pale light from the moon reflects through them. They are cold, icy blue and cold, but they are lifeless.

As if a shark had gone blind, those eyes.

“Okay well…” You blink, look away, completely unnerved, step back towards your husband. “When they do wake up, can you please ask them? We’re very shaken up.”

“Will do, Mrs. Ren. Now y’all go up to the house and get some sleep, it’ll all be okay.” Brendol says, and he does so with a smile that makes your skin crawl.

You don’t like how he says that.

But you and Kylo do, go back to the house. You do, and you pass the porch once more, past the poor cat who is now practically being eaten alive by bugs, and you have to pinch your nose, the smell starting to get too strong.

“I’m going to bury her, go inside? It won’t take long.” Kylo whispers, and you nod, eyes misty once again as you go inside.

From your bay window of the bedroom you watch as he digs a small grave, scoops the cat up with the shovel and nestles her deep within the earth. It isn’t right, you think. None of this is right. You have half a mind to call animal control, but then again, this is the wilderness, what more did you expect?

You should have kept the cat indoors, and you know this now, with a heavy heart.

The front door bangs open and your heart leaps, but you realize it’s only Kylo, recognizing his gait as he comes up the stairs.

He sighs, and you meet him in the bedroom, but he is thunderous, stormclouds in his eyes as he slams the bedroom door shut.

“It’s okay,” You say, your turn now to soothe him, his temper not really something you want to aggravate more than already has been, “We’ll ask the boys in the morning.” You say sadly, but he only clenches his jaw, you can see the muscles working, straining from the force of him.

“Can you just,” He huffs, runs a hand through his hair, “Can I kiss you?”

You lick and bite at your lips, nod as you let him manhandle you onto the bed, nod as you let him peel away all your layers, all your clothes that kept you warm. You don’t need them now, you’ve got Kylo, your own personal space heater, his hands hot as brands when he pushes your sweater up and over your head, when he nearly tears your thermals off.

“I’ve missed this.” You whisper, when he grabs at you, at your body, when he undoes the buckle of his belt, the buttons of his jeans.

It felt like neither of you had a fucking moment to yourself, while these people had been there. Either they were in the house which obviously meant you couldn’t get up to anything too wild with your husband, or they were in the barn, and you worried the sounds might travel in the still quiet of night. Something about that freaked you out, you didn’t want them hearing you, listening to you.

But they’re asleep now, if Brendol was telling the truth, and you’d both gone so long without indulging in one another. Now that the bedroom had been fully finished, a new mattress and box spring included, it only felt right to take comfort in one another. Who else did you have, besides one another?

You didn’t realize how tense you were, until his hands began massaging at you shoulders, as he began sucking on your neck, kissing your collarbones.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He smudges the words into your skin, and you feel them travel right through you.

It’s so dark now, the sun fully gone, and you can’t help but feel devious, can’t help but kiss him a little harder, shift your body underneath his a little more fully, spread your legs for him. He is so good to you, and while the cat is an awful awful thing to have happened, you can’t bring yourself to be upset for too long.

They’re gone, the men are gone, and you’re giddy from it as you help Kylo shuck his clothes, help him –

“Kylo,” You say, you freeze, “What was that sound?”

His head snaps up from where he’s buried it in your cleavage, unfocused gaze trying desperately to look through the dark, to listen.

“What?” He asks, and there is the low promise of danger in the back of his throat, the rumble of violence that is sure to spill from his finger tips, if what you say is true.

And of course it’s true, why would you lie? Why would you joke about something like this.

Something like a flickering which comes from the barn, the only light in this moonless night, a candle sitting near the window. You hold your breath, and Kylo holds you, and there is nothing, no sound but the hissing of insects, the hooting of owls. You do not laugh this time.

Instead, you hold your breath, the two of you locked in an embrace, only for a moment, only for you to feel how tight of a grip Kylo has on your thigh, fingers leaving angry indents in your flesh as he pulls away.

He does so quickly, carefully, quietly. He was so quiet, your man.

Deadly.

There it is again, a horrible screech, something muffled, like a scream.

It sounds like an animal, something being strangled, something being injured.

And it is coming from the barn.

He yanks his clothes back on and rummages through the bedroom. This room was one of the first to be finished, so things are put away, things are easy to find, and yet he still searches and searches, frantic, ripping through drawers of the dresser and the shelves in the closet.

He pulls out a shotgun, and expertly, carefully loads it with steady hands, methodical.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know, even though you’re already getting out of bed too, already putting your clothes on, your stomach sinking sinking sinking.

What was that noise?

The screaming again, the squealing, hard wretched sounds give way to an awful discordant clamoring. There is a crackling coming from the barn, a cackling. A chattering. What insects made this noise? You don’t know, you don’t like it. You don’t like any of this.

“I’m going to figure out what the fuck they’re doing.” Kylo says, and he does not mean to be harsh with you, but he bares his teeth, his nose pinched up in an angry scowl, he does not like it either.

“Let me go with you.” You whisper, practically plead, but he rounds on you with wide eyes, hard eyes.

“No!” He says, smooths down your hair and kisses you, kisses the top of your head, shakes his own. “No, you’re right, you’ve been right this whole time. There’s something wrong with them, you have to stay here.”

“Please, please be safe.” You grab his hand when he finally pulls away.

You find he is not afraid, no instead he is angry, brimming with rage, that they would dare endanger you, that they would dare disobey him like this. But you, you are scared. You are scared for you both.

Kylo leaves, disappears down the stairs and you watch him through the window as he sneaks, creeps across the farm, down to the barn.

You chew your nails, a nervous habit, wish for a cigarette. You wish for something, to do something, to help – you have to help somehow!

You could call the cops, yes! That’s it, you could call the cops and the cops would come and they would help you, they would save you, they would – but no, they wouldn’t make it in time, would they? The town is a forty-minute drive away, and the Huxes would be able to see the sirens, hear them. It could put Kylo in more danger, it could blow his cover.

What else was there to do though? You could go after him, could not listen, grab a weapon of your own and join your husband out in the farm, face the Huxes together. He was but one man, only one man going up against three. Two were barely teenagers, but you didn’t trust it, didn’t like it. Something about the one, Armitage, was cold and callous, William shy yes but troubled.

They were all deeply troubled.

(If you want to call the police, click here) (If you want to go after Kylo, click here)

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo x reader #kylo/reader #my writing #dead dove do not eat #last straw

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meginoi-writes · 5 years

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Spotlights Will Guide You Home - Chapter 1

Summary: Eddie died in the sewers of Derry, alone and cold. Or did he? That was the question Richie was asking himself when he met Eddie Kaspbrack again, more than 2 years after he supposedly died. Hopefully updated every Saturday!

Previous Next

Pairing: Reddie

Words: 1292

Even after they defeated IT, there was some lingering remnants of something supernatural in Derry. One last miracle it had yet to unleash. It had dissipated from the surface, leaving it feeling like any small town in Maine. Yet, under the ground in lingered, namely, in the sewers. It existed deep below the earth, further down than any sane person would go from civilisation. But, if you did reach it down there, you would be able to hear it if you listened carefully, the unbridled energy of it hissing like static in the stale air. It bounced off the damp, cold walls as it trembled with the need to be set loose, to break out of the space it was confined to, like a hissing current trapped in a copper wire.

It trawled the hallways looking for what it knew was down there to set it free from it’s prison, like a hunter, searching for unsuspecting prey. It made its way into a large cavern, the roof reaching upwards in an optical illusion type manner before ending in a heavy iron grate. A circular hatch had been left open in the floor, the force diving down into it and through the narrow twists and turns it contained. There, it found what it had been looking for.

It almost squealed in delight, if that was possible, wrapping around the figure resting against the rocks with a crushing intensity. It finally had a purpose, could finally put it’s gifts to use. There was a bright glow, brighter than was safe for the human eye. It dimmed slowly, sinking into the body it clung to.

There, in the place they had fought Pennywise for the last time, the limp, slumped over body of Edward Kaspbrak twitched.

-----

Across town, Richie leaned against his car, waiting for the others to get their shit together. He stared vacantly at the townhouse, a lit cigarette lying forgotten between limp fingers. Had the world always been this grey? Or had it seemingly drained of life the way Eddie had?

It was September, and the world was filled with colour, or at least it was supposed to be. Richie couldn’t see the oranges and yellows of the decaying leaves, the way they coloured the sidewalk like splashes of paint.

He knew what they looked like, he had seen them recently. The moment Eddie had walked into the Jade Orient, back into Richie’s life, it was like he had been injected with light, bringing the colours that had become dulled back into amazing technicolour.

And it had only continued, each bickering joke and laugh had seemed to make Richie’s world brighter. It made him think of when they were kids.

It was a simpler time, well, apart from the memories of that one summer that had dragged them all back twenty seven years later. Regardless, it was a time he yearned to return to. Memories that Richie had subconsciously ached to remember before coming back to his childhood town. Screaming down the roads with the rest of the losers, a pleasant ache in his legs from pumping the well worn pedals. The warm summer breeze whistled past them, and in that moment, Richie thought they could stay like that forever.

But of course that was naive. All good things must come to an end.

The moment was broken by the sound of a slamming door. Richie looked up, watching as Bev led the rest of the losers down the steps of the old townhouse. She came to a stop in front of him, her face a picture of sympathy. Richie looked away, he couldn’t deal with any form of compassion right now, it might just break down the barrier he was trying so hard to hold up.

“I still think you should come with me and Ben, Richie. Even if it’s just for a couple of days,” Bev said, her eyes conveying more than her words. ‘You shouldn’t be alone right now.’

“And cockblock you and haystack over here? Wouldn’t dream of it,” Richie quipped, yet it held none of his usual brand of sarcasm, it felt fake and plastic in his mouth. .

“Richie…” Bev started, reaching out a comforting hand.

“I’m fine! Really Bev, i’m fine. There’s some...stuff i need to do before I go back to New York anyway. Wouldn’t wanna hold you up.”

Bev sighed, it was obvious there was no convincing him. Ever since Richie was a child, if he set his mind to something there was no detering him from it.

“You need a-anything, man, y-you call us. Any of us,” Bill insisted, stepping forward.

Richie nodded, knowing that if he spoke his voice would betray his anguish as his throat closed up. He could always count on the others to have his back, they had when they were kids and they did now. How he got through those 27 years without them he would never know.

Heartfelt goodbyes were exchanged. Richie felt like a robot as he hugged each of his friends in turn, avoiding the pitiful looks they held in their eyes. Soon enough, they had all dissipated, heading towards the highway or the airport.

Yet, Richie couldn’t bring himself to move, not quite yet, he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Eddie, who he could just imagine lying lifeless in that shithole. How could he have just left him there? He should have fought harder, fought to stay with Eddie even if it meant-

He sighed, forcing his legs to move towards his car. He had always loved his car, racing down the highway just for the hell of it was one of the few reprieves he got from his cluttered thoughts. But now it just felt like a constricting metal prison, one with plush seats and a top of the range sound system but a prison nonetheless. So, with the gas pedal pushed to the floor, he sped through the town towards his last stop before once more trying to put all of this bullshit behind him.

The kissing bridge was on the edge of town. It looked a lot more dilapidated than Richie remembered it, the red paint of the bridge peeling into tiny flakes, covering the ground in what reminded Richie of blood. The wooden planks had certainly become more weathered with time, the many carvings on them becoming faded and forgotten.

Except one.

Richie kneeled down, eyes scanning past the faint carvings and finding what he was looking for almost instantly. It was still there, staring proudly back at him almost exactly how he had left it. The carving of the letters R+E had of course faded, but they still sent the same feeling on butterflies singing through Richie’s chest. He smiled at the sight, tears pricking at his eyes as he pulled the utility knife from his pocket and pressed it against the wood, tracing over the letters. The carving darkened, the weathered layer of wood dropping to the concrete and revealing a new layer of wood underneath. It reminded Richie of a snake shedding it’s skin to begin anew.

He supposed that was what he was doing in a way. He was trying his hardest to put all of this trauma and heartbreak behind him, shedding that layer and donning a new one where the only thing he focused on was his set for his shows.

Richie stood, giving the carving one last glance before getting back in his car and getting the hell out of Derry, hoping deep down he would never see that hellhole again.

---

A shuddering gasp echoed against the walls of the sewer. The body lying against the rocks in the cavern lurched forward, and Eddie opened his eyes.

#megan's words #reddie #reddie fic #Spotlights Will Guide You Home

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sebbytrash · 5 years

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Through His Eyes - Part Twelve

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Eventual Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Flashbacks, violence, mentions of blood and torture, spiralling, sad stuff. B E W A R E

A/N - This one was tough guys, it took a while to get to where I thought it was right. It’s a heavy part, but can be skipped if required and I can explain to anyone who wants a recap. Feedback loved and appreciated.

Through His Eyes Masterlist

The door is green. Not green green, but a dull, weathered green that looks like it was probably discounted in the hardware store to begin with and has seen many, many storms since. Your not sure why this is the immediate thought you have when you arrive, but it is. The door, the building, it’s all unassuming, nondescript, borderline boring. It’s not the cavern of evil you imagined it would be, there's no blood stains or harrowing screams coming from inside. It’s logical, obviously, but you can’t help but feel a bit surprised that it doesn’t reflect all the damage it’s done to you. That it’s still just a door.

There’s a bite in the air that dances along you cheek like the clouds know and match their mood to yours. You hesitate, do one last check to see if this is what you want, one last search in your soul and find no resistance, find only the need to clear the particular wall from inside you and deal with whatever the consequences are.

You push against the door and find it locked, it takes you less than a minute to sweet talk the lock into opening and step inside, pulling the door behind you even though that in itself makes you feel a little claustrophobic. Inside is much of what you expect, empty halls and empty rooms, peeling wallpaper and scuffed floorboards. You don’t recognise anything except from the pictures in the report but then again, it’s not like you got the grand tour. Nah, you got the pleasure of the basement alone.

You find the door to the basement and open it, swing it with a little more force than you mean to and jump when it hits the wall with a thud. The jolt sends your heart into a sprint, or it was already sprinting, your not sure but it throws itself backwards and clings to the bags of your rib cage. The rickety wooden steps lead down into the dark, a musty darkness that breathes and echos like it’s alive. You ignore the tremble in your fingers as you take the first step, then the next, each one filling your feet with stone, the weight tugs at your ankles like you wading through your own sorrow and its leaden. It’s rivalled only by the fire in your belly, the rage mixing in with that pain and forcing you further into that living darkness. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust when you reach the bottom, and whilst they do you notice the smell. The staleness of the smell, the undisturbed feeling like maybe nobody else has been back, maybe you were the last one here. Was it possible to smell despair?

The darkness breathes and you breathe with it, step forward and your knees hit against something, hard. You stumble backward until your back is against the wall, fingers thumbling for the torch attached to your belt that probably should have used already, the light pierces the darkness in a way that makes it seem so much darker. It shows a chair, tipped on its side and covered in dust. You know that chair, know how the grains feel against your skin, know how one of the legs has a chunk where it was tipped with weight, know there’s crusted blood on top of crusted blood at the back where fingernails turned ragged against its edges. The fear returns, that cold, familiar fear that made its home inside your bones, taunting and slithering back like it was never really gone. How easily it fits back where it always was, how easily you let it take those long months of fighting and growing, how easily you let all that progress go. If the fear had a voice, a sound, it would be a slow, cruel laughter.

You right the chair, an inexplicable need to truly see what was taken from you, to see the bits of you that were left behind. It brings you to your knees, desperate, cold, broken.

He stands in the shadows, his face devoid of any feeling, just watching, always watching. His eyes are cold, dead even, like he’s just as steel and soulless as the knife he holds. You stare right back, refusing to balk at him, refusing to cower. The bonds on your right chafe against the already angry skin, dimmed only by the pain in your face, chest, the product of hours of “interrogation” at the Soldiers hands, him and the asshole beside him who does all the talking. The dark room doesn’t his identity as well as he thinks. Perhaps he doesn’t care and that scares you more, tells you exactly what they plan to do with you.

“This can all be over.” Pierce says, the false concern in his tone making your lip curl, “Tell me where Fury and Rogers are hiding.”

“And I suppose I get to walk out of here after, right?” You say, and then if only to annoy him further, you add “Pierce.” As good as signing your own death warrant, you know, but you can’t help but want to fuck with him a little before you do. His jaw clenches and you know you’ve hit a nerve, he steps forward into the light and lets you see him, you almost smirk before his hand comes down hard on your cheek, the shock of it jarring your teeth together and forcing your head to snap back.

“Perhaps you need a reminder, agent, as to who you stand against.” He nods to the Soldier who stalks towards you, presses his knife instantly under your jaw, “No, not yet. I have something else in mind.” And just like that, he brands you. Taints your flesh with the words you hate, takes what little you had left and destroys it with just five simple letters. H.Y.D.R.A. Simple, awful, permanent. “Where is your Captain now, agent? Or are you not important enough to warrant a rescue? No, that’s for the real players, the people who matter.”

The pain is never ending, it’s been minutes or hours or days, all you know is the pain. Days and nights no longer exist, it’s only pain and more pain. His eyes are always dead, never meeting yours, always looking toward the agony. Your arm is molten, strips of fire where there was once flesh, the sweat drops down your chin and yet your body is wracked with tremors, eyes heavy with exhaustion or infection, or both. Pierce has gone now, everything is quiet except the roaring in your ears, the loudest silence of all.

“Please.” You whisper, beg, throat hoarse from screaming, all promises of bravery long since forgotten, “Please don’t.”

He says nothing, face never changing. Just the same dead eyes and the same cruel knife. You don’t hear the sounds of your bones breaking over the ringing in your ears, the smallest of mercy’s from a god you’ve long since given up on.

The dark starts to welcome you, raise it’s hands every time you return. Faces you don’t remember when you’re awake smile at you in the abyss, murmur gentle promises and issue threats, the distinction between dreams and reality has blurred, you are no longer able to tell the difference between your own thoughts and reality.

The pain lessens, your blood turns thick and slow, the sad steady beat of your heart as it tries not give up even though you have. Is this what death feels like? Just fading away into nothing, alone and broken on the floor, still tied to the chair that you tried to break free of. A failed attempt that left you on the ground, dead eyes seeing but not seeing, a declaration from the living that you should be left to lie there, a nod of understanding from the dead. It’s been days or years since anyone last came down so you know they have truly left, and left you here to die.

Your eyes flicker against the light, the familiar creak of the stairs as someone descends and you hope, pray, that it’s time. That they’ll end this misery, finally. The bonds are snapped free, your arms hitting the floor with a thud, no fight left in you to do much against the arms that hawl you up from that floor, every step another wave of agony. Not so dead eyes meet yours as you are propped against a wall, words that you can’t hear said, something pressed into your hand that you grip for a second before your fingers fail and it falls to the floor. You watch the shadows fade, get smaller and then disappear before the darkness comes for you again, the final time, you think, hope.

The memories assault you, strip away every layer, tears away every piece of you until your raw, exposed. It’s like you never escaped from this room, you’ve just carried it around with you all these days and months. A weight, a sea. The shame bores down more than anything, because for everything you feel about this place, shame is the thing that haunts you in the night. Shame for how easily you gave up, how ready you were to die here on this filthy floor, alone, forgotten. That’s what you carry everyday with you, not what you endured, not the scars and the pain, no. You carry the knowledge of your weakness, that you welcomed the escape of death with no regard for who you were leaving behind. That’s what scares you most of all. And so the memories assault, and so does the voices. Steve, Wanda, Sam. Oh, Sam, if he knew.

Except, there’s another voice. A quiet but defiant voice that demands to be heard, that whispers to your heart. Tells stories of kindness and strength, of long nights and early mornings, of every single step you’ve taken since that day. Reminds you that despite it all, despite that lowest of lows, you still stand. You fight for every single day, the long, never ending fight for your own soul. The words wrap tight around your heart and your let their roots take, no longer willing to be complicit in the undoing of your progress. No, you would not fall again. Would not succumb to the fear, to the shame.

As if called to you by his voice in your head, Bucky stands at the now open door, face stricken and chest heaving like he ran all the way here. He barely makes it to the bottom of the stairs before your in his arms, clinging to the back of his jacket like you might float away without it to anchor you to the earth. He grips you tight, holding on for as long as it takes, just waiting for you to be OK. He’s always waiting for you to be OK.

Finally, you pull back, he looks at you with soft, sorrowful eyes and lifts his fingers to gently wipe the tears you didn't even realise were falling. “I'm sorry.” He says.

“I know.” You reply, and then all of a sudden you are struck by this image, both of you crouched here in this place of your shared past and secrets, know exactly what it must have cost him to come here for you and get lost in that wave of guilt again, “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He says nothing, only looks at you with more pain than one person should be able to stand, then finally he says low like a confession, “You know, Y/N. I don’t think I ever want to hear you apologise to me ever again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask, not angry but curious. “That it was you who saved me.”

His jaw twitches and fresh pain sweeps over his face, “I didn’t save you.”

“You came back for me. Called 911 from a cell that you left with me so they’d find me. Without either of those, I’d have been dead before Steve and Sam found me.”

He lets you drive the bike back home, offering a little control in the only way he can, clings to your sides and says nothing when you deliberately take the long route. The streets pass in a blur, colours all melting together as your thoughts trip over and over. The journey, the memories, that voice. That wires edge almost cleaving it’s way through you, gone, leaving you to free fall into oblivion.

FOREVER: @manawhaat @theashhole @captainrogerss @a-little-hell-to-raise @peculiar-persephone @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @avengerofyourheart @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787 @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @itsonlysarah @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @rosescentedblood @mysweetcookie99

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel fanfic

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rogersradio · 5 years

Text

1970 | queen (part 1)

Summary: After working at a record store and discovering a record player that can transport you back in time, you find yourself in London of 1970. After scrambling to get back, you realize that something has gone terribly wrong with an infamous band, and you are the only one who can fix it.

Author’s Note: The beginning is very rushed (this whole chapter) only because I have big plans for the next couple of chapters. Please give feedback if you want this series to continue - it’s my first Queen work.

“They always say that time changes things, but actually you have to change them yourself.” - Andy Warhol (1975)

You worked at a record store in an old London strip, sandwiched between an ice cream shop and a children’s boutique. The building had been there for more then fifty years, according to the owner, and anyone who got close enough to look at it could tell. The concrete outside was stained with age, and the paint on the inside was beginning to peel. The man who ran the store knew of these things since you and your co-worker had begun to more frequently make remarks about the damages, but he would only shake his head with a smile and remark, “It makes it more authentic - a little more magical, don’t you think?”

With its dingy carpet floors and flickering sign, you didn’t understand how he could find anything magical about that store. It smelled of old paper and coffee, occasionally hosting the scent of a Bath and Body Works candle if you remembered to bring it. The cases for the vinyls were ridden with dust, and there was always Queen playing from a record player in the back corner of the store. It always played the same album: A Night At The Opera. You didn’t mind, since you had been a fan of Queen since you were little. Growing up, your dad would play it almost 24/7, and you grew to love the band and their music. No one dare change the album, and it’s been rumored that the same record has been playing for years straight; which, you must point out, is highly illogical. No vinyl record could play for that long without becoming damaged and scratched, especially if nobody has tried to take care of it.

It was a rainy Saturday when the owner, Mr. Jay as you called him, decided to stop by. He leaned against the register counter and cleaned his glasses with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket. “How’s everything going?” He asked, smiling. He was a short man with a semi-full figure. He had thick salt and pepper hair that dragged down into stubble along his jaw. He wore jeans, a plain white t-shirt and an olive green bomber jacket that stored a variety of items in its pockets: altoids, kleenex, money, you name it.

“Slow,” You said honestly. You were making your rounds of all the records, checking to be sure they were all in the right place: sorted by date. Your co-worker, Gabriel, let out a breathy laugh and kept scrolling on his phone.

Mr. Jay looked over to him with a sad smile, and then focused back down to his glasses. You began to feel guilty; you knew how much this shop meant to him. Who were you to talk about this man’s possessions like you were? You were a college student in need of a summer job that paid well so you could get your car radio fixed. Before you could speak up to apologize, or atleast end on a happier note, he spoke up, “It always is.”

He lifted his glasses up to the dim light to check for smudges and squinted. Dull thunder rolled in the background as a gentle shower of rain began to fall, hitting the tin roof above and echoing throughout the store. He slipped the clear-rimmed spectacles back on and sighed, strolling towards the isles of records. He dragged his finger tips along the top of them, stopping under the “1960’s” section. He pulled out a Beatles’ album and examined it. “Did you know there’s a conspiracy that Paul McCartney is dead?” He asked. You shook your head and he laughed, “It’s silly, it really is. Many believe that this,” He turned the revord to show the popular Sgt. Pepper’s Lonley Hearts Club Band album cover. “Depicts his funeral. There’s a left handed guitar made of flowers down in the corner, but It really could be a right handed one flipped the other way.” He continued to mumble on about the theory for a few more moments until he stopped and looked up at the two of you, who were both staring at him awkwardly. He slipped the album back into its slot and took a deep breath, “Well I guess it’s my time to leave.”

He took several large strides and picked up his hat and phone off of the counter. “Have a good one,” He called out as he slipped out the door. You both stood silent as you watched him pull out of his parking space and drive out of eyesight. It was always a weird, somewhat sympathetic, feeling after he left. Neither of you didn’t really know what to do. You stood and fiddled with the belt loop on your jeans.

“He’s an odd man,” Gabriel spoke quietly. You nodded. “Gives me weird vibes; like he’s seen way too many things. Did you see the way he spoke about that conspiracy? It was like he was genuinely amused, like he was the one who created it or something.”

“He’s just different,” You said, “I don’t think he means any harm.”

Gabriel shook his head with wide eyes. “I don’t know Y/N. Something isn’t right about that guy. He came in here to do what? Be a spokesman for the “Paul McCarney Is Dead” club?” He shuddered.

You didn’t say anything. Brushing off any questions you had about Mr. Jay, you continued to do your album sweep. By the time you had reached the 1970’s, the song playing from the record player began to skip. You waited a moment for the skip to pass, but it just kept going. Already agitated from the creeping day, you stormed over to the old machine and stared at it for a moment. The spinning Queen logo made you dizzy. The player was covered in dust, and it was clear to you that nobody had touched it for a long while. You blew on it first, and then reached for the tonearm to fix it.

As soon as your fingertips touched the arm, you felt yourself being thrown from the record player. It was as if you were in a plane during takeoff: insane amounts of pressure were building on you, squeezing your body and twisting it in jerking motions. Your head felt as though it would crack and explode in any moment, and you squeezed your eyes tighter than they ever had been before to avoid seeing your insides being blown out. Before you could fully slip out of consciousness, you felt your feet firmly on the ground again. You stood still as your hearing began to come back, keeping your eyes still closed tightly shut. It wasn’t before you heard the commotion of voices that you decided to open them.

You were standing in the same place you had been: next to the record player that was sitting on the wooden stool. Except for this time, the player was brand new, and the music that was playing wasn’t queen; it was “Hey Jude” by The Beatles. You took a few moments to stand there, trying to calm the pounding headache in your head and figure out what in the world had just happened. Maybe I blacked out, you thought, or maybe I’m dead. Is this Heaven? Kind of dissapointing. You shook the thoughts out of your head and tried to stable your shaking body. It took a few moments for you to realize that you weren’t alone, so you slowly turned around and caught your breath. There was atleast thirty people in the record shop, browsing through the albums and talking amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear much since you were standing right next to the speaker, but something wasn’t right. The shop was lively and colorful, and Gabriel was nowhere to be found. Okay, this has to be Heaven, you convinced yourself, Where else would there be this many people in here? This has to be a dream.

A voice pulled you back into reality. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You jumped and turned to your left to see a girl who looked about your age. Her hair was short and feathered, and she wore a long patterned skirt with a purple blouse. Her teeth were shining white and perfectly straight, and you could tell she wore a thin layer of lip gloss. She resembled Princess Diana when she was alive. “No,” You croaked, “Just looking around.”

“No problem, just let me know if you need anything. My name’s Michelle,” She said as she smiled. She turned to walk away.

“Thanks,” You hesitantly said. Nobody seemed to care that you were there; like you had been there all along. Realizing that you couldn’t stand there and people watch for forever, you took a deep breath and went to walk outside. You needed to figure out what was going on, and where exactly you were.

You wobbled at the first step, and it was more than just uneasy legs. Looking down, you realized you weren’t in your jeans and sweatshirt anymore. You were wearing tight, bell bottomed baby blue pants and a blue ruffled blouse. You wore white boots with a slight heel and quickly realizing something was seriously different, you frantically grabbed for your hair and realized it was long and straight, down below your shoulders. It wasn’t like that before. You were beggining to panic, and rushed out the door as fast as you could. You brushed past employees and young children cradling vinyl records, offering quiet apologizes as you did.

Once you busted through the doors and onto the street, you were taken aback. The streets were full of life. People passed you and offered friendly smiles. The smell of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber filled the air, along with hairspray whenever a girl walked by. Men’s hair was slicked back with gel to resemble Elvis and the women on their arms wore patterned dresses and jumpsuits with their hair up in high ponytails or curled. This definitely wasn’t 2019.

Looking around, you spotted a boy who looked around your age standing by a wooden post. He was fumbling tape on one hand and a small poster in the other, and eventually turned his back to you to apply the poster to the pole. You scurried over to him, still getting used to your shoes, and called out, “Hey!”

He quickly flashed his head around to you and paused what he was doing. He has slightly shaggy blond hair with big blue eyes. Slight bangs were hanging in front of his eyes, but as you got closer he brushed them out of the way. He wore tight pants and Lou Brock Converse, with a long, tan trench coat that was partly buttoned up. “Yes?” He said, lowering his arms.

You eyed the poster in his hands. “Could I have that?” You asked slightly out of breath.

He widened his eyes a little at your question, but gave you a quick look up and down and cautiously handed it to you. “Sure,” He said, biting his lip. “Are you interested in coming?” He asked eagerly.

“Um,” You faltered. Coming to what? You didn’t even know what decade you were in. Quickly scanning the paper, the headline “SMILE - MUSICAL PERFORMANCE” caught your eye. “Yes, actually. I’m new around here, and I was, uh, looking for something to do.”

The blond boy smiled. “Well, I hope we see you there,” He exclaimed. Giving you a smile, he turned and began to walk away. “I play drums, by the way!” He called.

You looked up and laughed a little. He blushed and swiveled around once more, this time not turning back. You immediately looked back down at the paper and searched it for any type of date. The only thing you got was June 2, not any year. Sighing, you slowly began to turn the other way to start heading back. You didn’t look up from the flier in your hand, your mind and heart still rushing from adrenaline, and before you knew it you had run right into somebody. You bounced off of each other quite aggressively, and instant apologies started spewing from both of your mouths. The boy you had ran into reached out for your arm to balance you. “I’m so sorry,” He said.

“No, no, don’t apologize! I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going,” You admitted, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You both chuckled a little bit and looked down at your shoes. He picked at the ends of his long black hair and gave one last apology before walking away. You took a few steps but turned to watch him. He walked up to the wooden telephone pole and scanned the posters taped to it. He definitely was looking for something.

What was happening to you didn’t feel real; everyone you walked past or bumped into you felt like an illusion, even though you could touch them. It was like you were stepping into a movie. How did you get here? Where even were you? It’s like you were in a different dimension - a different chapter with the same setting.

You blinked a few times to get out of your trance and began looking for a new source to get the date. You would look insane if you asked somebody for the year, and Converse boy’s poster didn’t help very much. Slowly spinning around, a newspaper stand a few yards away seemed to glisten. You quickly made your way over, folding up the band flier in quarters as you did. Grabbing The Times off the stack, you read the headline: “D-Day for Europe as Dutch Vote”. You quickly scanned the small writing for any sort of date and by the grace of the Heavens, the year was finally printed before your eyes.

June 2, 1970.

#queen #queen imagine #writing #1970s #1970 writing #1970 fashion #queen fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #queen fanfic #freddie mercury imagine #roger taylor imagine #brian may imagine #john deacon imagine

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ashesandhalefire · 5 years

Text

we had it (almost)

michael guerin x alex manes canon compliant pre-1.09

---

As a rule, Michael tries to avoid injecting himself into the business of the town beyond the property limits of Sander’s Auto, the Wild Pony, or Foster Ranch. If he can’t earn himself a paycheck, get a stiff drink, or find somewhere quiet to hide out during the long hours of insufferably lonely nights, he figures he shouldn’t let the problems of Roswell weigh on his shoulders.

That’s been his policy for over a decade, so when he notices a strange light in the window of a closed storefront on his way home, he has every intention of minding his own business. The town’s rising larceny rate is only partially his fault, and he has no responsibility to look after the vagrants he comes across at two in the morning. Leave that to Max and his badge and his hero complex. Michael has a mattress and a pillow and a second bottle of acetone calling his name.

The traffic light turns red at the end of the block, and he drums his fingers as he waits at the empty intersection. Glancing back towards the window is mostly an accident. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him to find the old members of Wyatt Long’s high school posse breaking and entering. They have enough money to buy their ways out of whatever trouble they land in, and they’ve been fidgety since Long took a bullet to the leg. They rove like hyenas, slobbering and mangey and stupid. Destruction of property would be very on-brand for them. But when he looks, he doesn’t see anyone in the shadows. It’s a cool, clear night, but the only thing illuminated by the large swaths of moonlight is the marque on the building.

Roswell’s UFO Emporium.

Grant Green’s perpetual construction project has sat untouched in the center of town for just under six years. Town supervisors had been livid when construction began just before the height of tourist season, but Grant had assured them everything would be settled in a few months. Bigger and better, he had promised. At the time, Michael had bitterly hoped an electrical mishap might burn the place to the ground, so he’s more than a little confused when he instinctively pulls into a quick U-turn the second the traffic light turns green again. He parks at the curb and takes a deep breath.

The museum was defunct by the time Grant got his hand on it. Even on its best days, it hadn’t turned much of a profit. It was the kind of place people wandered into when they were looking for a way to escape the triple-digit temperatures, but it hardly received glowing reviews. No doubt Grant planned on using it more as a recruitment center for his delusional followers than anything else. Now, it’s only a matter of time before the town claims the property rights from his estate.

In a few months, after fresh paint goes up over a new layer of drywall and somebody replaces the old incandescent lightbulbs, the museum will open, lazily refurbished as a more lucrative tourist trap. Any damage done by a few trespassers will be patched and forgotten.

Still, Michael idles his truck at the curb.

With a scowl, he reminds himself that sentimentality has gotten him nowhere lately. It got him a couple of decent kisses and a few nights of sex that didn’t end with bloodshed or an acetone binge, but the net gain at the end was heartache and disappointment. He should go home.

He looks over at the building, twisting his hands mercilessly around the steering wheel. The stupid sign still hanging in the window of the ticket booth says “I’ve been abducted! Back in 5.” One of the chains that should be holding the front doors closed dangles uselessly from the metal handle.

Michael swears, ripping the keys out of the ignition, and shoves his way out of the car.

The UFO museum never inspired warm and fuzzy feelings. Most of the exhibits were grossly inaccurate, and the display descriptions all took on alarmist tones that made planet-wide invasions sound inevitable. He still gets a particularly troubling feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the room with the interactive dissection display. The dummy was six feet long and bright neon-green with three fingers on each hand and a head shaped like a spade, but the way its foam flesh had been peeled away from its chest cavity still sends shivers down his spine when he thinks about it. Children, two at a time, had been allowed to reach inside and squeeze the fake organs, coating their hands with green blood the consistency of papier-mâché paste. The first time he saw it, on a middle school field trip, he had run to the bathroom to throw up. Isobel told everyone it was because he ate too many chicken fingers at lunch, and one of Kyle Valenti’s friends joked that foster kids always got too excited about free meals.

But there was one day—one hour—when it was his favorite place in the world.

Tucked away in the back room with hands on his face and his shoulders and his back, he had felt potential stretch out infinitely in every direction. There was a whole summer to plan, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine sitting in the alleyway behind the building to share sandwiches on lunch breaks or loitering in the empty exhibits on slow days or riding out into the desert after closing and taking time to pick out fake constellations in the real stars. For the first time, his future wasn’t about escape.

The room is probably an empty shell of damaged drywall and scratched floors now, all the exhibits taken out and moved to Grant’s warehouse, and the energy of that afternoon had burned out and died by nightfall of the same day. Potential scattered in the breeze like ash. Everything changed. Still, the idea of Wyatt Long’s drunken friends littering the place with beer cans and pissing in the corners to cure their boredom makes his jaw twitch. The museum doesn’t belong to them.

When he slips inside, everything is darker and quieter than he expected. There’s no sign of anybody having been in the deconstructed lobby, and an eerie silence seems to inhabit the rest of the building. Drunken vandals wouldn’t be nearly so stealthy, and that should be enough to satisfy him, give him leave to turn around and go home, but the curiosity wins out. Somebody wanted to get inside badly enough to risk standing on the street to pick the chain lock. The only thing Michael thinks might be worth stealing in here is the copper wiring, which would require breaking open the walls, and that wouldn’t be this quiet either.

Listening for any signs of movement, Michael creeps forward, working his way between the forgotten sawhorses, and checks the room on the right that used to be the gift shop. A faint bit of moonlight streams through the front corner of the window where the newspaper has peeled back with age, and he runs a fingertip over the dusty glass countertop. It used to be filled with poorly-designed plush and cheap plastic necklaces with almond-shaped heads on them. Now, it’s just empty glass cabinetry waiting to be demolished.

He should be glad to see the kitsch go, but he isn’t. It leaves him feeling unsettled.

The old manager’s office on the other side of the foyer is undisturbed in its abandonment, and Michael drums his fingers lightly against the wall as he makes his way deeper into the building. The first exhibit room is completely empty, and it’s swallowed in shadows without the light from the front windows. He presses forward, gently nudging obstacles out of the way with a jerk of his chin. The second and third rooms are crammed tight with piles of garbage that was never removed, and he tries to ignore the way that gnaws at him. He works his way past the broken drywall and splintered two-by-fours, careful to avoid the exposed nails and razor-sharp remnants of display cases, and then a soft click echoes from through a doorway on the left. A soft glow from inside guides him the rest of the way across the room.

When he peers around the corner, two thoughts occur simultaneously: it isn’t who he was expecting, and it never would have been anyone else.

“Remind me again which one of us is supposed to be the criminal,” Michael says after a deep breath, and it’s a little satisfying to watch Alex startle. His crutch hits the side of an overturned spackle bucket, sending it skittering loudly across the floor, and he winces at how the sound echoes in the empty room. Alex has his own phone sitting face-down on a crate, and the flashlight splashes a dull circle of light onto the ceiling.

When the stillness settles over them again, Michael cross his arms and leans against the wall. The acetone he slipped into his drinks at the bar has officially worn off, which means the ache in his hand will return soon. It’s a constant, dull pain. With enough acetone in his system, it fades to the background like the hum of the electric wires or Grant Green’s alien podcasts, Roswell’s special brand of white noise. Eyes raking over Alex’s rumpled sweatpants and half-zipped hoodie, he thinks he feels the beginnings of twinges radiating from his wrist down into his pinky.

Finally, Alex licks his lips and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Really?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “I’m the one who just caught you breaking and entering.”

Lifting his chin defiantly, Alex squares his shoulders. “Well, unless somebody gave you a key, you’re breaking and entering, too.”

“You did all the breaking,” Michael says with a shrug. “I just entered.”

“That’s still trespassing.” Cocking his head, Alex says, “You do know that criminal records aren’t bingo cards, right? There’s no prize for filling in all the rows.”

Alex’s new mean streak is a delicious twist on his high school sarcasm, and Michael leans into it without meaning to. He likes when Alex pulls his hair, too. “Actually,” he says, “I’m in the process of executing a citizen’s arrest, so I think the sheriff’s department will let this one slide.”

“Doubtful.”

Michael clicks his tongue. “I have an in with one of the deputies.”

“I hope you don’t mean Max.”

“God, no,” Michael scoffs. “He’d be first in line with the handcuffs.”

That earns him a small lift at the corner of Alex’s mouth, and some of the stiffness in his spine eases away. Michael feels his own shoulders relax. Every interaction with Alex has been wrought with tension, and he wants desperately for this night to not end in a fight.

“Aren’t you staying out of town these days?”

Shuffling around an overfilled trash can, Alex works his way forward.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits with a shrug. He flexes his grip around the handle on his crutch and averts his eyes. The shadows on his face sit heavily beneath his eyes, and Michael frowns.

“Most people would try warm milk first,” he says. “Or Ambien. Trespassing doesn’t usually make the list of top five insomnia remedies.”

“Then consider it my last resort.”

With an indelicate hop, Alex hefts himself up onto the crate in the middle of the room and settles his crutch between his knees. His cell phone sits behind him, plunging him into pure silhouette, and Michael steps farther into the room. Purple Heart Airman Alex Manes is not the kind of man to drive across town in the middle of the night in order to break into a construction site. But this isn’t just any construction site.

“Why would you want to come here?” Michael asks. Alex stares silently at his hands, and Michael taps the toe of his boot against a stack of two-by-fours. “It’s not exactly—”

“Don’t play dumb,” Alex interrupts, looking up sharply. “I’m not in the mood. You know why I would come here.”

It hangs heavily between them.

Alex had been swift and decisive when he ended things at the drive-in, leaving no room for interpretation. But it also hadn’t been the first time he walked away, so Michael can’t be entirely surprised to be stumbling into the middle of his late-night backslide. The pattern repeats again, a twisted version of an unhappy ending that hurts more than never having him in the first place.

With a huff, he hops up onto the crate beside Alex. It groans beneath their combined weights but holds firm, and he claps his hands down on his knees.

“Look around, Alex. Everything that made this place what it was? It’s long gone,” Michael says. The wall to the left is where the model UFO hung, backlit by a wall of twinkling little lights. It’s half-torn out sheetrock now. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. Not anymore.”

Alex shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. This place doesn’t just stop being important—” He breaks off, tapping his crutch against the ground. Michael watches him swallow. “Never mind. You obviously don’t— forget it.”

Scoffing, Michael leans back and looks at the ceiling. The only reason he even walked through the front door was because of some desperate need to protect the memories living in the walls. But he never loved the cheesy UFO museum. In the years since Alex left town, he never felt himself drawn back to the building itself. Even before Grant took the exhibits out, Michael never felt there was anything inside for him. It’s strange that now, when Alex is finally on the same continent—in the same town, in the same room—he felt drawn to it. Or maybe it isn’t strange at all.

“I try not to think about that day,” Michael says. It’s a truth and a lie at the same time, and it’s much bigger than a secret kiss or a shattered hand. At first, everything had bled together for him. He couldn’t think about the cave without thinking about the toolshed without thinking about the museum. When he closed his eyes, he saw burning cars and the curve of Alex’s naked hip and his own blood all at the same time. But his mind has worked miracles compartmentalizing that day. Certain parts have never left him. Others are best forgotten.

Alex spins his crutch in his hands and says, “I think about that day all the time.”

“I’ll bet. I hear PTSD is a bitch.”

“Actually, it was one of the best days of my life.”

Michael scoffs. “Shit, Alex. That’s not saying much for your life.”

“Don’t do that.” Alex frowns.

“Do what?”

“Don’t minimize it.” Wringing his hands, Alex keeps his eyes fixed on his lap. “I’m not stupid, alright? We only had a few hours, and I’m not delusional enough to think— I know what it was. But you have no idea what it meant to me.” His voice wavers, and Michael feels frozen on the spot. The ten lost years have reduced them to unfamiliar strangers, and sometimes it feels like they don’t even speak the same language anymore. They hadn’t needed to say much to each other for things to things to fall into place the first time. It hasn’t been nearly as easy on their second—third, fourth, fifth, he loses count—try.

Alex takes a deep breath and turns away, offering the rest of his confession to the empty room.

“You were mine when I didn’t have anything else. And I know— I know how it ended. I know what it cost you. But you’ll never understand what it meant to me to have you for as long as I did.”

Heart in his throat, Michael stares at the darkened silhouette of Alex’s profile.

A few weeks ago, he stood in front of Alex and laid himself bare entirely by accident. I never look away. Not really. Alex had seemed surprised and then pleasantly flustered, but Michael had assumed it was because of how much time had passed. Ten years is a long time for a heart to stay alone someplace, just waiting to carry on, but Alex had admitted to it first. Alex had reopened the door.

But he doesn’t sound like a man who understands how pathetically Michael has wanted him.

With Max’s voice still whispering in his ear, Michael bites back, You still have me.

It isn’t the sort of promise that can be a comfort to Alex now. Michael isn’t really what he wants anymore, isn’t what he remembers having. He isn’t that boy from the back of the truck that just wanted a safe place to sleep. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he still has it in him to be that soft, but he’s built up a layer of callous and scar tissue on the outside that makes him unrecognizable.

I can’t be with a criminal, Alex had said, and he hadn’t even known the half of it.

Max was right when he said that they couldn’t be with the people they love. And still, he’s angry at Alex for the way he’s been hurt, and it makes him feel like an idiot. He hates that the two contradictory truths can live inside him so easily. Like a trap getting angry at a bear for being wary, he resents Alex for running away while hating himself for being undeserving of keeping him.

It says a lot about Michael that his greatest regret is not letting Alex kiss him the first time he tried.

Alex takes a shuddering breath suddenly, head ducked low, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. He seems embarrassed, curling in on himself like it can erase his admission. Leaning closer, Michael bumps their shoulders together to stop his retreat.

“You know,” he says, “you and me getting together was kind of, like, the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” Michael insists when he catches the bitterness in Alex’s tone. He isn’t trying to tease him, and he doesn’t want Alex to think he doesn’t appreciate the weight of what happened between them. “It was like a movie.”

“Are you incapable of sincerity, or do you just enjoy being an asshole?”

“I don’t know. Do you enjoy expecting the worst of me?”

Alex kicks his heels against the side of the crate. “We made out under the UFOs for ten minutes, and then you went to wait at The Crashdown until my shift ended. If that’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town, the population should be dwindling. People should be fleeing.”

“I wanted to wait with you,” Michael reminds him. “You wouldn’t let me into the booth.”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “There was nothing subtle about that eyeliner. Or the nose ring.”

“You didn’t mind.”

“No,” Michael says. “I didn’t.”

Alex turns towards him, still mostly a silhouette, and licks his lips.

“No,” he breathes. “You didn’t.”

A beat passes between them, and Michael’s breath catches in his chest as the realization settles over his shoulders like a heavy blanket. Alex loves him. He’s suddenly surer of it than anything else in his life, and heat rushes to his cheeks. It should be a pleased flush from his racing heart, but his stomach twists with misery as he stares at Alex’s shadowed face. Alex loves him. Alex has always loved him, maybe, for reasons neither of them can fully explain. They could have been happy. If things had just been a little different, they could have been happy.

The light disappears suddenly as Alex’s phone dies.

Michael stares out into the dark to where he knows Alex is, and then he lets his eyes drift shut just long enough to steel himself.

“I guess that’s our cue,” Alex sighs.

“Yeah, I think I’m parked next to a hydrant,” Michael says, clearing his throat as he slips off the crate. He rolls his shoulders, trying to settle the rippling tension radiating down his back, and then holds out a hand to help Alex back to his feet. “Can’t afford another ticket.”

“I thought you had an in with the deputies.” Alex dusts off the back of his jeans and then returns his hand to the crook of Michael’s arm as he adjusts his crutch. Michael figures it’s the steadiest influence he’s has ever had on Alex.

“We both know that was bullshit. Come on. Let’s try to get out of here without killing ourselves.”

Alex fists a hand into the back of Michael’s shirt as they pick their way through the dark, and Michael adjusts himself to the task of subtly moving obstacles out of their way without being able to see what he’s moving. They make it to the first exhibit room, less than a hundred feet from freedom, and then Alex loops his fingers loosely around Michael’s wrist.

“Guerin.”

The word is a whisper against the back of his neck, and the hand slips off his wrist and finds his hip instead. Alex curls his arm around Michael’s waist, and he presses himself forward until the lines of their bodies curve together seamlessly.

This part always comes so easily to them. It’s the rest that gets messy.

Alex nudges his nose against the knob at the base of Michael’s neck, and he splays his hand wide across the middle of Michael’s chest. Body flushing, Michael lets his eyes drift shut as he relaxes against Alex’s warmth. Alex inspires stillness in him that he imagines total peace is meant to feel like, but he knows it’s only the eye of a hurricane. The rest of the storm still rages around them.

“We can’t,” Michael exhales.

Pressing his mouth to the curve of Michael’s shoulder, Alex hums. “Why not?”

There are so many answers, all of them true.

He can imagine the seductive tilt of Alex’s head as he leans forward, and he can imagine the anxious hunch of his shoulders in the morning light as he slinks out of the Airstream before anyone notices where he spent the night. If Michael closes his eyes, he sees sweaty strands of Alex’s hair sticking to his forehead and spread out on a pillowcase as easily as he sees the angry sneer of disgust that will follow Michael laying his secrets bare.

The truth is that Michael is a coward. He won’t survive having and losing Alex again.

“Because I love you.”

Without the light from Alex’s phone, all they are to each other is shapes in the dark.

It’s fitting, considering how lost Michael feels navigating the foreign terrain of an emotion this elusive. Anger is easy. He’s seen enough anger manifested in front of him to know exactly what it is. It’s curled fists and free-flying hands and bared teeth and acidic vitriol that seeks out a person’s soft spots and eats away at the tender flesh until he’s crippled by it. It’s ugly and familiar. But Michael has never been loved. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to look like. All he knows is that being with Alex makes him feel still. It changes the energy in the air, slows the vibrating chaos inside him, and splits him at his loosely-patched seams when it’s over.

He’s never said those words before.

“I love you,” Michael repeats into the dark, and he reaches down to cover Alex’s hand with his own. His scarred fingers ache as they twine. The bones don’t bend like they should, and most of the strength is gone, but this feels like the last chance he’ll get to hold Alex’s hand. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is also the first time he’s ever held Alex’s hand. “And it’s too easy to think it can still be like it was.”

Alex shuffles forward. “Guerin—”

When Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves.

Michael has never given a damn about the people of Roswell because they never gave a damn about him. A decade in foster care taught him that humans can’t be depended on for anything more than consistent disappointment. He survived just long enough to get himself out, and he did it without help from anybody. Then things went sideways, and then then things turned upside down, and then everything got blown to hell.

He spent the summer after senior year telling himself new truths. He repeated them like a mantra until they were fully incorporated into him. Katie Long was an asshole, just like her brother, and so was Jasmine. Rosa Ortecho was an on-and-off crackhead on a long road to nowhere. If not them on a slab in the morgue, then Isobel, Max, and himself on gurneys in a secret government facility, locked away somewhere nobody would hear them scream.

Reality is too terrible to bear if those aren’t his truths. That day, what he is became inextricably linked to what he did, and it can never be undone. There are no apologies to offer. Besides, it spiraled out towards disaster more horribly than any of them could have ever imagined, so even their apologies wouldn’t have mattered. There’s no forgiveness, no absolution, and he would do it again in a heartbeat, if given the choice. Sometimes that feels like the worst part.

Still, knowing that the people of Roswell would hate him for what he is and what he’s done doesn’t mean much. He’s had years to practice turning his own guilt inside out, and he doubts that public opinion would weigh too heavily on him. The more pressing concern has always been discovery, capture, and the inevitability of experimentation. Fear of being strapped to a table, of hearing Max and Isobel scream through a vivisection, the worst word he ever learned, is a more persuasive motivator than anything else.

But when Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves, and Michael will feel every ounce of it.

That, in itself, is all the evidence he needs to know that he isn’t a good man.

It’s unlikely that their DNA has corrupted them or that they carried murderous instincts halfway across the galaxy, but their hands are soaked in blood from what they did and they will leave fingerprints on everything they touch. Max may have found his way to that conclusion in a heap of self-pitying misery, but Michael hasn’t been able to find a flaw in his logic. Always terrified of being unloved, they have made themselves unlovable.

Alex has suffered plenty at the hands of people pretending to be good men. Michael can’t stomach being just another in a long line of betrayals. If the best Michael can do now is stay away, it should be enough to redeem some small part of him that remembers an Alex who just wanted to be safe.

“It doesn’t have to be what it was,” Alex finally says, voice unbearably soft. “It can be new.”

Michael pulls their hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the center of Alex’s palm.

One day, Alex will have to ask himself what it means to be loved by a monster. He will think back on every time that Michael touched him with softness and reverence and wonder what it means that someone so drenched in horror could look at him and want so desperately. If he asked, Michael would tell him that it means he embodies the best of what lesser men want for themselves: bravery, integrity, and an unyielding capacity for kindness. But Alex won’t ask. Instead, he’ll consider every time he walked away and wonder why he came back. He’ll scrub himself raw trying to get rid of an invisible stain. He’ll thank saints he barely believes in for the narrow miss of almost that Michael will cherish for the rest of his life.

“We can’t.”

“Guerin—”

Alex isn’t the type to beg, so Michael is entirely unprepared to feel the grip around his waist tighten in protest. He holds himself shock-still, terrified to hear what Alex will say to change his mind and what he’ll need to say to protect himself from it. But Alex doesn’t say anything else. He just squeezes his fingers around Michael’s gnarled hand and draws a long inhale through his nose.

Then, Alex lets go, and, for the first time, Michael is the one who runs.

#michael x alex #malex #malex fic #me: put it in the main rnm tag for the exposure #dark me: no #so normally i would stress about editing this for another three weeks but 1x09 already jossed it and it would probably be dumb after 1x10 #so here is 4.7k words of a thing i wrote #that i had to repost because this site was being annoying about the ao3 link #my fic

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aviationfiction · 6 years

Text

XXXI

Autumn Dupont

“Okay, thank you so much. I’m so pleased that our services were suited to your taste. It’s a pleasure to have you and we’ll see you soon.” Like a young child, who found a brand new shiny toy, I carelessly twisted, turned, and halfway glided to and from Isaac’s desk in his ridiculously comfortable ergonomic leather executive chair. It’s high back and soft head rest had been my source of comfort more than half of the day as he busily moved in and out of meetings throughout the morning. He summoned me from my position at the service desk with a polite plea for help that I hadn’t been expecting and yet couldn’t turn down. The rare occurrence of him properly and humbly asking me for something took me for a loop; hell, Rachel too. His mood change may possibly be attributed to he and Lauren’s budding embryo or maybe he’s finally respecting the work ethic that I’ve brought forth since he threw me a bone by giving me this job. Either way, I have no complains because I’ve become exhausted with the back and forth tension between he and I. Despite our lack of proper conversations to get to the root of his issues with me, I don’t see why he and I shouldn’t find a way to bring about peace within our relationship as siblings. I’ve already lost one brother and though Isaac may not realize it, he is and has always been dear to my heart. No matter what, I’ll have his back and if necessary, will go to war for him. We’ve always been taught to protect one another in this world and that’s a rule that I haven’t and will never give up on.

“Get out.” The bass in Isaac’s tone startled me as I placed the receiver to his desk phone back on it’s base. Okay maybe I’m jumping the gun about the shift in his personality.

“I just finalized an account. I did all seven and I reorganized the files in that cabinet over there. No offense, but whoever organized them before did a shitty job. Oh, and stop being rude.” I never thought I’d be able to have an actual conversation with a billionaire, but today I spoke with two. Usually, it’s a personal assistant or a chosen representative who calls in to request whatever services they prefer, so it was quite a shock for me to have Amancio Ortega himself speaking with me about servicing for his forty five million dollar Bombardier designed jet. Hell, it was quite a shock that the company is even on his radar, but he proved me wrong with his unpresuming compliments about Isaac’s charm and ambition. They happened to have met at a business conference and have been cordial with one another ever since. While it took every bit of might I had not to burst into a fangirl moment with my love for Zara, my brother could coolly mingle amongst the world’s wealthiest men and not break a single sweat. Impressive. They second one? Jami Gertz, wife of Antony Ressler. He’s the co-founder of a forty billion dollar private equity firm. Though she may not technically count because his assets aren’t hers, in my opinion, she does. She’s quite pleasant as well. She complimented the tone of my voice and called it soothing.

“I’m not being rude. Get out. Oh and I mean of the building by the way, not just my office.” His chuckle was light and he carelessly tossed a file on the desk that I’d just neatened up an hour ago. He will have made it a mess by the time he leaves here this evening. “Glen’s waiting for you outside.”

“For what? I’m supposed to get off at three today.” Glen and I had already spoken about it when he dropped me off to work this morning. If he is outside, he must have misheard what I said.

“You’re getting off now. Go head and go. You were getting ready to go on lunch anyway, right? Take lunch and keep going.” The sly expression on his face unnerved me as I lifted myself up and out of his chair. With my phone in my hand, I stepped around the desk and glared at him as he coolly took the position I was once in. I planned to be in here with my feet disrespectfully resting on his desk while I occupied the phone for the rest of the afternoon.

“What’s going on?” Because something has to be happening.

“I’m not sure why you wanted to become a doctor. You should have had goals to become a detective or a lawyer. All you do is ask questions. If I went out there and told anyone else what I just told you, they would have zipped out of here without giving me a chance to have a second thought and here you are questioning me about why I’m telling you to take the rest of the afternoon off. What a nerd.”

“Shut up. I’m going.” After retrieving my jacket from his office closet, I bid him a playful middle finger as a departing announcement and closed the door behind myself on my way out. My trek down the hallway wasn’t a long one.

“You’re off?” Rachel threw an arm around my neck to draw me in for a hug and I nodded in the midst of it. We were supposed to grab lunch and get off together. Isaac ruined our little lazy girl’s afternoon.

“Yeah. Boss man’s kicking me out.”

“Good. I still can’t believe you came in on the day before your birthday.”

“What else am I supposed to be doing? It’s the day before, not the day of.”

“Anything but being here. Go and prepare for it. Go get pampered. Shit, go to the spa or something. You work hard enough. Get out of here and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you in the morning and use my beautiful vocals to sing you an unforgettable birthday song. Okay?”

“Beautiful vocals? Oh, dear. You don’t really believe that, but I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“That is unless you’re having some incredible birthday morning sex. If so, don’t answer me. I won’t be mad at all.” The gasp that spilled past my lips was loud enough to draw laughter out of the both of us and I quickly nudged her with my elbow. I absolutely wouldn’t mind it. Actually, I’m hoping to be woken up just like that. I can barely contain the faint throbbing between my thighs at just the thought of it. I’m not sure if I should be ashamed of how much I anticipate being unclothed with my limbs tightly wrapped around every aspect of him. It worsens when I have alcohol in my system. It’s everything about his aura; it not only draws me in but it entices my body unlike any other. It’s the way he steadily peels my layers away, physically and mentally, and focuses on pleasuring me until I am on the cusp of life and death. It’s the way he fills me. My God.

“Cut it out. There won’t be any of that.” My modesty instantly came to my defense.

“Yeah, okay. The way he looks at you says it all.” Keeping my relationship out of the workplace has always been my intention ever since we began seeing one another. I’ve been around here and Meridian long enough to know how rumors swiftly spread and the truth is swept under the rug and hidden for the sake of keeping the conversations sensationalized. Whether it’s the side relationships with married men, the sugar daddy situations amongst the younger women, or the plotting on whichever wealthy male walks through the doors of both companies, I’ve heard it all. When I’m around, I can’t go a day without hearing whispers about my man or receiving sly questions about what he’s like so they can figure out exactly what type of pass to make at him. I’ve already told him he’s a hot commodity around this place and though he couldn’t care less, in some capacity I cannot help but to do so. There’s this part of me that doesn’t want yet another aspect of my love life being a source of entertainment for whoever is childishly concerned with it, and there is also this part of me that wants to set the record straight so that I no longer have to hear about women ready and willing to drop their panties for the man I’m in love with. It’s a tough position to be in. If it were up to him, we’d breeze through here hand in hand, confidently, with no worries about who knows.

“Call me the morning.” I retrieved my bag from the bottom drawer behind the desk and placed a peck on her cheek.

“Will do. Have fun today.”

Have fun? My feet moved as swiftly as my thoughts while I pondered on what I could possibly be having fun doing. As far as I know, I have no plans today. Tomorrow? Most likely a birthday lunch with my mother and dinner with Dante since he insisted. If it were up to me, we’d order takeout at his place and lay around with food bellies while watching chick flicks.

“Marvin?” Dante’s driver and his wide grin warmed me. Certainly the hundred roses being cradled in the nape of his arm helped.

“From the boss.” I didn’t hesitate to grab the beautiful display out of his grasp and give them a smell like any other admirer would have done. This is the third time this week I’ve gotten flowers from him and yet it still feels like the first time. Goosebumps, butterflies, chills, you name it.

“He sent me here with specific instructions for you. I placed the envelope in the backseat. We’re going to have a nice day together.”

“Oh really? Will the boss be joining me?” While helping me into the backseat of the blackened SUV, he shook his head with a smirk. “No?”

“He says that he’ll see you later on.” Once the flowers were carefully resting along side me, the envelop was my focus. The contents inside were his American Express Centurion Card, hundred dollar bills that I’d actually have to take my time counting, and a little note that said nothing more than he loved me. Any other woman would have been squealing in this backseat and bursting with excitement at the opportunity to spend money that isn’t theirs and yet I couldn’t mask the indifference and reluctance looming within my mind. I can admit that though I try my hardest to not compare my life with Andreas to the one I now share with Dante, I do have a tendency to worry about there being parallels that align. The days of swiping his credit card to cure the boredom were plentiful. The shopping also served as a temporary pain killer for the hole in my heart that he continued to worsen. Imagine standing in a closet full of clothes that mostly went unworn because you had nowhere to wear them to until your brother or best friend happened to come to town. How foolish would I have looked to waste couture pieces from Chanel and the fabulous intricacies of Dior in an arena watching the Miami Heat battle their latest opponent on the court? I’m not interested in being in that kept space once again because it comes with preconceived notions about my character and it puts me amongst an exclusive circle of women who are nothing more than the image behind the large shadow of their men. Though I adore Dante’s image, my everyday struggle is to create my own identity since I failed to do so during the time when it truly should have been happening. I don’t want any of this if it puts me back in that space again. I just want him and in no capacity does he have to come out of his pocket to give me that.

“You promised me.” He answered after two rings and didn’t even bother giving me a standard greeting. He didn’t start with an endearing one either. Instead, he chose to began with those three words because he already knew what my call would be about. He’s learned so much about my complexities that he tends to jump ahead of them these days.

“What?”

“You promised me.” He repeated himself and the sigh that followed was one of exhaustion. I couldn’t tell if I was the source behind it or if his early afternoon at work isn’t flowing as well as he’d like it to.

“You haven’t even let me tell you why I called. You haven’t even said hi.”

“You promised me before we left L.A. that I had the freedom to do whatever I pleased when planning your birthday celebrations and that you would not shut me down about it. Once again, I made you repeat that promise a week ago and you agreed with me. Remember?” How could I forget? I was half naked, not feeling so great, and his hands were soothing my body while I rested in his bed. A person would have agreed to anything during a massage like that. I wasn’t of sound, mind, or body. I was blissfully drunk off of him, per usual these days.

“Yes, I remember. I just…is this my gift? If this is my gift then, okay.”

“No. That’s not your gift.” Of course it isn’t. I asked a dumb question to lighten the mood and the exact opposite happened as silence followed his answer.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” And I do. I’ve trusted him since I met him, though my fears often resisted it. It’s the manner in which he handled our growing bond and my fragile heart that made me do so. I learned that his intentions were pure very early on.

“And you do believe and feel that I love and am in love with you, right?”

“Yes, Dante.”

“Then why are you about to argue with me about this? I should be able to give you whatever I want, if you genuinely believe both of those things. It’s what I want to do for you. I never protest what you want to do for me.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m going to go then.” There’s nothing more than needs to be said and if I go any further in what may come off as a complaint, I’d officially be treading into a territory of insulting him though it wouldn’t be my intention. Although the wounds are still healing, I don’t want to be the person who gives but has an issue with receiving love anymore. That mentality held me captive for two years and if I’m ever going to experience the freedom and liberation with breaking the chains of the past, I have to allow some spontaneity and risks to be taken.

“I have a meeting that I’m walking to as we speak. I’ll see you later on, okay? Enjoy yourself. Get whatever you want.”

“Wait. Wait. Before you go, what’s my budget?” His snicker was loud but lacked anything snide. He was genuinely amused.

“Talk to you later baby.” I didn’t get a chance to say another word. A double beep filled my ear and my connection with him was no more. Embarrassment flushed through me as Marvin looked on through the rearview mirror as I picked up my jaw and flushed out the shock in him hanging up on me.

“The boss gave me instructions to specifically take you to Saks Fifth Avenue and then to Bergdof Goodman. From there, any other store is of your choosing. Okay?”

“Okay.” At this point, who am I to argue?

“One more thing from the boss.” Marvin reached over into the passenger seat and revealed a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and passed it back to me. Of course, he didn’t forget to include the frozen Mocha that I enjoy so much. I couldn’t be less than impressed with the choices: two original glazed, one glazed sour cream, and one cinnamon twist. It’s exactly the way I order them whenever I feel like indulging on the oh so good treat that goes straight to my thighs. God, I love him.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I wasted no time and immediately took a bite out of a doughnut. My eyes then panned towards to window to admire the scenery as we took the journey from Teterboro to New York City. Though I’ve been to a decent number of places in the world, I’ll never tire of the tri-state area. It’s vibrancy stimulates me and has yet to lose it’s hopefulness. I may be biased, there’s nothing like a new beginning here. I know that now more than ever. There was a time when I’d criticize the tourists who clogged the major areas of the city with their cameras and sightseeing or the newcomers who couldn’t figure out how to get from point A to B without asking a billion different questions and still getting lost in the process. Now? I get it. I understand why Shane marveled in the lights. With him, I understood why it was our playground and without him I understand why he introduced me to what would become a focal point of his world. It was his saving grace and now, it acts as mine.

“More champagne Autumn?” I’d only sipped the glass of Dom Pèrignon the eager woman placed in my hand upon my arrival and yet here she was offering to refill the glass.

Money talks. I’ve always known that, but it’s far more noticeable when you’re the centerpiece of it and there are hankering individuals catering to every step they most likely would have discriminated against had I not walked beyond the department store’s doors with the black card of one of the most prominent business men in New York City. Instead of following me around this store and pointing out items with prices tags containing four and five digits, they would have wondered why would I ever subject myself to stepping into such a store and ran my card more than twice to make sure I wasn’t committing one of those infamous credit card scams that have become the popular thing to do within the other boroughs. Instead, they were awaiting my arrival. A brunet by the name of April introduced herself as a consultant who works with Stacey in picking up pieces for Dante when he isn’t available. Her elation in catering to my every fashion need certainly ousted mine. Some would call her an enthusiast but her movements were like that of a vulture.

“No thanks. I’m okay.”

“What do you think of this?” Though the intricacies were quite interesting, I couldn’t connect with the fringe pealing out from the bodice and sleeves of the turquoise leather jacket. It’s color would have been ridiculously loud amongst the fall wear that is now filling the streets. I may be a risk taker and occasional rule breaker, but going that bright is a fashion felony.

“How much is that?” My curiosity arose.

“With tax? It’s about four thousand fifty dollars.” That number would have meant absolutely nothing to me had it been Andreas’ card in my wallet. In that situation, the cost of a “painkiller” had no limitations. She could have told me the price was a million dollars and I probably would have purchased it with the intent to spark an argument since we’d gotten to a point where arguments were the only time we’d speak to one another. Now? Lord knows I’m hesitant about blowing through any of this man’s money for trivial desires. I don’t have to force him to speak with me. I don’t need any painkillers. I’m assured in having him. I suppose that’s what should make this more comforting. Maybe that’s his point.

“I do like fringe, but not that particularly. It’s too loud.”

“There are quite a number of special order pieces that I have in the back for you. Mr. St. James’ assistant called about this a month ago so we were able to call up a couple of houses to get some pieces that we believed were birthday and everyday wear friendly. There’s a fringe number from Versace that’s to die for. It’s from this year’s Spring collection.” If it’s the golden metal mini dress and it’s glorious plunging neckline, I might be on board. I seen it months ago and loved it. Actually, I enjoyed the entire collection as I tend to do with most of what Donatella serves. Though she’s had more misses than her brother, she’s upheld the brand quite well over the years and I haven’t hesitated to splurge on pieces that have caught my eye. The jumpsuit I wore to Dante’s opening in L.A. is still one of my all time favorites.

“A month ago?”

“Yes. Stacey. I’m sure you know her. She stated that this was for the love of his life, so we needed to make sure you’re well taken care of.” Stacey served the dramatics while threatening these people. I’d expect no less from the woman who claims and honestly shows that she is the dominant side of Dante’s brain. Though she believes I’m beginning to edge her out in that department because I have a connection to him unlike anyone else, the credit is still due to her.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh no, thank you for coming in. You’re already stunning, so we’re just going to make sure we do everything within our power to further compliment that.”

Had Heather not blown me off with previous plans that she hadn’t realized she made around the time of my birthday, she would have been here with me and squealing at the sight of every piece I tried on like a proud mom. Instead, I’m left to make all of the choices by myself and it’s been quite of a challenge between both Saks and Bergdof Goodman. I’d already decided the Versace dress was a go for tomorrow night before I could even get it’s heaviness over my head. The sight of it alone left my eyes bulging out of my head and my skin trickling with chills. Everything else is simply pieces to fill up what may be more than half of my boyfriend’s closet once it’s all inside of his apartment. He’ll regret ever offering me the space soon enough. The clothing aside, my favorite part of my shopping activity for the afternoon was choosing the accessories. My enthusiasm heightened as I paired bangles with rings, necklaces with earrings, and sunglasses with bags and shoes. For over an hour, my feet were donned with Jimmy Choo, Giuseppe Zanotti, Christian Louboutin, Gianvitto Rossi, Miu Miu, Saint Laurent, and Sergio Rossi. Then there were the Balanciaga sneakers that I couldn’t pass on. Though I’d contemplated back and forth on it, wondering if I should feed into my fantasy, I couldn’t help myself. After trips back and forth to fill the trunk of the SUV with bags, I jogged back in the store for the famous blue smooth satin and crystal encrusted Manolo Blahnik stiletto pumps worn by Carrie Bradshaw during her court house wedding with John James Preston, better known as Mr. Big. I’d always said that my something blue would be my shoes whenever I got married and they were. With Andreas, I wore a decent pair from Jimmy Choo, but I’d like a do over. If God is on my side, I’ll have a do over and it’ll be with the one who fills my days with endless joy and has uplifted me since our first conversation.

“Marvin, can we go to Zara?” The higher end brands are great, but Zara has been and probably will always be my favorite place to shop for simplistic and interchangeable pieces. I like to mix things up and toy around with textures and patterns. Often times, I’ll have on a really affordable top and bottom, with expensive shoes and bags. Style is never about the price tag. Confidence is first and then there’s the skill in being able to take anything and make it look like it cost me a million bucks.

“We can go wherever you like Autumn.”

What do you want for dinner?

Before returning to his apartment, I figured I’d stop by a grocery store and pick up a couple of things to make dinner with tonight. His tone during our brief phone conversation had a bit of exhaustion mixed in with the frustration, so if I make something, he’ll be able to eat and get some much needed rest.

You don’t have to cook. I can grab dinner on the way in or you can. Whichever way is best for you.

While I’m thinking about his filling his stomach, he’s thinking about inconveniencing me. This man never fails to amuse me. Any other man would have quickly listed off a couple of things to put me to work in his kitchen.

That’s not what I asked Mr. St. James.

Maybe I’ll make pasta. That’ll get me in and out of the kitchen in less than an hour.

Whatever you choose to make is fine with me, baby.

And here I thought women were the most indecisive people when it comes to eating.

Pasta?

I think I’ll do penne with a spicy arrabbiata sauce and grilled chicken on the side. Simple, yet great in taste.

Perfect. I love you.

His words of endearment were a sweet way of blowing me off and I’ll accept that, for now.

I love you too.

I love him so much.

“Okay, so Zara and then somewhere for groceries Marvin.”

“Sure thing.”

I’d blown off my growing exhaustion in Bergdof Goodman but it got the best of me on the journey to Zara and during my time in the store. I walked in with the hope of picking up a couple of items and left with two shirts. My final stop at one of New York City’s crappy grocery stores took longer than I wanted it to, but I couldn’t leave without enough to at least halfway fill up his refrigerator and cabinets for myself more than anything. He couldn’t care less about the tumbleweeds blowing through them.

“Marvin, you are a lifesaver and the most generous man ever. If there’s anything that I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” Not only had he been my driver the entire day, but he even went out of his way to help me bring the absolutely absurd number of bags upstairs in three trips. Three damn trips.

“Just keep making him happy. The man turns into a disco ball whenever he speaks of you and I’ve never heard him speak of anyone like that. That’s how I know you’re special and he deserves that. He’s such an upstanding man and he always compliments the union between my wife and I. I told him soon enough, he too will be blessed with a life partner, and I believe that’s you. So, take care of him, because I know that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of. Even when he called and gave me all of the directions for you, he told me, Marvin, make sure you take care of my lady.” The dramatics bubbling within me urged me to fall to the floor and squeal in a giddy school girl manner, but my pride stepped into the forefront and only allowed me to genuinely smile at his kind words with a nod of assurance that I’d do as he requested.

“I will. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

“That’s all I want to hear. If I don’t see you tomorrow, you have a happy birthday okay? Enjoy yourself.” Instantly, I opened my arms for a hug and embraced the warm and knowledgeable older man. A handshake is for people you can’t quite figure out. Marvin’s a teddy bear in human form.

“Thank you so much. I will. Thank you again for all of your help today. I’m appreciative.”

“You’re very welcome. See you soon.”

“Yes. See you soon.”

I was left to a empty penthouse and a tedious task of finding the proper placement for everything I acquired during my gifted splurging day. Though I had my doubts about a potential argument that may have come from me taking up a ton of space in his closet, I still made sure to avoid the possibility by placing a portion of it in his closet and the rest of it in the guest room closet since no one other than myself uses it whenever I’m around. Putting away the groceries was easier and so was whipping up the pasta and grilled chicken I planned to make. I attempted to wait for him for at least two hours and gave up once my head began to ache with the looming hunger within my body. I lazily enjoyed the quick meal from the couch with a glass of red wine and repeat episodes of the trashy yet entertaining Black Ink Crew. The couch became my little haven as I awaited the man of the house. Though I could have, I had no plans on going to bed without him.

“I’m mad you.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” Heather’s cheery voice met my ear as soon as I answered her call. I didn’t give my phone a minute to ring before the I slid my finger across the illuminating green answer signal on the screen and voiced what I’d been wanting to say to her all day.

“I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” She sang with no regard for my playful feelings about her absence.

“You do this singing shit every year. I’m not impressed. I’m mad.” I finished the last bit of wine left in what was my second glass and listened to her chipper giggle.

“Happy Birthday dear bestie.”

“Shut up. I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Thank you and all of that, but I’m mad. You’re supposed to be here.” She never misses my birthday. We don’t do that. It’s been our tradition since we were kids and this would be the second time we’re breaking it. The first was my doing. I wasn’t doing quite well two years ago and I couldn’t bare to celebrate anything for anyone. Now, it’s her turn. She’s ditching me for work and her push toy looking husband.

“Don’t be upset with me. I may not be with you tomorrow, but you know we’re going to link up and celebrate regardless. It just won’t be on the day. I’ll make it up to you with a great gift and the best seats in the house to any Broadway show of your choice.”

“Harry Potter and The Cursed Child, please and thank you. It’ll be in New York next year.” I know the tickets are going to be ridiculous in price and now I have an excuse to not have to pay for them, though I wouldn’t have mind at all. Also, it’s torture for Heather, because she hates Harry Potter.

“I forgot you love that wizard shit. It’s so damn boring. Why couldn’t they have put Twilight on Broadway?”

“Because glimmering and animal blood sucking vampires is the silliest shit ever. No wonder you like it so much. Silly ho.” Our laughter soon followed my comment on her love of the mostly senseless Stephanie Myers series and though I couldn’t see her, I know she stuck up her middle finger at me.

“Whatever bitch. What are you doing?”

“Laying on the couch watching TV. I just finished a great glass of wine. You?”

“Eating chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and almonds. I’m indulging at this time of night and I’ll pay for it in the morning, but who cares. Are you at your parents house or home?” My expression contorted into one of confusion at her question.

“Did you forget that I live with my parents?”

“Please. You live with your man. That’s home. You sleep next to him more than you sleep in their house these days, so home is wherever he is.” I had the urge to slickly shut down her commentary but her accuracy swept in and silenced me. Her statement contains a decent amount of truth. Whether we’re in New York or somewhere else in the world, I do spend more of my nights laying next to him rather than being home alone in my bed. I believe that plays a part in why my mother is so hesitant about me moving out. She’s already feeling the affects of my absence even with me still residing there. I’ve never taken the time to consider any of this until now and ultimately, it feels completely normal. The normalcy is why I’m waiting up for him right now. Well, it’s that and my raging hormones that thoughts of him and the wine triggered. I’m damn near antsy in anticipation of us going to bed together. I don’t have any plans for sleep tonight.

“Shut up.” It’s the only response I could muster up.

“Exactly. You got quiet because you know it’s the truth. Is he home?”

“No. I think he’s working late so I’m waiting for him. He’ll probably be in within a couple of minutes or so.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I have to get my hair and nails done in the morning. That’s a must. After that, probably lunch with my mother and whatever Mr. St. James has planned for the evening. I told him I only wanted to go to dinner, so that may be what we’re doing. He hasn’t told me anything else other than we’re going out tomorrow night.” I’d be fine with eating at Baraya, honestly. Of course he’d never allow that to happen, but it’s just a of sign of how simple I wouldn’t mind the night being. Us spending it together is special enough.

“That sounds like a nice time. Dinner, some good birthday loving, and I’m sure a nice gift. What did you ask for?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course. I don’t even know why I asked.” I never ask for anything for my birthday. Christmas? I throw hints out there for sure. I typically leave the gift creativity up to whoever intends to get me one. I’m appreciative of anything. It could be a pack of socks and I’d love it. Just make sure they’re colorful and ridiculous looking.

“There is one thing that I really wanted. It’s crazy because I spoke about it in L.A. Remember when we were on the phone? I went to the website and the glasses were gone.”

“You talking about those Chanel sunglasses? The ones that were like thirty five hundred?” I found this incredible website that sells all things vintage and I’m typically a junkie for a throwback designer piece. A part of me wished I was born in the seventies, so I could have lived through the nineties as an adult and really experienced the good times and most of all, the fashion. Of course, Lil’ Kim was and still is one of my fashion icons and I’m always trying to find sunglasses similar to the ones she wore in her prime. I found a couple of pairs of early nineties Chanel sunglasses on the website and I instantly wanted an extremely rare white pair with the “Chanel Paris” logo printed on both sides. I loved the black ones as well but the six thousand five hundred dollar price tag on a pair of glasses is going overboard and the pearl ones that I could have cried over were even worse with their damn near ten thousand dollar price tag. Sadly for me, I won’t be getting any of them because they were purchased as of a couple of days ago. I wanted to throw my iPad Pro when I saw those “sold” signs. I’m slightly bitter. On the brighter side, there’s a Versace pair that I have my eye on.

“Yes. I’m so pissed. I had every intention to lay on a beach somewhere and post twenty selfies in those. I’m inconsistent with Instagram but I would have been consistent as fuck with those on.”

“You’ll find them again. I’m sure those weren’t the only pair in the world.”

“I hope so.” My eyes panned towards the television and I smirked at the traditional midnight birthday phone call. She has yet to forget to do it. I anticipate it every year and it’s just as special as it always has been. I hope we’re calling one another for our hundredth birthdays.

“I love you. You’re still the first person to tell me happy birthday, year after year.”

“And I better always be the first. I don’t care who tries to call you before me, don’t answer. If Dante had of been there, you should have clogged your ears until I called. It’s a ritual, like some chakra shit. Don’t shift our thing.”

“Our thing?” My laughter filled the room as her superstitions poured out. She’s always had them.

“Yes, our thing.”

“Okay. I won’t shift our thing.”

“Good. I have to get up super early, so I’ll call you tomorrow around noon and a couple of times after that. Enjoy all of your birthday festivities. I have a feeling that it’s going to be a great day.”

“I will. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me in a couple of days. Don’t be a brat. I love you, okay?”

“I love you too. Tell your hubby I said hello.”

“Will do. You tell your hubby I said the same.”

“My boyfriend, you mean.”

“I meant what I said. Goodnight, Tum Tum.”

“Tum Tum?”

“Yeah. Autumn. So I just took the t, u, and m. Tum Tum.”

“Don’t ever call me a fucking antacid again.” It took a couple of seconds, but my laughter meshed with hers as I shook my head. Her random nicknames have been and will always be annoying. It’s payback for me calling her Skipper during our sophomore year of college. After one year in L.A. , she developed a weird valley girl accent and has yet to rid herself of it. Skipper’s probably the whitest name I could have thought of at the time.

“Talk to you later.”

“Yep. Later.”

As our call ended, I turned off the television and made sure to clean up after myself before heading to lay in the bed. His ridiculously sized plasma television watched me as I stared up at the ceiling for a while and eventually I turned it off and allowed my body to do what it had been calling for. I couldn’t predict when he’d be home and I had no intention to bother or interrupt whatever he has going on. He’d come in whenever he was done and I’d have to accept that, though my once high anticipation transitioned into disappointment.

My slumber was unexpectedly a short lived nap. Around two thirty in the morning, I could hear him trying but terribly failing to maneuver around his home without waking me. He came in and out of the bedroom twice and found whatever he was looking for without turning on the light. While waiting for him to finally join me in bed, I made sure to move out of his spot and properly place his pillows the way they usually are but he didn’t show up. My curiosity led me to finding him in the kitchen.

“Did I wake you?” I didn’t expect him to want to eat so late, so I put his portion of the food in the refrigerator. I was proven wrong at the sight of a now almost empty plate sitting in front of him. Off to the side was a stack of folders that are probably responsible for the scowl that he’s trying to hide from me.

“Sort of, but it’s not completely your fault. I was in and out of sleep anyway. Are you okay?” He gulped down a large swig of the lemon-line Gatorade I bought for him while grocery shopping. With a nod as an answer, he used his hand to summon me closer to his body. When I was within arms length, he pressed his lips into my own and endearingly brushed his large palm over my shoulder.

“I apologize for being late. I had two long and extensive meetings today and then I had a very important meeting this evening that ran over much longer than I expected.” I wasn’t awaiting an explanation. I’ve damn near developed a don’t ask what you don’t want to know mentality when it came to men or should I say one particular man. Though your gut is telling you everything that you need to know, the state of denial is a temporary comfort zone I did my best to bask in for the sake of my sanity and conscience when going to sleep at night. I can’t leave out his belief that he didn’t have to explain himself in the first place. I was to stay in my place and be grateful for the bills being paid and all of the luxuries I have. Funny enough, he didn’t tell me that part of it. It was advice from a fellow NBA wag. With Dante, I don’t want him to feel like he has to always explain himself to me, because I’ll trust him with hopes that he’ll never give me a reason not to. I give credence to his loyalty.

“No need to apologize. It’s okay.” My teeth lightly ran over the skin of my bottom lip as I gazed over his frame. It was something about the after effects of the wine and the manner in which his tie was loosely hanging around his neck that enticed me with the thought of him tying my hands behind my head with it and having his way with me.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?”

“I did. I split all of what I bought between your closet and the guest room so that I wouldn’t take up so much space.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I think I left enough space for you to fit plenty in there.”

“You did, but I still didn’t want to take over. Thank you for today though. You continue to spoil me despite my resistance and it’s always special.” It was my turn to kiss him. He deserved it and so much more.

“Anything for you.”

“So where are we having dinner?”

“It’s a surprise. You already know I’m not revealing anything.” My eyes rolled before he could complete his response and he chuckled while his towering frame stood up and headed towards the sink. “And you should be heading back to bed. You said you’re getting your hair done early, right?”

“Yes.”

“So go and get some rest.”

“Says the man who is struggling to keep his eyes open.”

“Oh, I’m right behind you. I’m fucking exhausted.” Right behind me? Sadly, that part of it childishly took my mind to the gutter and I nearly kicked myself for currently having the mentality of a horny dog. Would I be selfish if I asked him to muster up just a bit of energy for a quickie? “I’ll meet you in the room.”

“Okay.”

I’d been curled up on my side of the bed for about forty five minutes while awaiting him to finish his shower and whatever else he was doing in the bathroom. The alluring scent of his body wash filled the room and worsened my yearning for him. Though I can’t quite figure out all of the ingredients, the hints of sage, tonka bean, mango, and sandalwood are there and mesh beautifully.

“You smell so good. Is that the Ralph Lauren shower gel?” His navigation around the darkroom was seamless.

“Yes, the one you bought me.” I’d forgotten about that. Typically, when I resupply my own hygienic products, I do the same for his, so it makes sense that it was me.

“It’s sexy. The scent and you.” A light chuckle coolly flowed from his lips and I felt the bed finally dip, signifying his presence. He halted my body with a grip to my thigh so I’d stop moving further to the left of the bed and drew me to the usual place he likes me in, the middle, within a comfortable reach for his arm to rest around my waist. His warmth irradiated my soul and a sense of peace immediately washed over me. Ambien has never aided me like this. No potent pain killer has the capability to ease my mind and body night after night like he effortlessly does.

“You’re the sexy one.” While glancing over at him, my eyes rolled at the sight of his playful smirk and I physically did my best to brush him off. He always turns my compliments for him into ones for me. His modesty never takes a vacation, even just for a minute or two.

“We’re talking about you.”

“And I’m talking about you.”

“Well, thank you.” My lips meshed into his bottom lip and I purposefully ran my tongue over it in hopes that he’d get even a fraction of a hint of where my mind had been for hours. The sight of him immediately hovering over me and peeling away the satin nightgown I slipped into for comfort not long after I came home nearly filled my hazy eyes with tears. I’ll never know how he just knows or how we’ve become so synced to one another since day one, but I have to believe that all of my suffering had a purpose behind it. Something greater was coming and I needed to make room for it. I’m still doing so, with openness for endless possibilities and enough caution for my insecurities. In my willingness to try, I’m being rewarded in ways that I never seen coming.

In the number of mistakes, selfish decisions, and pipe dreaming I’ve had, there was still a plan for me all along.

While serenely glancing over the New York City skyline, I did so from behind the curtain so that I would refrain from awaking Dante with the luminous rays of sunlight peaking from behind the clouds and faintly cascading a morning light to awaken the soon to be busy streets. A year of my life has gone by. On my twenty sixth birthday, I bundled up well enough to be protected from the early morning autumn breeze and took a run that was longer than any other I’ve taken thus far. I reflected on the struggles of the prior year and the ones that were still lingering behind and tormenting every thought of progress. The “irreconcilable differences” choice marked in black ink on the divorce papers that sat in the top draw of my nightstand served as a trigger for thoughts of every reason why it was the absolute truth of our fate. I ran for every fight and tear I shed, for the depression I ignored and denied, for the loss of my brother and his love, and for the moment I collapsed onto the floor of my parents home with a dangerous sense of relief that my soul would finally leave the flesh and I’d no longer have to deal with my earthly troubles. I ran for my life and a renewed sense of ambition. Despite every pessimistic thought I mustered up when thinking about the future, a small flame burned within me for a year of progression, if not for myself then for Shane. If he were here right now, I believe he’d be proud of me.

“Happy Birthday beautiful.” The mesh of grogginess and the perfect rasp ignited a round of chills over my caramel skin and I drew the curtain back just a bit to allow the sunlight to reveal his striking appearance. I didn’t hear him move and yet there he was, resting against the blackened headboard, with his eyes penetrating my frame.

“Thank you my love.” The depth of his eyes never hinders on piercing my essence. Everything he wants to say to me often lies within them. I don’t believe I’ve ever had anyone look at me in the way that he does. It wrecks my nerves and yet covers me with a comfort in knowing that I am loved and shielded. There’s something about his eyes; those eyes. When I opened my tear stained set and stared into his during our first encounter, I’ll never forget what I felt and how I carried it with me from then on out. Are we supposed to feel fate? If it’s possible, was that it?

“Who usually tells you happy birthday first?”

“Heather. She always calls me at midnight or purposefully calls me five minutes before midnight so that no one can beat her. It’s our tradition. After her? Shane would be the first one to tell me in person. When we were kids he used to wake me up by jumping on the bed and startling the shit out of me. During out teen years, he’d stick a candle in a stack of buttermilk pancakes and bring it to me. The man could make some pancakes. He gave my mother some competition in that area. Her skill of being able to literally make them from scratch is the only reason why she edged him out in the end. He was an Aunt Jermima expert.” I could smell his pancakes in my sleep. Not only would he cook the batter in butter, but then he’d turn around and put extra butter on top to take it to a fattening and even tastier level. We’d share the stack while laying in my bed and planning out what we were going to conquer throughout the new year of my life and then an hour or two later, we’d ready ourselves to go out with our mother and eat some more. Birthdays were treated like holidays before his death. No matter whose it was, we’d miss a day of school or work to celebrate.

“He said in his book, during your adulthood years, he’d always write the same quote in every birthday card he to gave you.” Laughter spilled from my lips at him knowing that and I nodded to verify it as truth. He did. I have every card he’s ever given me and that quote is certainly in most of them.

“Yeah, it was one of those Rumi quotes. He had one for every situation you could think of. You were born with potential.”

“You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.” I was silenced as he finished the quote for me and my eyes tightly closed as the words flowed through me. He’d say it out loud just as Dante did while I read along with the card in my hand and then he’d plant a kiss on my forehead and warn me to never forget.

“That’s the one. So you’re a big Rumi fan too, huh?”

“That’s a great one and yeah, I’ve read a lot of his work.”

“Can I share something with you?” He’d been asking since we spoke on our hidden talents while on vacation together and though I agreed to share mine, I’ve been avoiding it ever then since because much like any other creator, I’m sensitive about my shit. My sketches started off as a whimsical outlet for me as a child due to films and plays, that turned into something I considered doing for a living at some point in my life. The thought of multitasking being a full time doctor and potential business owner certainly makes me sweat with rattled nerves at the stress of it, but I had high hopes that I could easily pull it off before I got involved with my ex-husband.

“Anything.” While he awaited my return, I jogged to the living room and retrieved my thick dark chocolate colored leather folder out of my personal bag in the living room and rejoined him in the bed.

“Don’t be mean about it.”

“Be mean about what? I haven’t seen anything yet.” He held his hand out with a snicker at my reluctance and I slowly eased it down into his palm. Though he gripped it, I still hadn’t let go.

“I may sound like a wimp, but I’m definitely sensitive about my shit.”

“I understand.” Our eyes remained locked on one another for a few seconds and I eventually let go of what I’ve kept between Shane and I, with my mother having an occasional glance, for damn near two decades.

I did all that I could to keep my attention off of him but his presence alone made it hard for me to do so. I don’t care where we are or how beautiful the sights are, he will always stand out and command my attention with very little to no words at all. His presence is formidable and I’ve found myself attempting to view him through the lenses of others as they turned to give him a glance and immediately looked again in awe or dreamily stare at him from a table a few feet away. I’ve seen men readjust their ties and jackets in hopes that they’re looking as dapper as he is and the most random people figure out ways to approach him for a handshake or quick conversation. If they cannot help themselves, how the hell am I supposed to?

“Holy shit. These are fucking incredible.” I nearly fell over to the side as he quickly hunched forward and focused all of his attention on five out of the hundreds of sketches I sloppily have tucked away in that old folder. The more he pulled out, the more I had the urge to began putting them back inside as he did so. If I don’t, he’s going to have them everywhere.

“Autumn.” I haven’t heard him use my first name in quite some time.

“What?” His head whipped around in my direction and he held up a specific piece that I’d drawn with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in mind. I drew that three years ago.

“This looks like something out of the sixties or maybe the seventies. Shit.”

“It’s inspired by Jackie Kennedy.”

“Why wedding gowns? I’m sure your skill can do far more. These are incredible. Also, why the hell haven’t you done anything with these? How long have you been doing this?” He didn’t even give me a chance to begin answering the others before he blurted out his follow up questions.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s the hopeless romantic in me. There’s something extremely magical about a woman putting on a gown that signifies her finding her the man who swept her off her feet and promised to spend the rest of his life with her. It’s a moment that’s unlike any other. I don’t care what kind of events you attend after it happens, nothing will ever compare to that dress. It’ll be the dress for all of your days. It’s the dress that you’ll always reflect back on, the one you’ll want to pass down to your daughter in hopes that she’ll cherish it just much as you did, and the one that has it’s own special photo album for the family’s keepsake. You’ll look at that album every anniversary and smile whether it’s been one year or fifty years later. So, that inspired me along with gowns from royal weddings and films of course. Whether it’s Vera West’s stunning veil that was worn in Frankenstein, Scarlett O’ Hara’s Vivien Leigh design in Gone With The Wind, or every single gown Carrie Bradshaw tried on during the photo shoot she did in the first Sex And The City film, I’ve been inspired to keep sketching them.” I could list off nearly a hundred gowns that I’ve loved from films. Helen Rose is arguably my favorite designer of all. If only I could have had a chance to meet her.

“Why haven’t you done anything with these?”

“I don’t know baby.” And that’s the truth. Well, that and Shane not being here. We were going to open up two boutiques together; one here in New York and the second in Paris. Both would serve as our only locations. Though it sounds odd for my Pulitzer Prize winning journalist brother to be involved in my love of ball, A-Line, trumpet, and mermaid gowns, but he’d been onboard since he saw my early on crappy designs. It was him who damn near caused me to ruin my fingers by practicing sewing and beading from home. Though he was influencing me to go to Parsons School of Design or the Fashion Institute of Technology so I could further enhance my skills in sewing, I chose NYU as a safety net. The fashion world is fickle and I couldn’t chance attempting to make it a full time job and struggling because no one gave a damn in the long run. Now that I think about it, given the decisions that I did make after two years of undergrad, what did I have to lose?

“Are you going to now? You need to.”

“I want to. I need to go back to school and take more courses in business. I figure I can wrap up my undergrad degree in that and then go from there.”

“Or you can just come straight to a great source who just so happens to be your man and ask him for all of the information professors will give you and all the things that they won’t.” My head met the plush pillows as I erupted into laughter and I nudged him for the sarcasm. Of course I can go to him, but there’s a part of me that believes having that piece of paper hanging up in my mother’s house along side Isaac’s and Shane’s would mean the world to them. There needs to be at least one more college graduation they attend to make all of their handwork full circle. It’s a priceless gift that I’d love to give to them.

“It’ll be important to my family for me to finish up what I started and besides, education has never hurt anyone. I don’t mind going back for the two years that I need to wrap things up. Harvard has an extension school that I’m looking into. I can do most of it online with an accelerated seven weeks during two summers to get it done. So I can be anywhere in the world for most of the courses I have to take and for two summers I go to their Cambridge campus for seven weeks to take two four credit courses.”

“That’s not too bad. We can rent a place up there while you’re there.”

“You’d do that?” My lips parted at how easily he suggested it.

“Of course I would. That’s damn near two months. If you have to be in Massachusetts, then I’ll be there too.”

“Even if I’m not paying you any attention because I’m smothered with school work?”

“Even then. So when are you going to do something with these? You should start now.” Of course he’d switch the subject back to all that he scattered on his king sized bed. I didn’t think he’d be so fascinated.

“It’s not easy. I have to get a team of people involved. It’s a process but I do want to start working towards it. I’m not getting any younger; I’m twenty seven now. If I’m going to do it, now is the time.”

“Can I be an investor?” He threw up a hand like a know it all middle schooler who couldn’t wait until the teacher finished asking the question.

“When the time comes, I’ll consider it.” A year ago, I would have immediately told him no. Now? I know I can’t do it all on my own and most of all, I know that I don’t have to. So, I’ll take his offer into consideration. That’s fair enough.

“You’ll consider it? Whatever. I’m an investor. We’re about to put that store out of business. What’s the name of it? My mother loves that boring show. It’s the show that has the women trying on the wedding dresses and they come out and let their families aggravate them. What is it called?”

“Say Yes To The Dress?” My eyebrow rose as he snapped his finger and nodded.

“And the name of the store?”

“Kleinfeld.”

“That’s it. They’re out of here.” His assurance in the famous store going out of business tickled me. The arrogance about my hypothetical business is already through the roof. I don’t even hear him speak about A& M in that manner and he’s their prized possession.

“Babe, Kleinfeld is like a department store for wedding gowns. It’s like a Saks in a sense. They sell many different brands. For example, Pnina Tornai is an exclusive designer for them, so her gowns are sold there. So, you know how Gucci has their own stores but their products are also carried in luxury department stores? Same concept.”

“So putting them out of business is a bad thing huh?”

“Kind of. I may want to have my gowns sold there one day or maybe I won’t and I’ll keep all exclusivity in my own shops. We’ll see when the time comes. For now, let’s worry about today. I need to hurry and go get my hair done. I need to try and beat traffic to Brooklyn.”

“Take the car.”

“You’re going to let me drive that fancy ass car of yours?” He didn’t bother to look at me. Instead, he held yet another sketch in his hand and reached over to the nightstand for his keys. Instead of a response, he placed the keys on my lap and lazily dropped back against the headboard.

“Mike’s picking me up later on, so don’t worry about rushing back.”

“You want to take a shower together?” The question easily caught his attention. His head jerked back and the smile that graced his face was nothing less than priceless.

“What’s up with you? We barely slept and you’re ready to go at it again?”

“You coming or not?” My fingers tugged on the hem of his t-shirt as it grazed my thighs and he carefully placed the leather folder down on the opposite side of himself and drew the covers back.

“I see you’re trying to add one more holiday to the list of the ones you already celebrate.”

“What? Which one?” I didn’t expect him to lift me up into his arms, but he did so effortlessly and I tightly wrapped my legs around his waist for support.

“Mother’s Day.”

I wished I didn’t find his so called joke as funny as he did, but while he kicked the door close behind us, our laughter filled the spacious bathroom.

That was a good one.

When we’re dining outside of her home, my mother is more of a bougie eater if I must say so myself. If she’s choosing, we typically end up somewhere where we’re damn near flipping the menu’s upside down to find a meal suitable enough for our taste buds while she’s comfortably ordering foreign dishes that she’s enjoyed in her travels or has no fear of experimenting with for the first time. With it being my birthday, it was my choice, so we met one another over at Amy Ruth’s in Harlem so that I could overindulge with a Southern breakfast. I’m not sure where I intended to put chicken wings, a waffle, salmon croquettes, and home fries but I certainly attempted to eat most of it as we sat across from one another and enjoyed a conversation with an array of topics. She, much like my brother, picks my brain so that she’ll be able to update the database that is mind with even more information about me so she can keep up with her truth of knowing me better than anyone else does. I’ve always found that no matter what I do, she always takes an approach to understand my decisions and then accepts them despite her disagreement, if they’re not absurd. I don’t want to say that I’ve lived my life as an unrefined free spirit, but I certainly did have the freedom to express myself however I saw fit to do so and I suppose I took advantage of that in college. Even then, she still accepted me. I just didn’t understand it at the time. It’s still difficult to put her strength into words. I know she inherited that nature from my grandmother and is the polar opposite of my overly sensitive aunt, but how does a mother have the capability to hold it all together after having been faced with the death of one child and the potential deaths of two others. I’ve witnessed the moments when she looked like the life was sucked out of her body. I’ve treaded carefully in her eerie silences. In the midst of my own late night crying, I too, heard hers. I know the pain is still there and yet, here she is, standing tall and being resilient in every position she plays in the world. If I could live up to be half as much of the woman that she is, I’ll know I’ve done well for myself.

“You’re driving Dante’s car today huh? You look good in it. I was caught off guard when I saw you getting out of the driver’s side.”

“Yeah, he had some errands to run so he couldn’t bring me anywhere and I didn’t call Glen.”

“Mhm. Do you know that your face lights up whenever someone mentions his name?”

“You’re stretching it.” A huff followed as my head dropped to look down at the recipe she was placing her signature on. Her lighthearted laughter worsened my blushing.

“Oh, there it is. The blushing. It reminds me of your father and I. What’s amazing is when the person that you’ve been with for so long still makes you feel that way. I knew I was going to marry your father a week after knowing him.”

“A week.”

“Yes. One week. I just knew.”

“Would you have married him after knowing him for a week?” Though it sounds unrealistic, I needed her perspective.

“It would have seemed like one hell of a risk to take, but I would have. Sometimes you just know when you’ve come across a person who is worthy of being a life partner. These days, it seems like it takes three to five years for people to figure out if they want to marry one another. I’ve seen situations where people were together for decades, with kids, and waited until they were in their forties and fifties to actually get married. The younger generation feels compelled to be in a relationship and live together for years before getting engaged. The reluctance is often due to financial stability, the fear of a family withholding you from certain career aspirations, and most of all, change. Your grandmother and grandfather were together for sixty five years. Your great grandmother and great grandfather were together for seventy. Those two got married when they were teens. When you know, you know, and once you do, why wait? Ultimately, it’s up to you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?”

“You know, I wasn’t mad that you married Andreas. You thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was mad because my daughter married a stranger to me. I’d never conversed with the man or shook his hand. I didn’t know him any better than I know the strangers sitting around us in this restaurant. If anything, I worried for you because I knew he wasn’t going to be the one. The method that you took to be with him said it all; the sacrifice and the hostility. No honest man would have ever allowed you to do that. That marriage was doomed from the start. It just took one hell of a ride for you to realize that.” If it were two years ago, we would have embarrassed ourselves with an aggressive verbal sparring as I disagreed with her overview of our fate, but now? The accuracy is undoubted.

“And what about now?”

“What about Dante? You tell me.” Her long tresses flipped as she stood to her feet with that all too knowing smirk.

“Well, I love him very much.”

“I know that. You want to know if I think he’s the one?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m almost afraid of your answer.” I tossed the strap of my MCM bag over my shoulder as I eyed the vintage Chanel one loosely hanging by her side. I’m tempted to ask her for a trade off.

“Let me just put it this way. There’s this champagne colored dress that I bought from Roland Mouret the other day that is to die for. It’s asymmetrical with a one shoulder style of design and it’s sculpted in this goodness like silhouette that I fell for instantly. It’s fairly simple and yet very mother of the bride like. If you planned to get married in a week, I’d pull it out of the closet.” If I didn’t know she liked him already, I certainly know it now.

“Now who’s the one blushing? His charm got to you too huh?”

“Well, he is very charming. It’s undeniable.”

“Well, if you can, save the dress. If things keep going the way they are, you may get to wear it in a couple of years. You’ll be too preoccupied with your grandchildren to even notice the wait. Isaac and Lauren already conceived their one. I think the others are going to be one after the other from here on out.”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

“You go to weddings all the time and besides, it’s not up to me.”

“Then I may not be waiting long.” As we stepped out onto the Harlem sidewalk, we shared an endearing embrace with pecks to our cheeks.

“Enjoy your birthday baby. Make sure you drop by home tomorrow to see your dad. We want to give you your gift together.”

“I will. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“And send me pictures of whatever you’re going to wear tonight. I want to put them on Facebook. Send some to your aunt as well.”

“Mom, no one uses Facebook anymore.”

“I do. So send them.” Her finger tapped my nose.

“I will. I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

“Okay. I can’t believe you’re twenty seven. I remember giving birth to you.”

“Mom.” I knew her sentimental moment would run over into some random conversation about my childhood and I’d rather she do that tomorrow when I’m not on a tight schedule set by Dante. For now? I need to rush and get my nails done and a pedicure. Thankfully it’s not cold, because I’d be suffering tonight in the open toe shoes I plan to wear.

“I know. I know. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If I didn’t connect my phone and turn on some music during the hour commute back to Brooklyn, I probably would have engaged in road rage and gotten pulled over. I could have gone to a salon in Manhattan but there’s nothing like a good ol’ hood nail salon to do your nails. It sounds damn near stereotypical but I’ve been getting my nails done at the same spot in Brooklyn for years whenever I feel like going. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do so today, though the traffic is beyond ridiculous. I hit the same amount of traffic on the way back, lessening the leisure time I needed and whatever left over time I’d have to prepare myself for the plans Dante has for me this evening. I’m paying for our lack of sleep and the ice cream I stopped for on the way in did absolutely nothing to assist my fight. I needed a nap and though it’d only be for an hour and a half, it would have to do me enough justice to make it through however long our night out on the town would be.

Late or not, I took it.

“I can’t believe I’ve finally gotten to see Hamilton! The tickets cost a damn kidney and I considered getting them but I sort of fell off of the idea. That was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.” As soon as I heard about Hip-Hop being infused into a play about Alexander Hamilton, I nearly combusted with excitement because if anyone can pull off such creativity it’s certainly Lin-Manuel Miranda. I’m baffled with awe of what I just witnessed. Genius. Brilliant. Electrifying. Addicting. It was all of those words and then a dictionary full of others.

“It was pretty good. That’s the first Broadway show I’ve enjoyed in a minute.”

“So you didn’t enjoy An American In Paris?”

“I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.” My hand tightened around his as I cut my eyes at him and he shrugged in amusement for what I now know to be true. He doesn’t care for my all time favorite musical.

“I can’t believe you didn’t like it.”

“It was okay. I didn’t hate it.”

“But you wouldn’t watch it again?”

“I would, with you. You watch it religiously, so I’m going to have to get used to it.”

“Okay, you get brownie points for that.” A kiss to his cheek was his reward as we trekked down the West 46th Street. I certainly didn’t say it to him, but with the heads that have turned, I know we’re overdressed for a Broadway show that we both witnessed people arrive to in jeans. I look like I’m on my way to the MTV Awards while Dante on the other hand is suited up, per his usual. The squints from strangers were their way of seeking some sort of familiarity from the both of us and I’m certain nothing rang a bell; at least I hope not. I specifically asked him if my attire for the evening was appropriate because if not, I had a nice pants and top look from Givenchy on standby. He eliminated my second guessing by assuring me that I looked absolutely perfect. Now, I want to smack him in the back of his head.

“Babe, where’s dinner?”

“Buddakan.”

“Buddakan?”

“You think you’ve never heard of it, but you have. You’ve seen it and I’m sure it’s more than once since you were mimicking the movie word for word a couple of weeks back when you were watching it on HBO.”

“What movie?”

“You’ll see.” I consider myself to be one hell of a walker in heels, but the city’s streets are brutal when you’ve parked the car quite a length away from where your destination is. He wanted to pay for a parking garage and my silly ass told him not to. If anyone needs a smack to the back of the head, I now realize it’s me.

“What kind of food do the serve?”

“Uh. East Asian, I believe.” Dear God, please don’t let this be a dinner with my mother type of situation.

“Have you eaten there before?”

“No. I guess we’ll be experimenting together.”

“That can be fun. We’ll pick two dishes a piece and share.”

“We can do more than two.”

“And then we can have dessert at home.”

“Why are you in such a rush to go back home?” As he turned to look at me, the flustered expression on my face was the cause of him roaring in laughter. We both held expressions of shock because I certainly meant it in the way that he took it, but I didn’t want him to notice. I simply wanted an agreement that we would.

“Wow, Peaches.” The Beyoncè reference worsened it.

“Shut up.”

“Is that the energy turning twenty seven brings? I’m liking the way things are going.”

“Dante.”

“Peaches.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop being nasty. Actually, don’t stop. Keep that going.” I left him giggling behind me as I let go of him and walked ahead. His laughter tormented me the entire way to the car. Can you blame me? He’s a turn on at all times. It’s his fault, not mine.

A Miguel playlist served as the soundtrack for our twenty minute ride to the restaurant. He’s yet another artist we share a common love for. Shane introduced me to his underground sounds early on and I followed his career ever since. I’m thankful we were able to obsess over both “All I Want Is You” and “Kaleidoscope Dream” together.

“It doesn’t seem too busy out here. You made reservations right?”

“Of course.”

“And we’re parking right out front. Blessings.” My feet are so thankful.

“You ready?” I dropped my lipstick back inside of my chrome metallic bag as he took the key out of the ignition.

“I’m ready and hungry.”

“Alright.”

My anticipation heightened by the expression on his face when he opened up the passenger side door. The mischievous glow was alarming and yet all the more amusing as he held my hand and guided me towards the entrance. The lack of a hostess made it all the more awkward and the silence didn’t help.

“Is this place open?” The faint lightening should have answered the question for me yet I still asked for the sake of my impatient curiosity.

“Of course it is.” He tugged my reluctant frame along despite my whispered protest of a budding embarrassment if it actually is closed. It’s damn near eleven o’clock.

“Surprise!”

My soul swiftly pulled beyond the barrier of my skin and loomed somewhere around me as I shivered and took a step back at the sight of the awaiting crowd at the applewood table. Their eyes beamed at the sight of my reaction and hysterics filled the room as I turned to look at the man who is clearly responsible for it. I had not even the slightest hint that any of this was happening. The coy nature of my mother was flawless this afternoon. Isaac damn near dismissed my birthday with a nonchalant text message about my aging and a gift card for a couple of Botox sessions. Lauren called during my pedicure but, that too, was brief. Rachel texted me instead of making sure I received the call that she promised. And Heather? That jerk hadn’t called since we spoke at midnight. My aunt and uncle are here. Who the hell told them?

“You pranked me!” My face met his chest and I buried my head in it to keep the tears tucked away. Dinner had always been the plan but I never thought that it would be anything more than something between he and I. It’s all I wanted, honestly, but this? It’s far greater. I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually celebrated my birthday with more than just one additional person at my side. The last birthday party I had was a sweet sixteen planned and executed by my brother and mother. Since then, I’ve kept it simple. In Miami; even simpler.

“I said we were having dinner. I never said we were having dinner alone.”

The table at the center of the room was filled with familiar faces that I’ve loved all of my life and those who I have come to love as they came into my life. I had no desire to sit and had never been so thrilled to walk around a table to greet people with hugs, kisses, and appreciation for their presence. Both Stacey and Rachel brought their significant others along and I was more than glad to finally meet the men who are making them happy. Stacey being married to a retired football player is exactly like her. He’s just as adorable as she is. Fine too, if I must add. The surprise guest was Camille. It was an unexpected invitation and yet one that I’m so appreciative of because I’ve already taken a liking to her. There’s something so pure about her spirit and it aches me to know that it’s being wasted on such an unworthy man. The best part of all? The empty seat at the end of the table with an oversized golden ribbon tied around it in honor of my brother. Earlier I couldn’t figure out just how much more I could love Dante and yet here is another moment that takes that love to a place that not even I can comprehend.

“I was slightly afraid of the menu, but this lobster fried rice is on point.” I hadn’t ordered it for myself, but I was certainly enjoying it out of both Dante and Heather’s plates since they were on opposite sides of me. I chose the vegetable fried rice to be on the safe side.

“What’s on point is that dress. Is it heavy?” As her fingers explored the material I dug my fork into her plate again.

“Kind of. It’s not as bad as you think though. When did you get here?”

“When I was on the phone with you, I was laying on your mom’s couch trying not to laugh at how rude you were being as I sung to you. Rude ass. Mario sends his love. He couldn’t make it because of the season but he did send a gift.”

“I’m so happy you’re here. Really.” I learned over to plant a kiss on her cheek and she instantly shrugged me away.

“No, Rudeness. Apologize.”

“I apologize and I love you, Skipper.”

“And I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.”

“You’re my only best friend though.”

“Say it.” She wasn’t going to move on until I did.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Now you can kiss me.” My two kisses were finally welcomed and so was my fork as it invaded her plate again.

I’d been such a long time since I laughed and smiled until my face and body hurt, but it was all I could do as nearly everyone reminisced on an nostalgic memory and recent flashback about myself. Instead of wanting to crawl under the table until the moment is over, I basked in my childish stupidity, high school memories, and the moments that my love ones still hold near and dear to them. There were some I shared with Dante and others that I’m sure he mentally stored to tease me about at a later date.

“You have to bring Dante to Martha’s Vineyard for spring break, so that he can see where else you’ve grown up at.” I hadn’t realized that so many of the memories being reflected on were from out times on our family vacations. Initially, I disliked going up there because I thought it was the most lifeless place to to have a vacation home, but I eventually came to appreciate it as I aged. Besides that, President Obama gave it his seal of approval on his family’s many trips there, so who am I to knock it?

“I will Auntie, for as long as you’re there to make cheesecake.”

“Yes, I know. One for you and then one for the rest of the house.”

“And when she says one for Autumn, she means exactly that. You won’t hear the end of it if you try and sneak a piece of it.”

“Don’t put my greed on the spot Uncle Ray.”

“Please do, because I certainly got snapped at over it.” I knew Heather would butt in with her side of the story. It was the last piece and I told everyone not to touch it. The late night sneak eater that she is disregarded what I requested. She deserved it.

“Can I give a toast?” Isaac annoyingly tapped his sterling silver folk into the body of his glass of water and stood to his feet. I made a mental note to whisper how proud I am of his continued efforts to remain alcohol free. Every single person at this table is having a cocktail and he’s been sitting there with a glass of water sparkling water filled with cucumber, mint, and lemongrass the entire time. His resilience is admirable.

“Please don’t.” His snicker at my response opened up the floor for even more laughter as he continued to stand to his feet anyway.

“So, my little sister has hit the late twenties.”

“Is it really the late twenties? I’m thinking the seven keeps it at the midrange. Twenty eight is late.”

“I remember when mom told me that she was pregnant with you. I was annoyed. I only wanted a little brother and I had that, so I wasn’t so sure where she was going with things.” Instantly, my hand rose and it’s middle finger followed. While funny, I know his block head ass really did feel that way.

“When you were born, I instantly felt this sense of protection towards you. You were so innocent but there was this strength within you that mirrored moms and it manifested as you grew. You’re the cool sister. I know you may not believe it but I bragged about that often. We could sit around and argue about the NBA and you’d be just as knowledgeable about it as any guy. We would watch the Super Bowl together and we even attended the U.S. Open together. Remember?”

“Of course”. How could I forget? That was one of the coolest experiences ever.

“There was something about you that I knew was special and I knew you were going to shine in some kind of way. I still see that within you. You were always a source of support and encouragement for both Shane and I. Often times, we felt like you were were the oldest because you used to and still do talk like you’re someone’s grandmother. That forehead of yours holds all of the world’s wisdom.”

“Not my fault you have dad’s box head.” It felt like we were at the dining room table in New Jersey having a Sunday dinner when my dad balled up his napkin and threw it at me. Usually, he’d be scolded for it by his demure wife but this evening she found it just as funny as everyone else.

“It’s been a great year for you and having you working along side me has been not only been relieving but also incredible. Your work ethic is of no surprise to me because I know that you’re capable of greatness. So thank you for bringing your A-game to the companies and being an example for everyone else. I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say that enough, but I’m going to work on that. I’m proud of you and I’m happy to feel like my sister is reachable again. So, Happy Birthday, Autumn. May this birthday be as beautiful as your spirit and may the man upstairs grant you a hundred more for us to celebrate. I love you.” A moment so unexpected and yet probably the most important of the night goes to Isaac. It’s been quite some time since we’ve shown one another our appreciation by the way of words and we’ve treaded around doing it with actions. I’ve never doubted that he loves me, but I did began to believe that he’d never like me again. I’ve never been more relieved to know that isn’t the truth. I need my brother and now I understand he needs me just as much.

“Thank you brother.” Though improper, we leaned over the table for kisses to one another cheeks. I know there’s been a photograph taking photos, but God do I hope that this moment was recorded. I want it for keepsake.

“My turn?” Stacy giddily stood up and Mike followed.

“Our turn.”

“I want in.” Fredrick too joined them in standing and I clapped before anyone else could because I knew their moment was sure to be silly yet filled with genuine love.

“Autumn, I knew of you before Dante ever mentioned you. Why? Because his whole entire demeanor changed. There was something occupying his mind, but I didn’t know what until I questioned him about you and he damn near rushed me of the phone in nervousness. I asked him were you pretty and I literally heard his heartbeat over the phone.” I’d finally been taken out of the spotlight and it was now the humble man beside me who reddened in sheepishness and shook his head at his wordy executive secretary.

“When I had Kaylee, he came to visit me at the hospital and though I didn’t say it because he was already trying to figure out what he was feeling, I knew that he was falling in love with you. He may kill me for this later, but I asked him what is it about you that drew him to you and he told me two things, one being that you saw him beyond barriers that no one else has reached and two that you made him confront things about himself and his life that he had tucked away for quite some time. So many people here have spoken on your strength and you instilled so much of that within him. As I watched you two in his office the day you came by for the first time, I just knew. I felt the energy in the room as soon as I entered it and it thrilled me to know that someone who I consider to be my little brother has now found what I’ve wanted for him all along.”

“And it only took thirty years.” Mike butted in to draw giggles out of the entire table.

“Autumn, we not only like you, but we love you. You’re family now, so you’re stuck with us. I figured you would be once I saw you and Dante trying to make love in the club.” I’m not sure if I gasped or choked at his sensationalized version of what happened. I’m not even sure which night he’s referencing to.

“We were just talking, Mike.”

“That’s not the night I’m talking about!” In an instant my mother’s brow perked up as she amusingly awaited some sort of explanation. I’m never going to hear the end of this from she and Auntie Larissa.

“We were dancing.”

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Mike…” Though he did his best to conceal it, the smirk on Dante’s face was priceless. I don’t care how old I am and how many of my own bills I pay, I would rather not have my elders hearing anything about me making any type of love, especially in a damn club. Besides that, Mike is lying.

“And I knew it before then.” Fredrick added. “ But it was something about the night of the grand opening in L.A. that really sealed it for me. Though it was a special moment, your presence made it even more special for him. I felt like he stared at you in pride more than he did the establishments that we opened up. That’s when it really dawned on me that we have a new member to our little family. I think it’s time for that to be official.”

“Aw shit. We getting tattoos?” Though Dante would probably never do that, I asked for the sake of the laughter and to earn a deserved side eye from him. He’s not interested in ink though he doesn’t mind mine. One of these days I’ll convince him to get one with me.

“Not quite.”

The pace in my chest slowed to the point of an intense tightening as Dante stood to his feet. He wasn’t there long. With one leg extended, he slowly inched himself down until he was properly on one knee along side of my seat. My surroundings slowed as the sights I was once admiring blurred to an unsteady view. The trembling of my hands had absolutely nothing to do with the after effects of a stroke and everything to do with the moment that is snatching every bit of breath I have within me. The squeals of every estrogen filled body did nothing to tear my attention away from the vulnerable man who stared up at me with his soul completely exposed and his heart on the most unsteady line. What have I done to deserve this? How is this happening?

“Autumn. I spent days trying to figure out how to put into words how much you mean to me. Yesterday, I sat in my office for hours writing different things to say to you and even trying to rehearse, but nothing felt right. I just know it needed to be something from my heart. It’s so crazy that you’re here. I did a lot of hoping for you. I did some praying. I wondered what you’d be like and where you’d be from. My insecurities questioned whether I’d be enough and if you’d accept that I’m still growing. I even questioned if you’d ever come, but I knew if my faith was genuine then I had to realize that blessings come on God’s time. I’m not sure if I ever pictured the love of my life literally falling into my arms like something out of a movie, but I suppose he can be a clever God huh?” Every tear met my chest and rolled down into the napes of my bosom as his lighthearted moment earned a reaction from our boisterous audience.

“I know that you once had someone in your life who broke some of the most important vows there are, but I’d like to show you that you now have someone who intends to honor every single one of them until my very last breath as an old man. I want to share everything that I have with you and most of all, I want to share all of my days with you. There’s nothing more to look for. You’re right here. This is it. I spoke with every single family member of yours at this table yesterday for their approval and then I sat with your mom for a long time just to gain her perspective and she told me, when you know, you just know and I’ve never known anything in my life as quick as I’ve come to know this. I love you, Autumn Nicolette Dupont, unconditionally and irrevocably. So, would you do me the honors of being my wife? Will you marry me?”

There have been a number of dreams that contained variations of this moment; most have been while I’m awake. There was a particular one where I envisioned him asking me this life changing question in the backyard of a Malibu home that I hadn’t even seen yet. After each fantasy, I’d chuckle at myself and shrug it off as a farfetched possibility. I never doubted that he loved me, I only wondered if I’d be enough and if my baggage is too much for the both of us to carry. My doubts were foolishness. He’s been showing me how worthy I am all along. Every moment we’ve shared thus far had signs within them that this moment would come. His every word. It was the way his eyes looked into mine and studied me. It was the months of him welcoming me into his world and showing me just a bit of what he has to offer. It’s the way I become one with him when we’re making love. All of it. All of it leads to right here, right now.

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.”

I could feel the ring being slid onto my finger, but my tears wouldn’t allow me to see it. All I could do was throw my arms around his neck while the moment continued to consume me.

What a way to welcome twenty seven. It’s one that I’ll never forget.

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